The Teacher
Authors: Meg Gray
THE
TEACHER
Written
by Meg Gray
Meg
Gray Edition 2013
All
rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner
whatsoever without prior written permission of the author/publisher; except in
the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
All
characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author
and have no relation to anyone bearing the same name or names. Any resemblance
to individuals known or unknown to the author are purely coincidental.
Publisher
Meg Gray
For
my husband, Trevor. Where would I be without you?
Acknowledgements
First,
I would like to thank my husband, Trevor, for his continuous love and
encouragement and my children for their unending inspiration and unconditional
love. I would especially like to thank my first readers, Trevor, Patricia,
Corrinne and Courtney. Your words of wisdom helped shape this story into what
it is today. And finally, the E-Z Writers, especially Mary, for their
thoughtful critiques and support through the publishing process.
Marcus Lewis reached for the doorknob of
his penthouse condo when a high-pitched feral scream emanated from the kitchen.
His heart lurched. He dropped his briefcase and spun on his heel. The staccato
beat of his clipped footsteps echoed on the black slate floor as he raced to
find his son.
In front of the stove, the newest nanny
stood with a pot set to boil. Her black rimmed eyes, as large as saucers,
stared at his screaming child.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Marcus
demanded, flipping off the gas burner to extinguish the flame. “I told you to
never
turn the stove on.”
“No you didn’t,” she said, shaking her
head, her long black ponytail shimmied with the movement.
“Yes I did,” he fired back. He knew he
told her. He told everyone that had cared for his son in the last three years.
How could anyone, even this nineteen-year-old college flunky, not remember that
one simple rule?
“No you didn’t,” she protested again,
but he wasn’t about to get into a
Yes I did
,
No you didn’t
fight
with this nanny-girl. He could feel the anger swell inside him as he leveled
her with his eyes and watched her squirm under his penetrating gaze.
“Whatever,” she said. Marcus saw the way
she rolled her eyes when she turned to pull the pot from the stove and that
pissed him off even more. “It won’t happen again,” she said, pouring the water
into the sink.
“Damn right it won’t happen again,” he
told her. “Because you’re fired.”
“What?” she asked, whipping around to
look at him. Marcus couldn’t hear the word over the clatter of the pot in the
sink, but he could read it hanging there on her purple painted lips.
“You’re fired,” he said again. She held
his gaze. Marcus clenched his jaw and wondered if he would have to repeat
himself. The finality of his words must have sunk in and she dropped her eyes
to the floor.
“Whatever.” A disgusted sigh and another
roll of the eyes followed the word. She headed for the door. Marcus let out a
sigh of his own when he heard the door close behind her. Only then did he turn
his attention to his son, whose cries had turned to muffled sobs.
Hunched over in his chair at the bar,
Brayden’s chin quivered as he stared down at the empty bowl in front of him. He
wiped his nose with the back of his hand.
“Let’s go,” Marcus said and picked up Brayden.
He carried him to the bedroom and sat him on the perfectly made bed with the
baseball comforter. Brayden made no attempt to help as Marcus struggled against
his limp feet with his sneakers.
“Time to go to school Bray,” Marcus said
when the sneakers were finally on and tied in double knots. He pulled Brayden
by the hand and checked the time on the wall clock.
“I don’t wanna go,” Brayden said,
planting his feet and pulling against his father.
“Too bad,” Marcus said, potato sacking
his son over his shoulder. He grabbed the coat and backpack laid out at the
foot of the bed.
“I’m not going,” Brayden cried, kicking
his feet.
Marcus didn’t waste words arguing. Instead,
he grabbed his briefcase and let the door slam shut.
Marcus went for the stairwell. He’d
suffered enough glares and stares in the elevator from other tenants to know,
he should use the stairs when Brayden was having a meltdown. At the bottom of
the five flights, he pushed open the door to the parking garage.
Marcus couldn’t help but wonder if he’d
been too quick to fire the nanny this morning as he carried his crying child
through the garage. Perhaps the nanny’s error wasn’t as terrible as it
initially seemed. Perhaps she wouldn’t let it happen again like she’d promised.
