Friday's Child (3 page)

Michael raked his hand through his shaggy brown hair. “I cut it myself last week,” he said, just to watch Derek cringe.

“That's another thing a wife could do for you. Take over your grooming. And—” he gave Michael's attire a considering look “—maybe lay your clothes out in the morning.”

“I've been dressing myself for years.”

“I've never doubted it.”

Michael's eyes narrowed. “Besides, that's not a wife you're describing, it's my mother. And I like her exactly where she is. A hundred miles from here.” Derek and Bernie would be no one's idea of experts on the topic of marriage. At least he'd had some experience with it, if only the experience of failing. He didn't have the time or the inclination for dating these days, much less marriage. But there were times when he'd struggle with an aspect of parenting and wish he had another person to talk things over with. It would be a relief to have someone with whom he could discuss the unsettling visit he'd just had with Chloe's teacher. Although his relationship with Deanna was carefully cordial, he hated to bring up anything that might have her changing her mind once again about custody.

Derek shrugged. Unaware of Michael's flagging attention, he inquired, “Have you had any news from the lawyer on the acquisition of the microchip company yet?”

Michael shook his head. Right now, everything dimmed in importance compared to his concern for Chloe. The NASA
contract, the computer bug and the takeover bid had just become secondary.

Michael Friday didn't tolerate complications in his life, he eliminated them. Chloe's teacher had just become a major complication.

Before he could get back to business, he had to eliminate Katherine Rose.

K
ate stood in the doorway of her classroom, monitoring her students' return from recess. Smiling, she stooped down and helped one youngster unknot a shoelace. She motioned for the last straggler to finish putting his shoes on in the room and closed the door behind him. The phone on her desk was ringing, so she flicked the lights once as a warning to the noisy first-graders before crossing the room to answer it.

“Kate.” The voice of her principal, Carol Bleakney, sounded in her ears. “Are you free after school today?”

Kate looked at her daily planner. “No, I have a level meeting at three-fifteen.”

“You'll have to postpone it,” Carol said. “Mr. Friday has called and requested a meeting at three o'clock. I told him I thought it would be a good idea for the two of us to speak and then for the counselor, the nurse and you to join us to continue the discussion on Chloe.”

Kate sighed. The slight throbbing in her temples signaled a return of the full-blown headache she'd had when she'd left Mr. Friday's office yesterday. After the way things had ended
in that conference, the upcoming meeting wasn't entirely unexpected. “Well, I did warn you,” she said half-jokingly.

“I'm sure now that Mr. Friday's had a chance to think about it, he'll be in a much calmer frame of mind,” Carol said optimistically. “See you at three-fifteen.”

Kate replaced the receiver, her gaze sweeping her first-grade class. Most of the youngsters had returned to their seats when she'd blinked the lights and were talking quietly. Two boys glanced at her, noted her gaze on them and slipped quickly into their chairs. That left one blond-haired pixie still on her feet, skipping across the back of the classroom.

“I appreciate the way most of you went to your seats while I was on the phone,” she said in a quiet voice. “When you do that, you are a big help to me, and it shows that you know how to follow the classroom rules we set at the beginning of the year.”

Twenty-four first-grade faces beamed up at her words. “I know how to follow classroom rules, Miss Rose.” Chloe quickly took her seat, smiling winningly.

An unwilling smile tugged at Kate's lips. It was absolutely impossible not to respond to Chloe. She was amazingly engaging; amazing, because in light of the meeting Kate had had with Michael Friday yesterday, she definitely didn't take after her father.

The uncharitable thought was satisfying, even if not strictly true. Although there was nothing about Chloe's father to suggest where she got her tiny build and long blond hair, she did have his hazel eyes and that grin that could charm a snake out of its skin. It was just that show of charm yesterday that had had Kate's mouth drying out and prickles of awareness scampering down her spine. He radiated high-voltage magnetism, a simmering vault of energy waiting to erupt.

The force of his personality had been almost as daunting as his show of temper. Regardless of his mood, the man had presence. It reached out and commanded respect, forcing people to respond to him. He'd seemed to take up more than his share of space. His legs, propped up on the desk the way they had been at her arrival, had resembled sturdy oaks. His shoul
ders were massive, shown to perfection in the casual shirt he'd worn. He could never be described as handsome; his features had too many angles, his hazel regard beneath the sun-streaked brown hair was too piercing. But there was definitely something compelling about him. He'd been near irresistible when he'd been teasing. But the abundant charm had disappeared abruptly once he'd started listening to what Kate had to say. When his mood had altered, he'd become downright formidable.

