Her Special Charm (11 page)

The children and their parents began arriving around nine. The carnival was to take place at noon. There was a lot to do and she lost no time in reorganizing everyone, seeing to it that they had the proper directions and tools to make their stands. The sound of hammering was deafening.

It was a good sound.

 

The cacophony of metal meeting wood was audible a couple of blocks away, which was where he was forced to park his car. He hoped it would still be there by the time he left. James wasn't naive enough to think that police plates secured his car's safety. If anything, it was probably like waving a red flag at the bad guys, but he had no choice in the matter.

As he walked onto the schoolyard, he noticed the grounds resembled a woodworking shop that had exploded. He'd never seen so much hammering before. He looked around for Constance, telling himself that if he didn't find her in the first five minutes, he was leaving. Waiting made him edgy.

There had to be at least twenty adults here and twice that number in children. He wasn't needed here.

And then he saw her.

A feeling made her look up. And see him. Sunshine sneaked out from behind the locked door and drenched everything in golden rays. She smiled at him. She had nothing else to offer.

Resigned to his fate, James crossed to her, circumventing a pair of twins who gave the impression that they'd been eating nothing but sugar for the last two weeks. They were fairly bouncing off each other.

“Hi,” he called out. He noticed that a big man, his muscles bulging out from beneath his short-sleeved shirt, eyed him. Her bodyguard? he wondered. “So where do you want me?”

An answer sprang to her lips, but she thought better than to say it out loud. There were children around. And it might scare off James. God knew it was doing a number on her right now. So instead, she asked, “How are you with hammer and nails?”

“I can use one to hit the other.”

“Good answer. There'll be some wood involved as well. See if you can get that worked in between.”

She began leading him over to a workplace where they were going to set up the ring toss when he caught her by the arm to get her attention. She looked at him quizzically, not knowing what to expect.

“Who's the big man?”

“That's Mr. Ho. Alphonso,” she said. “He's the assistant principal.”

“He looks more like a bodyguard.”

“That, too. He didn't think it was safe to have me come out here by myself to start setting up.”

James was well acquainted with the area. The immediate schoolyard looked amazingly pristine, but less than a half a block away, graffiti littered the walls of buildings, declaring that the property belonged to the local gang no matter who paid the taxes on it.

He inclined his head toward the big man, grateful someone was looking after this woman. “He's right.”

“People look out for me,” she told him. “I'm safe.” She picked up a folder from the lemonade table and paged through the papers until she found the directions. “Okay, I know most men shun them, but these are the directions for building the ring-toss stand.”

He looked down at the pile of wood. “Is that what this is supposed to be?”

She grinned. “Can't you see it?”

“I don't have any imagination until after I've had a few beers,” he told her dryly.

“I find that hard to believe.”

She was standing too close again. And even though she wasn't wearing those damn shorts that were his undoing, her jeans accentuated her curves. And made his mind wander. He struggled to find something bland to discuss.

“How long has this ‘annual' carnival been going on?”

There was one hammer left in the toolbox. Since Alphonso was supervising and keeping watch over them, he would have no need for it. She presented the hammer to James. “Three years.”

He'd taken note of the way everyone deferred to her. She was definitely the heart of this thing. “And who came up with it in the first place?”

Taking credit for something had never seemed very important to her. “Everyone thought it was a good idea, after a while.”

He wanted to pin her down. “But it was yours to begin with, wasn't it?”

Constance shrugged carelessly. “It doesn't matter who came up with it first. All that matters is if it's a good idea or not.”

What kind of a person was she? He knew people who made it a point to get credit for every small thing they did. Credit was important to them.

But obviously not to Constance.

Someone called to her and she promised to be back. He allowed himself a moment to watch her walk away, then got down to business.

 

In no time at all, James had worked up a sweat. Given the temperature and the fact that the humidity was ten degrees higher, it didn't come as a surprise to him. His T-shirt was soaked through. Without thinking, he stripped it off and hung it from his back pocket before he picked up his hammer again.

Less than ten minutes later, Constance came by, bearing a T-shirt on her arm. She held it out to him.

“I brought you an official John Jay Elementary shirt. Extra-large, right?”