She’d survived the last two days without much incident. Maybe he should have at
least let her get Brayden off to school today because now he was going to be
late for work…again.
As Marcus wavered about his decision, Brayden’s
scream and the terror reflected in his small crystal blue eyes came rushing
back. No, he made the right decision. That girl was as incompetent as all the
others he’d hired and fired from that nanny agency since they moved to
Portland. He would call this afternoon and see if they had any nannies without
a memory loss problem.
Marcus found his black Mercedes and
wrestled Brayden into his booster seat. The front passenger seat bucked as
Brayden’s kicking feet made contact with it. Marcus levered it forward after securing
Brayden’s buckles. Walking around the car, he slid into the driver’s seat and
started the engine. Beethoven’s Symphony No. 5 streamed through the speakers
and Marcus cranked the volume to drown out Brayden’s wails. He exited the
parking garage, turning in the opposite direction of his office, and headed toward
the elementary school he enrolled Brayden in yesterday.
In the school parking lot, they created
a scene as Marcus extracted Brayden from the backseat. He dragged his son into
the two-story brick school building and passed under a large banner reading
“Welcome Back Fitzpatrick Panthers.” Other parents and children stared at him.
He found the kindergarten classroom as
his cell phone rang, undoubtedly someone from the firm calling to tell him he was
late. He reached into his pocket and silenced the ring. When he looked up, a
young woman stood in front of him staring like a deer caught in the headlights.
“Hi, I’m Ms. Hewitt,” she said, stepping
forward.
Marcus nodded and pulled Brayden out in
front of him. “This is Brayden.”
“Hi Brayden,” she said, bending down to
meet Brayden at eye level.
The damn cell phone shrieked from inside
his pocket again. Marcus dropped Brayden’s hand and backpack before he turned
away from the classroom. He checked the number on his phone. It was the office.
He rushed out to his car and sped away from the school, ignoring the signs that
said
fines double in school zone.
He was late, he hated being late and
he hated being reminded he was late.
“Damn it,”
he cursed, slapping his
palm on the steering wheel as he pushed through the downtown traffic. He wasn’t
supposed to be the one taking Brayden to school or the one hiring and firing
the nanny, or even choosing the school for Brayden to attend. It was supposed
to be Vanessa’s job. She was supposed to be the one walking with Brayden
holding his hand, her long blond hair smoothed flat and flawless, wearing
whatever fashion was trending now, bright red lips smiling and eyes full of
life. Brayden was supposed to skip happily into his classroom at Seattle’s
premiere private school, the same one he and Vanessa had attended.
None of that was happening. Vanessa had
been gone for three years and Marcus left Seattle at the first opportunity he
got to transfer out of state. He’d needed to escape—to go where he wouldn’t
look for her face in the crowds or glance over his shoulder thinking she was
right behind him.
Marcus was trying to be a good father.
He enrolled Brayden in preschool at the best private school in Portland last
year, Portland Private Academy, but the headmaster kicked him out before the
first week was over. The same thing happened at the next school and the next.
Even when Marcus offered to pay double the tuition, no one would keep Brayden.
Two days ago, Brayden was kicked out of his fourth private school. All day yesterday,
Marcus was on the phone trying to find another school with an opening. There were
none. As a last resort, he enrolled Brayden in public school. It was a decision
he knew his parents would never support—if they ever found out.
Since becoming a single father, his
parents met every decision he made with scrutiny. He had always done what was
expected of him from the colleges he attended to the profession he pursued and
the woman he married. The path had been simple to follow until the unexpected
happened and Marcus’s world crumbled. He was trying to navigate through the
ruins of his life, but his compass was broken. The sudden changes and decisions
he needed to make were difficult.
He was doing the best he could, but
Brayden didn’t make things easy. Teacher after teacher and nanny after nanny
called Brayden a bad kid, impossible to handle, and unfit for a classroom.
