Winter Hopes (Seasons of Love) (19 page)

“Sorry, sweetie,” Jane said. “Welcome back to real life. And hey, the truth is, this is just a bump in the road. It’s nothing you can’t handle.”

“I know.” Lydia nodded. “I know. Thanks. Hey, before I forget, you need to tell me what you want me to make for Thanksgiving.”

“I don’t know yet. Probably just a dessert.” Jane shrugged. “I’m having it mostly catered this year. Cooking for twenty-two people? No thank you. Especially with Mom and Dad coming up for the weekend. I don’t need to hear their complaints about my cooking.”

“Well, instead of them complaining about
your
cooking, they can complain about the
caterers’
cooking,” Lydia said dryly.

“Exactly,” Jane replied. “Hey, have you told them about Sam yet?”

“No, no, no,” Lydia said. “I haven’t really told anyone about him. Just you and Tracey. And, of course, Melanie, Donna, and
Kathryn know, but they were all there when I met him, so… other than that, I’m not telling people about him unless things get… serious.”

Jane chuckled. “Unless they
get
serious? You and Sam talk every day, he’s coming out to see you again so you can spend another
weekend holed up in a fancy hotel having multiple rounds of incredible sex—
if you don’t classify yourselves as ‘serious’, what would you
consider yourselves right now?”

“Extremely interested,” Lydia said, laughing.

“Mm-hmm. Fine,” Jane laughed along with her sister. “Call it
what you want. But he sure sounds like a boyfriend to me.”

“I’m going to be thirty-seven in a month,” Lydia said. “I’m too old to have a ‘boyfriend’. What a weird word.”

“What are you going to call him, then?” Jane asked. “Your
occasional
companion? Your post-marital fling? Your fuck buddy? How
romantic.”

“I don’t have to call him anything yet,” Lydia said, completely amused.

“I’ll call him your… screwdriver, then,” Jane joked. “Or my tool of choice. ‘Hey Lyddie, how’s your drill doing? How’s your hammer treating you?’ That’ll be our secret code in front of Mom and Dad on Thanksgiving.”

The two women dissolved into giggles.

***

Sam clicked through the descriptions of the New York City hotels. He wasn’t quite sure what he was looking for, he just knew
he wanted
to stay somewhere different this visit. He wanted to explore a different part of the city with Lydia, see different things than the last
time, create different memories. He yawned and rubbed his eyes, which felt tired and vaguely achy again, along with the accompanying dull throb in his head. It was happening more often lately. Too much time on the computer, probably.

He looked back at the monitor. It seemed a bit off, definitely
blurry. He glanced at the time, and saw it was after ten o’clock. “Jesus,” he muttered. He picked up the phone and dialed.

“Hello,” Lydia said, her voice a warm caress.

“Hi. You sound as tired as I am,” Sam said. “But it’s good to
hear your voice.”

“Actually, I was getting ready to go to bed,” she told him. “And if you’re tired, you should too.”

“I know, I know. I got caught up online and only just realized
how late it was. I wanted to call before it got too late, to catch you before you went to sleep. Glad I did.”

“Yes, you did. And I'm glad you did too.” He heard a click as she turned off her bedside lamp. “I’m climbing into bed now. How
are you?”

“Really tired, actually,” Sam said. “Long day. I didn’t leave work until about eight-thirty.”

“Ugh! Why so late?”

Sam stretched his arms over his head as he explained, “Because
we have this huge presentation due for a major client, three days
after I
get back from seeing you. So number one, I want to get as much finished as I possibly can before I leave for New York, so that
number two, when I’m there, I can just totally concentrate on you.”

“Ahh, gotcha. Well, good luck with it. Did you go to the gym today?”

“No way. I got home, had some dinner, and I’ve just been decompressing. Vegging out, surfing the Web. Looking at hotels for
when
I come out to see you, getting ideas for things to do. But my eyes hurt, and I have a headache… ugh, I’m bitching like an old lady.
Awful. Sorry.”

“No, you’re not. You should just go to sleep,” she instructed him in a soothing voice. “Take two Tylenol, drink a tall glass of water,
turn off the computer, and go to bed, young man.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sam said. Grinning, he added mischievously,
“After all, I’ve always been told to respect my elders.”

