Handprints. Myrna Temte
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but it seemed that he was always missing something.
And then Ms. Walsh would have to point it out and he’d feel like an idiot. She jumped from topic to topic. Every so often she seemed to have forgotten who she was talking to and used a cheery, enthusiastic voice more suited to a first grader than an adult. Jeez. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with her. He didn’t know if he could take her today.
He thrust his arms into his jacket sleeves as he entered the building and strode down the corridor to Ms. Walsh’s classroom. He’d been here enough times to know the way by heart. He paused in the doorway. There she was, sitting behind her desk, using a pencil eraser to flip through a fat stack of papers.
If he hadn’t felt so exhausted, he probably would have chuckled. She was barely five feet tall, blond and cute, with her hair pulled back in a long, curly ponytail. He always thought she looked more like a little girl playing school than an adult, but that was only until she opened her mouth. For such a small person, Ms. Walsh had a large personality.
She looked up, stood and gave him a welcoming smile. He just knew she had to be faking. Yet he still found it appealing. And unsettling. Hell, he was losing his mind. Because the truly odd thing was, in spite of everything she did that bugged him to no end, there was a weird, possibly twisted part of him that actually liked this woman.
“Hello, Mr. Granger. Please, come in,” she said, waving him into the room. “I’m sorry to call you in on such short notice.”
Preferring to keep his contact with her purely professional, Jack squelched an urge to smile in return. Given half a chance, she’d probably start hugging and patting him the way she always did her students. Wishing she wasn’t so damn nice, he walked between the first two rows of tiny desks.
At six-foot-three he’d grown used to being taller than most people. But everything in the first-grade room was built for the convenience of six-year-old children. He always felt like an awkward giant whenever he had to come to the school.
She nodded at the visitor’s chair on the other side of her desk. “Please, sit down.”
He gave the red, battle-scarred plastic chair a dubious glance before carefully lowering himself onto the seat. Ms. Walsh remained standing, and for a moment, she was at eye level with him. He’d never seen anyone with such dark green eyes before. The color of jade, they gazed directly into his, and he felt as if she could see right through him. Putting on his “court face,” he raised his eyebrows, silently demanding that she get to the point.
She sat on her own chair and laced her fingers together on top of the stack of papers, the expression in her eyes serious enough to boost his anxiety level. “Something happened with Kitty today.”
A burning sensation of dread invaded Jack’s stomach. The last time someone had said that phrase to him, he’d lost Gina. Kitty was all he had left now. She was the very best part of his life, and something had happened to her? No. Oh, please, God, no.
He wanted to lunge to his feet and demand an explanation, but he’d learned the hard way that excessive displays of emotion created problems rather than solving them. It took every bit of his willpower to remain seated, ignore the screaming in his head and unclench his jaw enough to speak. “Is she all right? What happened? Why didn’t you call me sooner?”
Despite his effort to hide it, his voice must have given his anxiety away. Ms. Walsh raised her hands, palms out, patting the air in a calming gesture. “It wasn’t that kind of an emergency, Mr. Granger. Kitty’s fine physically. Her emotional state is another matter.”
That was it? Ms. Walsh had made his whole world shudder and it was just this touchy-feely emotional crud again? He should have pretended he hadn’t received her message and stayed at work. But he was here now, and he knew Ms. Walsh would not let the issue rest until she’d gotten it out of her system. He might as well hear her out.
He leaned back in his chair, stretched his legs out in front of him and crossed one ankle over the other. “What’s wrong with Kitty’s emotional state?”
Ms. Walsh raised her chin as if she knew he wasn’t going to take her concerns seriously. “She’s still having problems here at school. We’ve discussed this before.”
Dizzy with relief and irritated at the same time, Jack repeated her standard lecture about his daughter. “Right. She’s too quiet and withdrawn, she doesn’t pay attention in class and I need to spend more time with her. I got all of that the last time I was here, and we’ve done every single thing you’ve said to do. What happened today?”
“We made Mother’s Day gifts.”
Anger roared through him, and he felt a muscle twitch on the side of his jaw. Damn, he should have remembered how close Mother’s Day was. But of all the insensitive stunts for a teacher to pull…. “And you’re surprised that caused a problem? For Pete’s sake, what did you expect?” he demanded. “Her mother is dead.”
Ms. Walsh’s cheeks flushed crimson and her eyes glinted with temper, but her voice remained commendably calm. “I’m aware of that. She’s not my only student who’s missing a parent. I always provide an alternative activity for children who are in that position, but Kitty chose to make the Mother’s Day gift.”
“She did?”
Ms. Walsh nodded. “She was quite insistent about it, in fact. And then—” an expression of deep sadness flitted across Ms. Walsh’s face “—then she tried to give it to me.”
Shocked by the thought of Kitty doing such a thing in the first place, and with her teacher of all people in the second, Jack sat back in his chair and stared at Ms. Walsh. “Did you accept it?”
“I didn’t think that was a good idea,” she said. “I told her she could save it for her grandmother or give it to you.”
“That’s what upset her?”
Ms. Walsh shook her head. “She didn’t get upset.”
Jack frowned. “You called me in here to tell me that you’re upset because Kitty didn’t get upset?”
Ms. Walsh nodded again.
“Why?” he asked, not at all sure he really wanted to hear the answer. Women had such a bizarre sense of logic sometimes, especially when they talked about emotions. Ms. Walsh rolled her eyes at the ceiling as if he were the dimwit, then held out her hands to him in some sort of a plea, the meaning of which eluded him.
Great. Now she’d start waving her hands around like a Shakespearean actor. God, somebody, anybody, please, save him from overly dramatic females.
“If Kitty had cried or acted out in some way, I could have comforted her,” she said, “or we could have talked about her feelings.”
He folded his arms over his chest. “This doesn’t make any sense.”
“It would if you had a heart,” Ms. Walsh grumbled under her breath.
“Excuse me, I didn’t hear that.” Of course he had heard the remark, but he wanted to see if she had the nerve to repeat it.
Exasperation entered her voice, faint but still detectable. “It wasn’t important.”
Obviously it was important to her, but he didn’t intend to prolong this conversation one instant longer than necessary. He probably wouldn’t understand the mumbo-jumbo, pop-psychology-ridden explanation she would throw at him, anyway. “I still don’t see the problem. What, exactly, did Kitty say?”
“She didn’t say anything. She just turned away, crumpled up her Mother’s Day gift and dropped it into the trash can.” Ms. Walsh sighed. “I’ve never seen a child look so miserable and resigned. Please, Mr. Granger, believe me when I tell you that Kitty needs professional help.”
Jack wanted to yell, but forced himself to speak softly. At least he knew that emotions belonged under wraps, not cluttering up an important conversation. “Don’t start that therapy nonsense again.” He thumped his