Kindergarten Baby: A Novel (26 page)

Laura reiterated data from Willy’s progress reports and kindergarten testing results including the DIBELS data. He fell into the “At High Risk” or “Falling Far Below” categories in every area of school academic performance. The mother agreed with that information, saying she wasn’t surprised. Then she put the blame squarely on his teacher, Ms. Lindsey.

“He hates school,” Miss Waters said with a shrug. “He doesn’t even want to come. We begin every day arguing, because first he won’t get up, then he won’t eat, then he won’t go out the door. Everything is a struggle. If you would make school more interesting and fun‌—‌get him to
like
school‌—‌we wouldn’t have this problem.”

Lindsey tried not to take this attack personally, but she couldn’t help feeling defensive. She bit back her natural reaction. “I am sorry that you both go through such a difficult ritual every day. Of course we want Willy to like school. Most children love school, especially during the primary grades. I assure you, the students in my class have a joyful day every day. Tell me, Miss Waters‌—‌can I call you Maggie?” After receiving the hoped for nod of approval, Lindsey continued. “How does bedtime work at your house?”

Miss Waters rolled her eyes. “Oh, that’s even worse. He won’t brush his teeth, he won’t wash his face, he won’t even lie in his bed. I have to wait till he falls asleep on the couch or on the floor, then I pick him up and put him in his bed.” She dropped her head into her hands. “It’s awful.
Everything
is awful,” she said with frustration.

Moving on, the school psychologist explained the Stanford-Binet Intelligence Scale had been used to acquire a clearer picture of Willy’s needs. “These assessments measure a child’s intellectual strengths and weaknesses, and they also give information about their abilities as compared to other children of the same age. Other areas like processing speeds and working memory are measured, too. We have some good news in this area, Miss Waters. Willy’s IQ score, though below the average range of scores, does fall into the Low Average range, with a score of 86,” stated the psychologist.

Moving on to Behavioral/Emotional Ratings, all team members contributed data from their observations and checklists before the psychologist helped Maggie understand what the various T-scores represented, then she summed up the findings. Every team member gave specific examples where aggression, rule breaking, anxiety, or social skill deficits had adverse affects on Willy’s educational performance. Maggie nodded throughout as her eyes welled up with tears.

Lindsey leaned over and gave her a tissue and a gentle hug. “We have a plan to help him. That’s the last part of today’s meeting. I think you will feel better after we put the plan into place,” she said kindly.

“Willy qualified for Exceptional Education Services due to his Specific Learning Disability in Reading (SLD) as well as his Emotional Disability (ED),” Laura explained. “The team recommends that he remain in his current general education classroom with Lindsey for the rest of this school year, receiving pull-out services with me every day for forty-five minutes.”

Miss Maggie Waters left the meeting with a stack of papers and a bewildered expression on her young face. It would take time to comprehend all she had heard today, and Lindsey certainly didn’t envy her.

“Snack time,” Laura announced.

The next meeting was due to start in twelve minutes, and everyone needed to regain strength before Bobby’s meeting began. Lindsey brought bottled water for everyone, to add to Laura’s cookies. But snack time went on a lot longer than planned because Bobby’s mom and grandmother were now twenty minutes late. Lindsey called their house and received no answer. Maybe they were on their way. The team waited half hour before they agreed that the pair was going to be a “no show.”

“That’s odd,” said Laura. “I just spoke to the grandmother this morning, and she said they would be here. Was Bobby at school today, Linds?”

“Oh, he was here all right, whining and fussing and complaining about everything from the floor being too hard to the lights being too bright. I couldn’t get him to sit down or sit still all day. He had one of his worst days ever.”

***

After a lengthy discussion concerning their dining options, Lindsey and Martin decided on a casual, western restaurant located in Old Town where the wait staff dressed as cowboys and cowgirls, and the bar employees appeared as saloon gals. It was a far cry from romantic, but the mood was festive and family-friendly, and Lindsey had been craving something upbeat and happy.