“Jerk,” she laughed. “I’m not even two years older than you, I’m hardly your elder. I’m not even a cougar where you’re concerned.”

“I know, I know,” he laughed back. “You’re in safe, respectable territory. Hey, speaking of that—you have a birthday coming up, don’t you?”

“Couple of weeks,” she said. “December eleventh.”

“I thought so.” He computed quickly. “That’s a Friday, right?”

“I think so, actually. Why?”

“Because… maybe I could come out again that weekend?” he
asked. “I’d love to take you out for your birthday. Treat you like a queen for a day, as you should be.”

He felt her hesitation, but she responded with pleasure, “That’s very sweet of you to say.”

“Well, I said it because I’d like to
do
it,” Sam replied. “Do you have plans?”

“Not yet, not really,” Lydia said. “I’ll probably just have dinner at my sister’s house or something.”

“Maybe I could tag along. Or, maybe she could watch Andy and let me take you somewhere special. I’m not trying to put you on the spot—think about it, and let me know.”

“I don’t have to think about it,” she said quietly. “I’d love to
spend
my birthday with you. It sounds lovely. I was prepared to just ignore
it.”

Sam grinned as he stretched out on his couch and said, “Well, I won’t ignore it, so I certainly won’t let you either. I’ll take off that
day
and fly out, come out to you in time for dinner. That weekend,
instead of staying in the city, I’ll stay at a hotel near you, on Long Island. And we’ll celebrate your birthday together. It’s a date.”

“Okay then. That sounds lovely. It’s a date.” She paused, then
said softly, “Thanks for wanting to do that. It’s… it’s really
thoughtful. You’re sweet.”

He smiled, feeling a little pang hit his heart. “You don’t have to
thank me for thinking about you. I do it a lot.”

A sound like a little laugh floated over the phone. “That’s good to know.” He could sense she was smiling. “Well, I’m in bed already. Just got all comfy cozy. I’m tired too. Say something sweet before I hang up so we can both go to sleep.”

“That one’s too easy,” Sam said in a velvety voice. “I wish I was right there next to you.”

Lydia purred back, “Awww. Good one. Me too.”

THE DOORBELL RANG
and Lydia’s insides tensed. She knew how the upcoming conversation would likely go, and had been dreading it all morning. Her stomach already churning, she watched Andy fly across the living room to the door, and followed him to open it.

“Dada!!” Andy screeched, flinging himself into his father’s arms.

“Hey buddy,” Matt smiled, obviously warmed by his son’s enthusiastic welcome. He scooped Andy up into his arms to kiss his
cheek. “How ya doin’? You ready to come have a sleepover at my house?”

“Yah, yah!” Andy squealed, bouncing in his father’s embrace.

“Great. Me too. Go get your suitcase, okay little man?” Matt said as he set him down.

Andy took off like a shot for his room.

“Can you come in for a minute?” Lydia asked Matt. “I need to talk to you.”

Matt’s posture got rigid, but he said coolly, “Yeah, sure.” Lydia closed the door behind him after he ambled into the living room. He turned back to face her, shoved his hands into the pockets of his brown bomber jacket, and asked, “What’s up?”

“Um…” Lydia crossed her arms over her chest. “Andy’s going to be switching schools, and I wanted to let you know what’s going on.”

Matt’s eyes narrowed. “What’s going on?" he repeated. "Did something happen? Why is he switching schools? And why am I
only hearing about it now if it’s already a done deal?”

“Because I had nothing to tell you until something definite had
been pushed through,” Lydia said, trying to stay calm. “Do you
want to sit down?”

“No, I just want you to tell me what’s going on,” Matt said angrily.

Lydia sighed.
Here we go…
“Andy has had several incidents at his preschool since he started in September, basically due to
frustration over his inability to be understood by others.”

“Incidents?” Matt repeated. “As in more than one? Because I know he threw a chair that one time, back in September—”

“He did it again last week,” Lydia said quietly. “They called me immediately.”