The Beltway Raider.
She'd heard the title his secretary had tossed at him, and it had struck a chord of recognition. Although she didn't follow the financial news, it was all too easy to understand how Michael Friday had acquired the nickname. He exuded power and control. It was equally obvious that he was a man used to wielding that power to bend others to his will.

The knowledge had her spine stiffening. Unfortunately for him, she had a lifetime of experience dealing with his personality type. She was used to holding her own, and no man would ever again be allowed to intimidate her. But there had been no denying that quick burst of wariness that had tempered her earlier, equally involuntary reaction. It was immensely gratifying to blame him for both responses.

“Everyone needs to take their science notebook out of their desks,” she said, reining in her thoughts with effort. “Today we're going to the science table, and each of you will draw a picture to record how much your bean plants have grown since last week.”

Chloe catapulted out of her desk toward the science table, eliciting a tumble of several other bodies wanting to be first. Kate waited until all the children were at the table and then said firmly, “Now each of you who didn't walk to the table will need to go to your desk and walk properly to the back of the room.” Her gaze swept the group, lingering on the guilty parties. Five children did as she requested and rejoined the group at a much more sedate pace.

Chloe grinned up at her teacher, her mood not dimmed in the slightest by needing reminders twice in the last five
minutes. She danced impatiently from one foot to the next as she listened to Kate's instructions, but managed to stay in one spot until her teacher had finished.

As the first-graders worked on the assignment she'd given, Kate walked around giving help where needed and encouraging others. As she did so, her mind wandered again to the upcoming meeting. Mr. Friday had lost no time carrying through on his threat to go to her principal. But Carol was a fair-minded administrator who favored a problem-solving model that included all parties. If he'd thought that he would have a free arena to complain about his child's teacher, he would be disappointed. Not, she grimaced to herself, that she relished having to undergo yet again his disapproving glare and biting tone, this time in front of her peers.

She looked around the table with a practiced eye, mentally tallying small bodies and coming up one short.

“Chloe?” She turned her head even as she heard the water in the classroom sink being turned on. Hurrying across the room, she was met with splatters of mud.

Stepping back, Kate let out a long breath. “Chloe,” she said calmly but firmly, “turn the water off
now.
”

Obediently the little girl reached over, turned off the faucet and faced her teacher.

Kate struggled to keep a serious expression on her face, clamping down on her quivering bottom lip. Chloe looked up at her innocently. Dots of mud speckled her face, hair, neck and arms and hadn't spared her pink top. A drop balanced on the tip of her turned-up nose, threatening to slide down at her first movement.

“My bean plant was dry so I gave it a drink.”

Glancing at the plant, which was currently swimming in a sea of muddy water, Kate nodded. “I see that. But what did I ask you to do?”

Chloe chewed on a muddy lip, then, grimacing at the taste, scrubbed the back of her hand across her mouth. Her gaze dropped. “Measure my plant,” she mumbled.

“That's right. Did you follow my direction?”

The little girl shook her head, her voice woeful. “No, Miss Rose.”

Kate reached for some paper towels, expertly wet them and started cleaning the little girl up. “So now we have a mess in the sink and a mess on you.”

Chloe's eyes began to sparkle mirthfully. “You have a mess on you, too, Miss Rose. Right here.” She pointed a grubby finger at her teacher's face.

Kate looked at the mirror hanging over the sink. Chloe was right. Two splatters of dirt marred one cheek. She wiped them off and then brushed at the matching spots on the front of her jumper before returning to her student. Casting a glance at the surrounding countertops and walls, she stifled a sigh. She was going to have a major cleanup job, one that would have to wait until after her meeting with Mr. Friday.

Once Chloe had been returned to a semblance of her formerly tidy self, Kate disposed of the paper towels and reached for the little girl's plant. Pouring out the excess water, she handed the pot to Chloe. “Get your measuring stick and join the others at the table,” she instructed.

Chloe looked at the plant, which was bent over dispiritedly. “I don't think it's gonna stand up to be measured.”

Kate surveyed the plant and then her student. Chloe was looking at her hopefully. “Bring me a new pencil and the thread from the supply drawer.” With Chloe and a few interested students looking on, Kate stuck the pencil in the dirt next to the plant, then tied thread around the two. When she finished, she set the plant in front of Chloe, who enthusiastically began measuring it.

