Kindergarten Baby: A Novel (14 page)

“Isn’t there a story about a bean hurting a queen?” whispered Harley, attempting to participate in the discussion.

“I think it was a pea…‌nut,” contributed Armando.

Bobby grinned slyly. “That’s right. It was a pee…‌and a poop!”

“Come and join me on the rug, on the rug,”
Lindsey sang quickly.
“It’s time to start our day. So we’ll have time to play. Come and join me on the rug, on the rug.”

The students went through all the morning’s instructional procedures: lunch count, calendar, attendance, and announcements, until it was finally time to view the cover of this week’s Fairy Tale Friday book. Lindsey walked to her closet to withdraw the book, taking her time. There was some whispering and some
shh-shh-ing
as she returned to the comfy chair near the white board. Slowly, she revealed the cover of the book. Hands shot up immediately, and she smiled. She’d taught them well.

“There’s a cat.”

“He’s got clothes on.”

“I see a fancy cat!”

“What makes it a ‘fancy cat’?” asked Lindsey.

“Well, he’s not just wearing clothes, he’s got on boots, a hat, and a thing round his neck,” answered Marvin.

Lindsey nudged their thinking a little deeper. “You said ‘he’s’ wearing boots. Are you sure the cat is a boy?”

Hands dropped, eyes glanced sideways.

“How many of you think the cat on the cover is a boy or male cat?” All the hands went up again. “Well, why do you think that?” Hands lowered, then Emma hesitantly lifted her hand again. “Yes, Emma?”

“I think it’s a boy cat because I’m pretty sure it is not a girl cat. This cat has on a hat, boots, and a scarf. A girl cat would also have on a dress or a skirt. This cat doesn’t even have pants on!”

Bobby’s hand shot up, but Lindsey pretended not to notice him. “Based upon the cover, what do you think the story might be about?”

“A talking cat.”

“A circus cat that does tricks.”

“A bad cat that lost its pants.”

The morning passed quickly, and now the teachers only had twenty-five minutes to eat and talk before the students returned. Laura watched and waited for Lindsey to fill her in on the Emmett situation but grew impatient. “So he’s staying—
sleeping
—at your house? You barely know the man!”

“I know it must look bad, but like I said, he’s a perfect gentleman. And it’s only for a couple of days. Until his apartment is ready.”

Laura narrowed her eyes, looking skeptical. “If he arrived at your door Friday night, then he’s already stayed more than a couple of days.”

“You’re being so negative, Laura. Give the guy a chance. I am. Besides, we both know that sometimes things don’t go as planned.” She lifted one eyebrow. “Especially on a weekend.”

“You’re right. That makes sense.” She grinned. “So how is he in bed?”

“Laura! I told you, he has been a perfect gentleman.”

“Not in my book,” Laura said, chuckling. “A perfect gentleman would kiss the back of my neck, the back of my knee…”

Lindsey smacked her friend lightly on the shoulder. “Stop! I know where you’re going.” She shook her head but couldn’t help smiling. She was glad to have any excuse to talk about Emmett.

The first Monday afternoon of every month was set aside for the school staff meeting, which was more like a “social” than a meeting. Today, talk and laughter could be heard in the school library as the staff shared holiday stories and classroom delights‌—‌or disasters. After about twenty minutes of socializing, Mrs. Wilson, the principal, clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention.

“Teachers, grab some snacks and take a seat please,” she requested. “Today we will explore the use of The Five-Step Writing Process as an instruction base for the teaching of writing. I think you’ll find it fascinating.” As the teachers selected their seating arrangements, the principal excused the other members of the staff, then approached Laura and Lindsey. “It looks like you ladies will have some free time today. I’ve looked over these materials and they wouldn’t be appropriate or helpful for Special Education students or kindergarten students. So we’ll see you in the morning.”

They watched her leave, both of them frowning. “Wow,” Laura said grinning oddly. “This is the first time we’ve gotten out of a meeting. I’m stunned. I don’t actually know how to react.”

Lindsey folded her arms across her chest, indignant. “Well, I do! I’m angry. It should be our call as to whether we learn new information. She’s not a writing expert, let alone a kinder expert. She only taught for three years before becoming a principal, and that was sixth grade social studies,” she complained. “It feels like a slap in the face. This is educational information, and I want to learn more about this methodology. I teach my students to write, albeit kindergarten writing.”