Matt glared at her. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I’m trying to tell you
now
,” she said. “The teachers and the directors of his preschool called me in for a meeting the very next
day, where they basically said they didn’t feel equipped to handle someone with a
speech deficit like Andy’s. Between that, and the outbursts—they basically consider him to have behavioral issues now—they all felt
he may need a more structured environment. Yesterday I had a meeting with the CPSE chairperson for the school district…” Lydia went on
to explain what the meeting was about, and how it had gone, while Andy ran in silly, oblivious circles around their feet. Matt stood
glowering, shaking his head at her in disdain.

“He’s going
where
?” Matt hissed when he heard the final
decision that had been made.

“It’s called the Academy for Special Children,” Lydia said calmly, determined to keep her cool. “It’s right over in Lynbrook,
only ten
minutes away. He’ll get speech therapy every single day. And occupational therapy too, since they think it may help him. I’ll have
to bring him to
Jane’s early in the morning, and a bus will come for him, then bring him back to Jane’s house. She'll definitely be there to take him off the
bus, since he'll make it home before I will, so we figured that was best.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Matt sputtered, running his hands through
his light brown hair in exasperation. “A special school? A special needs school? What exactly does that mean?”

“It means it’s for children with disabilities, of all levels. News flash, Matt: our son has special needs. The speech delay isn’t
improving, and it’s affecting him behaviorally.”

Matt’s pale blue eyes flashed as he snapped, “He is not autistic. He is not retarded. He doesn’t belong in a place like that.”

Lydia’s lips curled in a small, condescending smirk. “How did I know that would be exactly the kind of ignorant thing you would say?”

“Don’t patronize me,” he snarled. “You drop a bomb like this on me, and you expect me to smile about it? You didn’t even consult me about any of this—”

“I didn’t have to,” she said, her tone turning to steel. She’d had
it. “I make all the final decisions where Andy’s well-being is
involved, and that includes his education. Just like I did when you and I were
married, living under the same roof. You never gave input. You didn’t really care.
I
always did the research, the work, went to the
meetings,
met with the therapists, made the decisions. So really, what’s
changed? Nothing. Not a damn thing. You’re really going to get on me for this
now? I'm doing what's best for our son, as I always have. That’s
really all you need to know.”

Matt's gaze turned deadly. “I can fight this. I can still change things.”

Lydia’s stomach churned uneasily, but she kept her tone cool as she said, “I don’t want to fight with you. I don’t. This school really will be the best thing for Andy, and that’s all I care about. It should be all you care about too.” She saw the glint of wrath in his eyes and it unnerved her. She swallowed back the sudden lump in her throat.
“I’d like you to try to hear me out, but I have to tell you, the
decision’s already been made. He starts at ASC the Monday after Thanksgiving weekend. By the time you drag me into court and we duke it out, the school year will be over. So can you just try to listen to me? And stop threatening me and berating me in front of our son?”

Matt glanced down at Andy, who was now stretched out on the
floor and quietly playing with his stuffed Elmo doll. When Matt looked
back up at Lydia, his expression was pure fury. But he muttered through clenched teeth, “Go on.”

“Andy, honey?” Lydia cooed to the boy. “Why don’t you go play in your room for a minute? Mommy needs to talk to Daddy.
Grownup stuff. Just give us a minute, okay sweetheart?”

“Yah,” Andy said. “Yah yah yah.” He got up and dragged his Elmo down the hall.

Lydia waited until she saw her son go into his bedroom, then turned her attention back to her ex-husband. “We should not be
talking about this stuff, or fighting, in front of him. We shouldn’t have had
any
of this conversation—“

“Fine. I got that. Now go on.” Matt’s voice was dripping with
anger; he was coiled and seemed ready to spring.

“He needs help that a regular school isn’t equipped to give him at this point,” Lydia said quietly, slowly. “This could be what makes
a difference for him, a real difference. It’s either that, or keep him
home
until kindergarten, Matt, because the preschool doesn’t want him there anymore. They’re afraid he’s going to hurt someone, or even himself. Do you want that to happen? Don’t you want him to have
every opportunity that’s made available to him?”