Her gaze sneaked to the clock. Less than an hour to finish the activities she had planned for the afternoon. Her stomach tightened as she remembered. Less than an hour before she faced Michael Friday again. She hoped the upcoming meeting wouldn't give rise to another lecture from Carol. She'd spoken with Kate twice before to caution her against getting too involved in her students' lives. It was fine to preach objectivity and distance, Kate mused as she bent down to soothe a little boy growing frustrated with his slippery plant, but much
harder to practice it. At least for her. She knew from bitter experience what it was like to grow up in a home where love and acceptance weren't given freely. She'd never believe that it was wrong for her to fight for them on behalf of her students.

 

Michael rose courteously to greet each of the newcomers as they entered the conference room near the office. After fifteen minutes of talking to the principal, it was easy to tell that Chloe's teacher had the woman's respect. He sank back into his seat after being introduced to the school nurse.

He was surrounded by women at the table, a situation he would ordinarily enjoy. He'd grown up in a household headed by a single mother and was totally at ease around women. He enjoyed everything about them—their smell, their softness, their fascinating female rituals. It was odd that the one thing he missed most from his marriage to Deanna was watching her get ready to go out for the evening. He stifled a sigh. Derek was right. He
was
as domesticated as a lapdog.

The door opened inwardly again, and this time Kate filled it. His stomach muscles tightened reflexively. Rising, he held out his hand, conscious of the softness of hers as he met it briefly. He waited for her to sit before he followed suit. Today her curly hair was caught in a low ponytail, allowing her hair to drape around her ears without letting any tendrils free. It was long, hanging to the middle of her back, and too close to the fantasy he'd had about her yesterday for comfort. She was wearing another jumper, plaid this time, with large pockets, and dark tights. The outfit made her look like a schoolgirl herself, especially with the smear of dirt across her chest.

“Sorry I'm late.” Her voice was just as he remembered it, its cadence soft with the rounded vowels of a native Virginian, slightly husky. “I had bus duty right after school.”

“Well, let's get started then,” Carol said briskly. “I've had an opportunity to discuss Mr. Friday's concerns with him for a few minutes before the rest of you were free.”

Michael removed his attention from Kate's chest with effort. “I don't have
concerns.
” He stressed the last word iron
ically. “I'm damn mad.” He paused, but his words didn't elicit any reaction from the group except polite interest. “It seems to me, Mrs. Bleakney, that your teachers are more concerned with trying to force conformity on the students than with encouraging originality.”

“The concerns I shared with you yesterday, Mr. Friday, were not about Chloe's lack of conformity,” Kate responded, “although I do expect some level of uniform behavior from the students. There are certain behaviors that are necessary in order for our school to be a safe environment where children can learn. But my main concern about Chloe is that she cannot adequately monitor her own behavior to the extent needed for her to learn at the same pace as others.

“Mr. Friday—” Kate leaned forward, her expression sincere “—Chloe is a sweet-natured, creative little girl. She has many friends and is truly a joy to teach. But I worry about her. Her activity level is a problem, but with careful manipulation of the environment, her needs can be met in the classroom. Her distractibility is more troublesome. She simply isn't capable of maintaining her attention long enough to complete a task.”

His brows lowered. “She's excitable, I know that. But that doesn't mean something's wrong with her, for Pete's sake. I can't believe she's all that different from the other kids you teach.”

“I believe what Kate is saying is that it's the degree and frequency of Chloe's behaviors that make her stand out from the others.” An older lady was speaking. The counselor? The nurse? Michael couldn't remember. “We are not doctors here, Mr. Friday. But hyperactivity, distractibility and a short attention span are symptoms of Attention Deficit Disorder. We could clear up our questions about Chloe if you would agree to take her to her pediatrician for an evaluation.”

Michael stared hard at the woman who was speaking. He focused on the last word of the ominous-sounding name.
Disorder.
They were asking him to believe that something was wrong with Chloe. That she was abnormal in some respect. He shook his head disbelievingly, swinging his gaze from one
somber expression to another. They had to be kidding. Chloe was the light of his life, the most precious thing in it, and so sweet and good he frequently wondered how he'd ever gotten so lucky.

“I can see it was useless to come here.” He addressed the principal in a tight voice. “It's obvious that I made a poor choice when I selected your school for Chloe. If your employees can't accept their students as individuals—”