The Brain and The Beauty. Betsy Eliot
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not thinking about helping you with Robbie,” he pointed out.
She ignored his point, and continued with her own. “I read an article about when you were eight years old. You had just won a ‘War of the Brains’ competition against people twice your age.”
He remembered the day well. The reporters, the doubting professors, all wanting a look at the freak of nature.
She shook her head. “I couldn’t even understand the question they asked you.”
“Physics isn’t an easy subject.”
“Especially for an eight-year-old.”
He thought he caught a glimpse of sympathy in her eyes.
“I would think it would be difficult to be put on display like that at such a young age.”
“It was fine.” If you considered it fine to be a lab rat.
“I haven’t subjected Robbie to any of that kind of publicity. I’ve tried to keep him out of the public eye as much as possible.”
He could commend her for that, at least. Allowing privacy to be one’s self had been one of the principles his school had been founded on. “So you understand the need for solitude?” As long, he thought, as it didn’t conflict with her own desires.
“Of course,” she agreed. “Especially since others might get the wrong idea about someone with your abilities.”
“The wrong idea?”
“They might find it strange, even weird, I suppose.”
“Is that right?” he managed to say, the rein on his temper straining. “And what about you, Abby? What do you think about me?”
She’d been intently watching his proceedings, but now she looked away, appearing faintly embarrassed. “I haven’t decided yet.”
Her actions and words declared otherwise. She looked at him and saw the freak, the mutant. Her next comment confirmed it.
“I would think that someone who’s lived through the kind of experiences you have would want to give something back instead of just wasting that knowledge.”
Control snapped like the leash on a monster. He dropped the spoon which sank beneath the mixture and ripped the goggles from his eyes to stare at her. “What do you know about it? You couldn’t understand what it’s like!”
She didn’t jump back. Or run screaming from his home. Instead she looked straight at him for the first time since they’d entered the house. He saw satisfaction, not revulsion, in those startling eyes.
“That’s exactly my point,” she said. “How could I? My childhood was filled with dolls and dress-up, not mathematic calculations. It’s impossible for me to understand what it’s like for my son—or for you. That’s why I need your help.”
It took an amazingly long time for Jeremy to realize he’d been conned. She’d been leading him to this conclusion all along. He had to respect the ingenuity. It was a sign of gifted intelligence to look at problems with originality and resourcefulness. Perhaps her son wasn’t as different from her as she thought.
Because she was beginning to intrigue him, he filled his voice with firmness and finality. “I can’t help you.”
To his amazement, she looked shocked at his answer, as if she’d really expected him to change his mind. “Can’t or won’t?” she challenged.
“Can’t and won’t. I can suggest someone, a counselor,” he said when she finally took a breath. “Maybe the two of you can see him together.”
“I don’t want a counselor,” she insisted. “I want you.”
Even knowing what she meant, her words lanced through him. “You don’t understand what you’re asking. Didn’t you hear that I eat small children for breakfast?”
“That’s not what some of your former students said.”
He couldn’t believe it. She’d shocked him again. “You contacted my students? What right do you have to…?”
“The rights of a mother. Do you think I would come all this way if I hadn’t checked you out? My son’s future is at stake!”
“Look, let’s get this thing settled once and for all. I am not going to teach your son or any other child.”
Abby frowned and Jeremy wondered if he had finally gotten through to her.
“I didn’t ask you to,” she responded. “I want you to teach me.”
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