Since neither woman was in the mood for a confrontation, they walked back to Lindsey’s room to pack up. Laura broke the silence. “I’ve got it. Let’s stop by the Coyote Café for a cocktail on our way home.”

Lindsey’s expression was unimpressed. “It’s Monday,” she said flatly.

“So? It’s Monday. We’ll just have one drink to lessen our frustration, and—”

Lindsey interrupted. “And we can begin a discussion about creating our own writing program that uses some of this five-step stuff.”

“Ah, the old ‘turning lemons into lemonade’ adage,” said Laura with a mischievous lilt to her voice. “And perhaps we’ll run into my bartender friend while we’re there. Everything’s looking much better now, isn’t it? Coyote Café, here we come.”

“That would be good,” Lindsey admitted, “since you have only four days left to figure out his name.” She couldn’t help but visualize Laura’s nameless bartender as the infamous Rumpelstiltskin. Perhaps that story would appear as next week’s fairy tale.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Emmett had an interesting afternoon, with a couple of intriguing phone calls. He’d hesitated to answer the first one, but he gave in and picked it up, thinking it might be Lindsey.

“Sommerfield residence,” he said awkwardly. Silence. “Hello? Is anyone there?”

More silence, then a click as the caller hung up.

The phone rang again almost immediately. “Who is this?” the caller demanded.

“Who wants to know?” Emmett replied, matching his tone.

“Where’s Lindsey?”

Emmett stayed calm and cool. In control. “Again I have to ask, ‘Who wants to know?’”

The caller dropped his voice to a lower note. More threatening. “This is Lindsey’s husband. Who the hell are you?”

“Ah, yes,” Emmett said, feeling smug. He’d thought that’s who it was. “She did mention that her divorce was not quite final, but I should probably tell you that she never refers to you as her husband. Ex-husband, former husband, maybe, but never husband. Wonder what that means?”

“Where is she?”

“She had a staff meeting after school today. I’ll have her give you a call when she gets home,” Emmett offered. “Care to leave a number?”

“No. And…‌and don’t bother telling her I called. I’ll catch her another time,” stammered Anthony.

Feeling vaguely pleased, Emmett had returned to the living room shelves housing Lindsey’s home library. Then, it occurred to him that he might score a few more points with her if dinner was ready to eat when she arrived home from school. Emmett wasn’t a kitchen kind of guy, so he was pleased to find a Chinese Take-Out flyer stuck to the refrigerator, and several selections highlighted in yellow. He made the call, ordered the highlighted food, set two forks on the table, and waited for dinner to arrive as he searched the cupboards for a bottle of wine.

The phone rang again. “Sommerfield residence,” he said.

“Who is this?” asked a different, huskier male voice. “Oh, never mind. Don’t want to know.”

“Well, I do. Who are you?”

The caller sighed audibly, sounding annoyed. “Oh, if you must. This is Sean. An acquaintance. Just want to make sure that little Miss Linds knows what a bastard her husband is. The guy doesn’t give a damn about her. He’s living with the hottest dancer in town‌—‌and I don’t mean ballet.”

That had given Emmett something to think about…‌But two hours later, he had grown impatient. Where the hell was she? He’d found some wine and romantic music, then gone over and over the pivotal conversation he’d planned to have with her that night. The staff meeting should have been over by 4:30 at the latest, and she should have been home by 5:00. The clock on the mantle ticked away, reminding him that it was close to 7:00 p.m. and she hadn’t even called. The food was cold, and he was getting hot with anger.

The phone rang again when he was in the bathroom. Before he could get to it, the caller began to leave a message. “Me again, your informative pal, Sean. Lindsey, I thought you should know, in case you were hoping for a little alimony, that your soon-to-be-ex-husband will be closing his chiropractic practice in the near future. Apparently he has better things to do.”

Hearing the front door open, Emmett quickly erased the message. Nothing, absolutely
nothing
, would distract from the evening he had planned.

“You’re home,” he said with a smile, resisting the urge to bark,
“Where the hell have you been?”
That would have been counter-productive. He needed to be patient, do the right thing. Frustration turned to optimism when he saw she was in a great mood and happy to see him.