Martin ordered the largest steak on the menu for himself and the petite version for Lindsey. She hadn’t had red meat in a long time, but now that she was here with Martin, she decided it was time for a change. The steak was delicious. At the first available respite from all the cutting, chewing, and drink sipping, she became aware of him reaching for her hand, but they were interrupted by a group of waiters singing a raucous version of Happy Birthday at the table directly behind them. Martin joined in, singing along and clapping at the end.

Their next opportunity to physically connect arrived when they were seated in a dark movie theater, watching previews. That’s when he took her hand in his, brought it to his lips, and planted tender kisses on her palm.

His kisses left Lindsey surprised and a little confused. Just the week before, after their visit to the Sonora Desert Museum, he had kissed her for the first time, and she’d felt nothing‌—‌no, worse than nothing. They’d been standing just inside the doorway saying their goodbyes, and he’d brushed a gentle kiss across her forehead, then kissed the tip of her nose, and finally found her lips. She was ready. She wanted his mouth on hers. But it was like nothing she’d ever experienced before. It was like…‌like…‌kissing cardboard. This light touch on her palm was completely different. What had changed? Last week it had been cardboard, and this week tiny, hopeful tingles of heat sparked all through her body.

After the movie ended and the house lights went up, Martin walked her to her car, just as he’d done on their two previous dates. But tonight her car wouldn’t start. He lifted the hood and stared at the engine as Lindsey turned the ignition key over and over. No luck. He hooked up the jumper cables in her trunk to the battery in his rental car. Nothing.

“Well, I suppose I’ll have to drive you home.”

She shrugged. “I guess you will,” she agreed, not knowing what else to do. “It’s not far. Just a couple of miles.”

Other than Lindsey’s directions, letting him know where to turn, they drove in silence. She couldn’t stop wondering what he was thinking.

“Here we are,” she said, getting ready to open the car door and jump out.

He held up a hand. “Hang on there. Don’t think for a minute that I’ll let you open that door when you’re in a car with me, and then let you walk yourself to the front door of your home this late at night. That’s my job, and you’d better let me do it,” he said, and though he sounded as if he were teasing, she had a feeling he meant it.

She blushed. “Oh, I’m sorry. It’s been so long since anyone did those things for me. Yes, please open my door…” She hesitated. “Uh, make that doors. I would love that.”

“Doors? Plural?”

“Uh-huh. Both doors: the car door and my front door. And agree to come in for a drink before you head back to your hotel,” she said, letting her guard down. After all, what could happen with Wendell and Malcolm there as her ever-present‌—‌though sometimes annoying‌—‌chaperones?

“I should warn you,” she said, “that a one hundred and sixty pound mastiff is right behind that door, waiting to greet us.”

Martin frowned. “Does he bite?”

“Only if I tell him to,” Lindsey said with a grin, knowing Wendell probably would never hurt a fly. “Mastiffs are very protective of their castles and their women, you know.”

“I see,” Martin replied. His eyes opened wide when she opened the door. Wendell stood in the middle of it, wagging his tail madly. “Whoa,” he said. “He
is
big. I hope he likes me.” He looked around appreciatively. “Your home is very attractive. I don’t often compliment architecture and designs, but you’ve done a good job decorating this small space. It feels cozy but not cramped, light and airy, but not too girly.”

“Thank you,” she said, feeling somewhat proud. After all, he was an expert on these things. She placed two wine glasses and a bottle of merlot on the coffee table, and Martin poured. “Would you like a tour?”

“Absolutely.”

She grinned. “It won’t take very long. Bring your wine.”

Lindsey led him through the kitchen and out to the backyard where her winter garden was winding down and her spring plants were just beginning to sprout. Even though it was too dark for him to take in the full effect of her garden, she could tell he was impressed. She turned on the lights in the downstairs bathroom, guest bedroom, and makeshift home office to offer a quick peek. Nothing too special there. She hadn’t gotten around to adding the “Lindsey touch” to those rooms yet. She was excited to show off the master bedroom and bath, because she’d spent a fair amount of time, effort, and money creating a modern, eclectic, yet southwestern space. She was thankful she’d given the area a thorough scrub and polish after her slumber party with Laura. That might have been difficult to explain.