Brayden had always been difficult, even
as an infant. The doctors thought he had colic, crying all the time and wanting
to be held, but it didn’t pass after the initial three months.
Marcus could remember waking in the
middle of the night to Brayden’s cries from the nursery. Unable to rouse
Vanessa he would throw on his robe and shuffle in to pick up the baby. After a diaper
change and bottle, Marcus sat in the glider rocker with Brayden over his
shoulder, listening to his tiny baby coos and petite burps. When he put his son
back down in the crib, Brayden would cry, flail his fists, and pull his knees up
to his stomach. So, night after night during Brayden’s first year, Marcus fell
asleep in that rocking chair holding his son.
That felt like a lifetime ago.
The traffic light ahead turned yellow.
Marcus pressed down on the accelerator. He glided through the intersection and turned
into the parking garage. His tires squealed. The sound echoed off the concrete walls.
He whipped the car into a narrow space and came to an abrupt halt as he cut the
engine. He grabbed his briefcase and leapt from the car.
In the elevator, he glanced at his Swiss
made watch and wished the hands were wrong. He was ten minutes late. The
elevator sounded at the eighteenth floor and he stepped off. He opened the
doors to the Lewis and Sons Law Firm with a jerk. Gretta, with her cardigan
draped over her slender shoulders, greeted him.
“Good morning, Mr. Lewis, they’re
waiting…”
“I know,” Marcus clipped impatiently and
continued on his fast-paced walk to the conference room. He sucked in a deep
breath and blew it out before he pushed the heavy wood-paneled door open.
“My apologies,” he said as he breezed
into the conference room and flashed a grin. “First day of kindergarten for my
son.”
A series of nods trickled around the
table from the other partners as if they understood the difficulties Marcus
faced this morning. But they didn’t. How could they, when all of them had
nannies or spouses to field those responsibilities?
None
of them knew what Marcus battled this morning, least of all his father who
glared at him on the large teleconference screen at the front of the room.
* * *
As the day went on Marcus got back into
his groove. He dove head first into his work and barely came up for air. After
the meeting with the partners this morning, he reviewed his associates’ due
diligence summaries and sent them back with a lot of red ink.
His client, The Brooks Family
Corporation, was interested in buying a substantial parcel of land to build a
new luxury hotel. Neither of his associates mentioned the location of the
proposed hotel or any environmental issues that may arise. An amateur mistake,
but completely unacceptable.
The need to analyze every detail was
critical. Once the ground broke for construction, the federal and state agencies
would be all over them. A waterway of America ran along the edge of the
property, which needed special consideration. There was no room for error in
this multi-million dollar acquisition.
Marcus took comfort in his work. He was
good at it, aligning the details of a deal and following procedures. The black
and white world of corporate law was his refuge from the obscure landscape of
the rest of his life.
The events of this morning felt miles
away as he sat at his desk and reviewed loan documents. He was marking them up
when a knock sounded at his door.
“Come in,” he said, dropping his pen.
Gretta entered with a pink message slip
in her hand. She didn’t say anything, just put the note in front of him and
walked out.
Ms. Hewitt
,
he read at the top in Gretta’s impeccable penmanship.
Marcus wasn’t surprised. Teachers always
called about Brayden and the messages were always the same;
Brayden wasn’t
following directions. Brayden didn’t participate in the class activity today.
Brayden hit someone. Brayden broke something. Brayden kicked the music teacher.
Come pick up your son.
Marcus checked his watch. At least the
teacher didn’t call until the end of the day so, whatever the infraction, it
couldn’t be that bad. Gretta would have inquired about the urgency of the
message. He trained her to do this early on, so his work wasn’t continuously
interrupted with phone calls. With nothing but a phone number listed Marcus
dismissed the message entirely.
The shredder ripped the paper to bits as
Marcus fed it into the slot. Right now, he couldn’t worry about Brayden’s
teacher. He had work to do and because he fired the nanny-girl this morning, he
would be the one picking Brayden up from the afterschool program at six.