Her eyes swept over him. She tried not to let it faze
her. The man had an incredible build, which was not all that evident when he was wearing a shirt. Now she'd never be able to think of him any other way.

It would only become as soaked as the one hanging from his back pocket. “Why would I want to put that on?”

Taking the hammer from him, she pressed the shirt into his hands. “In the interest of team spirit and riot prevention.”

His eyes narrowed as he accepted the shirt. “Riot prevention?”

She nodded, dead serious. “If you don't do something to cover up those rippling muscles of yours, I don't know if I can guarantee your safety much longer. I'm not sure Alphonso can, either. In case you haven't noticed—” she nodded around the schoolyard “—you're being hungrily eyed by at least a dozen mothers, not all of whom are divorced. If you don't want to risk being spirited away by a zealous mother with an overactive imagination, I strongly urge you to put this on.”

He took it from her. “What about you?”

“I already have a John Jay T-shirt on,” she said innocently, indicating the T-shirt that was fitting her snugly.

“No, I mean—” What was he doing, buying trouble? Fishing for a response from her? He didn't want responses. He wanted to be left alone, he reminded himself.

She placed her hand on his wrist, her eyes on his, and murmured a soft, firm reply. “If you're asking if your
rippling muscles have sent my imagination into overtime, the answer is most definitely yes.”

As he got back to work, he had no idea why he couldn't get the grin off his face.

W
hen he first walked onto the school yard, James had had no intention of remaining longer than an hour. Less if possible. Though less turned out to be a word Constance was not acquainted with.

As he stood hammering together his second wooden stand, it occurred to James ever since he'd met Constance that nothing had turned out quite the way he'd thought it would.

And she wasn't his only problem. She'd brought along her own reinforcements in the form of her students. By the time she had him working on the second stand, a large number of her class had arrived. She had the students convinced that half the fun of the carnival
was in helping set it up. He had more willing hands around him to help than he knew what to do with.

As far back as he could remember, he'd kept his interactions with people to a minimum, especially off the job. And especially with those who only managed to come up to a little past his belt buckle. But if he felt out of his depth surrounded by short people, none of the students gave any indication that they noticed or shared his feeling.

The next time she came around to see how things were going, she was pleased to find James hadn't surrendered his tools to another parent, hadn't called it a day and disappeared without a word to her. He was still working, supervising a little boy who was beaming as he drove a nail into a board with James guiding his small hand.

This was what she was after, getting both James and the children to a place where there was give and take. She knew the children were more than willing and it was their willingness she was counting on to guide James. Just as he was guiding Billy's hand right now.

“I see your personal assistants have mushroomed in number.”

The look he gave her silently asked for rescue. “Doesn't anyone else need any help?” he tactfully suggested. He had to watch his swings in order not to accidentally bump against any of his “helpers.”

She merely smiled at him and shook her head. “Not as much as you do, apparently.” Her glance swept over the kids on either side of him. There were six right now,
and she was willing to bet there would be more before too long. “Make sure you help Detective Munro any way you can.”

A chorus of “Yes, Ms. B.,” rose up from either side of him. James shot her a look that said he'd get even with her. The sound of her laugh as she walked away rippled through his belly.

 

It took a while, but everything was finally set up. Where a few short hours ago there had been nothing but concrete surrounding the forty-five-year-old school bound by a chain-link fence, now there were colorful stands for games and contests, things to help feed a child's imagination. Over to one side were stands covered with bright vinyl tablecloths and littered with sandwiches and desserts. Any of it could be purchased for just pennies.

James was by no means a mathematician, but it didn't take an accountant to know that if you sold something for pennies that cost dollars, you weren't exactly making a profit. It seemed to him that the real aim here was to make sure everyone had a good time and left the premises happy, and with a full stomach.

He insisted on putting five dollars into the coffee can for a ham-and-cheese sandwich whose price was set at fifty cents.

“The bread costs more than fifty cents,” he commented to Constance. She produced a napkin for him as she sipped on a diet soda she'd bought from the same stand. “Donations?” James guessed, nodding toward
the swiftly dwindling food supply that had been more than ample when they'd begun.

“Yes.”

Something in her voice made him look at her. When he did, he had his answer. “You paid for all this, didn't you?”