When they stepped into the room, Martin took Lindsey’s wine glass from her and placed it on the nightstand along with his. He took both of her hands and kissed them just before he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close enough that their bodies touched from top to bottom. With his fingers he pushed her hair back from her face and held it all in a ponytail behind her head exposing the usually hidden part of her neck. Then he bent down and placed a kiss there. Heading just a bit lower, and after a subtle movement of fabric, he kissed her shoulder.

Oh my God,
thought Lindsey.
What am I doing?
She’d only known him for a few weeks, and his first and only kiss on her lips had been nothing. Nothing! No flames, no flutters. But now…‌was she simply just horny? Or was it something more? It had been over seven months since Anthony had left her, and it’d been slightly longer than that since the last time she’d had sex. Now that was all she could think about.

Martin held her face, gazed straight into her eyes with a faraway look, then kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her eyelids, and nibbled at her ears, distracting her from any additional thoughts. She quivered at the sweetness of his kisses, knowing she was lonely and horny, and knowing right then and there that she would give in. Martin knew it, too.

He lifted her easily, his strong arms curling around her as if she were weightless, and gently eased her onto the king-sized bed and began helping her out of her clothes, though he left her pretty blue silk bra and panties in place. Lindsey was relieved she wasn’t wearing the plain, unmatching cotton underwear she usually had on. She sat up and helped unbutton his shirt, but he took charge of his pants. For one brief moment Lindsey silently giggled, thinking
this adds a whole new meaning to the phrase ‘Cowboy up!’
In spite of his size‌—‌everything about Martin was large‌—‌his manner and technique were both arousing and soothing.

Their lovemaking was good. Nothing out of the ordinary, but good, nice. Nothing he did made Lindsey uncomfortable, and she appreciated that. Only one aspect of his lovemaking was new to her: he wore a condom. She appreciated that, too, but made a mental note to purchase some lubricant in case there was a next time. Afterward, her body melted against his, and‌—‌for now, at least‌—‌she felt safe and at peace. She drifted off to sleep in the strong arms of a good man.

When she opened her eyes, she was surprised to see that it was nine o’clock in the morning, and Martin was gone. He’d left a note on the pillow.

Dearest Lindsey,
Thank you for a great evening. You are an incredible woman in every way.
I’m taking care of your car. Hope you don’t mind. It will be in your driveway by the time you need to drive
to
work Monday morning. Enjoy your Sunday at home.
I will call you the next time I’m scheduled to be in Tucson. I have only one favor to ask. Do you think you might be able to call me “Marty” now?
- Marty

Lindsey was well aware of her limited experience with men, but even so, she knew Martin wasn’t a typical date. It wasn’t that he was complex‌—‌he wasn’t‌—‌but he was different somehow. She spent the better part of Sunday trying to figure him out. He was good looking, he seemed intelligent, he had a very good career that included creativity‌—‌a definite plus in her mind‌—‌he helped his mother and brother, and he treated Lindsey as if she were special. She liked all of that. On paper he was perfect. She’d been comfortable with him in bed, though it had been their first time. That surprised her, even shocked her. But there had been no flames, no heat. Her heart didn’t skip any beats.

“Maybe true love takes longer to blossom.” she mused. After all, what did she have as a comparison? Her husband, who had run off and left her for a stripper? Emmett, who had used her, lied to her, and stolen money from her? Besides, she and Emmett had never made love. Maybe she wouldn’t have felt anything with him, either. She’d give this relationship more time. Martin was so…‌nice.

He was also true to his word. Her car was in the driveway when she looked out her window early Monday morning.

“What a good man,” she repeated, smiling to herself as she loaded her book bags, purse, snacks for the students, and some props for their desert performance into the back seat. The car was so clean and shiny it practically glowed. It had not only been repaired, it had been washed, waxed, and vacuumed‌—‌the works. Then she saw a little something extra. On the passenger seat sat a box supporting a beautiful arrangement of red roses. The card read:
Please set these on your desk at school and think of me. Marty
.

“Oh, my,” she said out loud. “I could get used to this.”