“Oh, look!” she said, beaming. “You’ve got dinner all ready for us. That is so nice of you!” She wiggled an admonishing finger when he reached for the bottle of wine. “And you can put that right back on the shelf where you found it. I won’t be needing it.”

He poured the wine anyway, and she picked up her glass and took a sip. She started talking, and he genuinely tried to listen to her ideas about incorporating a program of some sort into her kindergarten curriculum, but it meant nothing to him.

“How was your day, Emmett? Did you do much writing?”

Finally, the opening he’d been waiting for had arrived. Emmett reached across the table and took her hand in his, then he kissed her fingertips ever so lightly. “I had a terrific writing day,” he said smoothly. “I finished two of my Southwest articles and faxed them to the publisher. She loved them and said no revisions were necessary. I’m way ahead of schedule now, so‌—‌here comes the good part, Lindsey‌—‌I’ve been promoted to Senior Travel Writer.”

“Congratulations!”

“Thanks. Well, my next assignment is on the island of Saint Barthelemy, which is more commonly called St. Bart’s. I want to take you with me, Linds, spend Spring Break on the island. What do you say?”

She looked puzzled for a moment, intently chewing a mouthful of food as if she were thinking about his proposal. Then she said, “We’re eating my favorite Chinese food from my favorite Chinese restaurant. Did the delivery boy say anything?”

He blinked, caught off guard. He scratched his head. “Well, let me think. She said something like, ‘that will be twenty-two seventy-five.’ Then, ‘have a good evening.’”

“That’s it? That’s all he said?”

Emmett stared at her. What was this about?
“She
said. Yes, I believe so. Why would she want to say more to me?”

“Oh,” Lindsey replied weakly. She hesitated, then she smiled at him again. “What were your articles about? You never did tell me. Do you think about using ‘voice’ in your articles? Or do travel writers not have that same kind of ‘voice’ I’ve read about? If you do use it, do you use your own all the time, or do you…”

She was rambling again.
Oh, hell. This has got to stop
, thought Emmett. Apparently she’d been telling the truth earlier: she really didn’t need any more wine. She was a lot more relaxed than he’d hoped she’d be. Emmett cleared away all evidence of their dinner, made some hot coffee, and began again where he’d left off‌—‌at the fingertip kissing. He had to get her back to thinking about the trip to St. Bart’s.

This time she stayed with his train of thought and stared wide-eyed when he showed her brochures of lavish places to stay and restaurants to try.

“There is one catch, Lindsey,” he said. “You’ll have to do some work.” She looked momentarily concerned, but he gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Your assignment is to take these brochures and decide where we should stay. There are cottages, villas, or hotels. Then you can begin perusing the restaurants and pick your top three favorites.” He rubbed the back of his neck, trying not to show his excitement. “Oh, wait, there’s one more assignment I almost forgot. Besides playing at the beach‌—‌that’s a given‌—‌I’ll need you to prioritize the following activities: general sightseeing, sailing, scuba diving, jet skis, spas, fitness centers, and shopping. Feel free to add anything else you can think of.”

She stared at him, her eyes bright. “Oh my. This seems too good to be true.” She narrowed those same eyes. “And it seems too expensive to be possible.”

He lifted one eyebrow. “That sounds like the safe and conservative teacher talking,” he said with a chuckle. “Well, to put your mind at ease, you should know that except for your portion of the airfare‌—‌which I insist on paying‌—‌the rest will be picked up by my publisher.”

She stared at him, blinking hard, and he held his breath. Sometimes she was hard to read. At least she hadn’t said no yet.

“Oh, Emmett,” she finally said. “I feel like the luckiest girl in the world!”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Tension between Anthony and Shawna mounted. After Christmas, Anthony’s chiropractic office was busier than he’d ever experienced, probably due to the fact that everyone had managed to injure themselves in the name of fun during the holiday time off. Plus, a lot of adults had made New Year’s resolutions to be healthier and take better care of themselves‌—‌a resolution he’d seen made and broken far too often. Consequently, he spent extra hours at the office and came home more exhausted than ever before.

Shawna had been somewhat successful at keeping him from talking about Lindsey; she wanted no part of his ex-wife’s memory in their home. She’d also managed to prevent him from thinking about leaving her due to her odd, night-owl lifestyle, at least for the time being. Between the long hours at work and extra attention paid to him at home in the evenings, the relationship managed to creep forward.