Constance didn't answer immediately. Taking another sip, she smiled that same enigmatic smile she'd flashed at him earlier and replied, “Getting paid back more than I put in, James, more than I put in.”

And then, because of his skeptical look, she gestured around at the school yard. There seemed to be as many students on the premises now as there were during the week. That alone seemed incredible to him. And they seemed happy to be here.

“Just look at them, James. They're having fun.” He tried to focus on what she was saying and not on the fact that she threaded her arms through his as she spoke. And caused his heart rate to speed up faster now than when he was building the stands. “Not joining up gangs or getting into trouble, they're having good, clean fun,” she emphasized. “Being kids. Being exactly the age they're supposed to be and not trying to impress some local tough guy so they can get into a gang.”

“And what are you?” he asked, brushing aside a strand of hair from her shoulder. “Their fairy godmother?”

Her eyes seemed to shine as she considered the thought. “Hey, if the wings fit…” And then her smile slipped into something a little more serious and he knew
she was speaking from the heart. “No, I'm just the one who's lucky enough to be here in order to try to help, to turn them around. Maybe to save a few of them from what they'd been raised to believe was inevitable. A destiny that would see them into an early grave.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder, tossing aside the somber mood as well. “Can't think of a greater high than that.”

And then, after uttering the words, she pressed her lips together, her eyes on his.

He had a feeling something was coming. He just didn't know what, or how to brace himself. He'd built everything she'd asked for, what else was there?

“Speaking of high—” He saw her eyes search his face. Was she trying to see if he was open for anything? Maybe he was at that, he thought, vaguely wondering if she'd slipped something into the sandwich's so-called secret sauce. “I was wondering if I could get you to talk to my class about the dangers of drugs.”

The blow came out of the blue and he wasn't prepared for it. It brought with it a suitcase full of emotions he hadn't dealt with in a long time. Wasn't prepared to deal with now.

His voice was flat as he said, “Your school already has a D.A.R.E. program.”

“Yes I know, but this would be personal for them.” Her voice took on momentum, like a spring breeze shaking magnolia blossoms off the trees. “Just my class. There are a couple of boys whose older brothers—”

Finished eating, he balled up his napkin and shoved it into his pocket. “No.”

He'd cut her off so sharply, so firmly, she almost felt as if she'd been physically pushed away. Rather than back off, the way she knew he expected her to, she kept her arms through his and tugged him aside until they were behind the school building.

“What did I say?” she asked him quietly.

“Your short-term memory giving you trouble?” He couldn't help the sarcasm. Right now, it was all he could do to hold himself together. Memories of Tommy, of the way he'd found his brother in the bathroom they'd shared, came vividly rushing back to him. He struggled to shut them away.

“There was a look that came into your eyes just then, like you were wounded.” Because she'd seen that same look staring back at her from her mirror when her mother had finally passed away after a long illness, Constance made a guess. “Who died, James?” she asked.

His face hardened. He didn't want her prying into his life like this. She had no right to stir things up, to make him remember things. To make him feel.

“Lots of people die,” he bit off coldly. “Every day.”

He made her think of a dog someone had taken a stick to, a mistreated animal that trusted no one. She wasn't about to leave him in pain like that. “Who died that was close to you?”

“Why are you pushing your way into my life, Constance? Why do you have to know everything?”

“Not everything,” she said simply, “just what hurts you.”

He stared at her, unable to understand. His own parents had backed away from him, never taking the time to even know a single thing about him. He was nothing to the woman standing before him. Why was she so interested in him? “Are you for real?”

The smile was soft, coaxing. He felt some of his tension leaving even as he tried to make it stay, tried to use it as a barrier between them.

“The hospital that issued my birth certificate seems to think so. James, you need to talk about this, to purge whatever is tormenting you this way.”

“More than you?”

“More than me,” she replied, dead serious.

He blew out a breath and looked away from her. Looked back into the past. It had been, what, eleven years ago now? Damn, had that much time gone by? Where had it gone to? He couldn't remember.

“My brother,” he finally said in response to her earlier question. “My brother died of a drug overdose.” His mouth felt dry as a bone. “I was the one who found him. On the bathroom floor. He had a smile on his face. Like he'd finally found an answer to all his problems.”

James paused, getting hold of himself. Aware that she was still holding his arm. Tethering him to this world she was trying to create. Where people were good and cared about one another. A world that didn't exist, except in her mind.

“I didn't see it coming. Maybe I didn't want to see
it coming.” He shrugged carelessly. Lost. “Whatever excuse I fed myself, I didn't stop him. Didn't save him.”

He sounded so alone. She wanted to hold him, to make his pain go away. “We can't save everyone,” she told him softly.

He was incredulous as her words penetrated his pain. “That's funny, coming from you. You can't leave anything alone.”

She lifted one slender shoulder, then let it drop. “My mother accused me once of being an overachiever. Maybe I am. I figure if I try hard enough, I'll be able to get to a few.”

Which explained what she was doing as a teacher, but not what she was doing meddling in his life. Messing with his mind.

“So why are you crowding me?” he challenged. “Why aren't you just running around, saving them?” He nodded toward the school yard. “In case you haven't noticed, I'm not twelve and I'm not in any danger of joining some street gang.”

“No, you're in danger of becoming part of a different kind of gang,” she pointed out, undeterred. “It's the legion of the walking wounded. The walking dead.”

Dead, that was the best way to describe how he felt inside. He'd been dead for a very long time. Until she'd come along and started an exhumation process.

“Look, why don't you try to save someone you can?”

Her eyes never left his face. “I am.”

He didn't know whether to walk away from her as fast
as he could or sweep her into his arms and kiss her, draining her of all the life-affirming essence she could spare.

He did neither. Before he could respond at all, two of her students materialized from around the corner. The taller of the two, a boy with skin as dark as a cup of hot cocoa, looked at his friend with a superior air. “See, I told you they went here.”

The other boy, smaller but wider, ignored his friend. Instead, his attention was centered on James. “Can you pitch?” he asked without any preamble.

Caught off guard, James replied truthfully, “Yeah.” He'd played a fair share of baseball while in high school. There was a time when he had even considered trying his hand at it professionally. Even on the third-string minors, he could have earned enough money to provide for Tommy and himself and gotten them the hell away from their parents. That had been his goal. Until that awful morning he'd found Tommy's lifeless body.

“Good. Just the guy we're looking for.” Without any further elaboration, the shorter of the two boys, Justin, took him by the arm and began to lead him to a stand that offered prizes for hitting the bull's-eye three times with a softball.

James looked over his shoulder at Constance, who spread her hands wide.

“Don't look at me,” she told him, a grin splitting her face, “I can't pitch to save my life.”

He sincerely doubted that.

 

For once, neither his pager nor his cell phone went off the entire day. The one time James would have welcomed the interruption, there was none. His day off remained his day off. And he was forced to remain because every time he so much as thought of leaving, another one of Constance's students would show up directly in his path with another entreaty, another question. Or just to hang in his shadow.

“I'm going to be a cop someday, too, you know. Like you. I thought I'd learn the moves now,” another one of the boys told him.

“It takes more than moves,” he told the boy, who looked at him with eyes that were older than they had a right to be.

“Yeah, I know.”

James was convinced that Constance had set some kind of a relay system in motion, with scouts watching him for any signs of retreat.

And so, something he'd set out only to devote an hour to, if that much, wound up stretching into an all-day affair.

He wanted to mind. But he didn't.

 

The carnival was over by four. The school yard cleared out within a half hour after that, leaving a ghost town of empty stands as evidence of earlier activities.

James knew he should just slip away, now that the getting was good. But he found himself coming over to Constance. He had no other conclusion to draw except
that he had to be a glutton for punishment. “I suppose you need help breaking all this down.”

She stopped surveying the area and looked at him. She was left with five volunteers. More willing hands would be better. And if they belonged to a strong, handsome police detective who sent her pulse into double time, so much the better.

“It would be nice.”

He wished she'd stop pushing him into a niche he didn't fit into. “I don't do ‘nice.'” Constance cocked her head, watching him intently. By now, he'd stopped pretending he could ignore her. “What are you doing?”

“Waiting for your nose to grow—” she slid her fingertip over it “—because that's a lie and you know it. You do ‘nice' very well.”