need to fetch Cassidy before she thinks I’ve forgotten her.” Maggie carefully slid by Jared, grabbed a coat from on top of a student’s desk and hurried toward the exit. “I’ll get going and let you have your time.”
“See if you can find me something like the first one we looked at,” Beth called.
Jared didn’t say anything, just held open the door so Maggie could exit gracefully.
“I really am sorry,” Beth said. “Time got away from me. And I do need to talk with you.”
Jared folded himself into the small orange chair Maggie’d just vacated. A fragrance that didn’t belong to five-year-olds or their teacher lingered—that jasmine smell again. He waited while Beth went to her desk and rummaged through a stack of papers.
Jared did his best not to hurry her. Unfortunately, the seconds ticked on and Jared started imagining all the suggestions she had for him. She probably wanted him to work with Caleb more. Jared got that, and would love suggestions, especially when it came to time management and incentives.
He stared at a bulletin board with a group of Christmas trees, stickers acting as ornaments, all bearing the names of Caleb’s classmates.
Caleb’s ornament read C-A-B. The B looked ready to fall down. Jared’s youngest son hadn’t bothered with the L or the E.
“Caleb behaving? I’ve asked him every day since Monday. He claims his light’s been green.”
Jared understood the traffic light system. Green meant Go, everything good. Yellow meant Pause, we need to think about this day and perhaps discuss how it could have been a bit better. Red meant no television, or no video games, or no LEGO bricks, depending on which kid decided not to obey the rules.
Beth didn’t answer, but finally found whatever she was looking for and came to sit down with Jared. She laid a few papers in front of him. “Caleb is trying very hard to behave but he complains a lot about his stomach hurting. He asks to go to the bathroom often.”
“He does that at home, too,” Jared admitted.
“Behavior is not why I called.”
She took a breath, and suddenly Jared got worried.
“It’s still very early,” Beth said softly, “and maybe if I hadn’t been around since Caleb was born, I’d wait. But, the music and PE teacher have both come to me with concerns, also. Jared, it’s not that he’s misbehaving, but he’s having trouble focusing, not just your typical trouble, either. Caleb can’t wait his turn, he bursts out with answers and he’s unable to sit long enough to complete a single paper.”
For a moment, Jared had trouble wrapping his mind around what Beth was saying. Yes, of his three boys, Caleb was the most energetic. Okay, downright wild at times. Jared saw that and somewhat blamed himself. After his wife, Mandy, had died four years ago, Jared had buried himself in the farm. For the first year, he’d walked around in a black fog. The three years that followed were a transitional period. He should have been paying more attention to Caleb.
But Caleb was still very young, only five.
“I think you need to schedule an appointment with your family doctor, see what he thinks. Honestly, Jared,” Beth continued, “I’m hoping it’s just immaturity, but if it’s not, I want to get help now so that first grade and beyond are easier. We might need to think about having some testing done and maybe seeing a developmental specialist.”
“Developmental specialist?” Jared’s tongue felt twice its normal size. Judging by his inability to say more than one or two words, he felt more like an observer to this conference than a participant. He shook his head and wished—like he wished almost every day—that Mandy were here instead of him, making these decisions when it came to this part of parenthood. Mandy always seemed to know what to do.
“Jared?” Beth said.
He looked at her, desperately trying to think of a response. “I think Caleb is fine,” he finally said. “He can count to a hundred. He’s been able to add and subtract single digits since he was three. You’ve trained my brother well. He’s been helping all the boys with math while they work at Solitaire’s Market.”
“I know, Jared,” she said softly. “Caleb likes numbers.”
He scooted back the chair and stood. “Do you have anything else you need to tell me?”
She looked at him, and he saw in her eyes so many shared memories. She’d been his late wife’s best friend and truly loved his sons.
“Caleb’s a charmer, but you already knew that.”
Jared nodded, wanting more than anything to get out of this room where everything was in miniature and the dominant smell was no longer jasmine but crayons, glue and children. He needed to get home, back in the field, where he could wrestle his oversize tractor and surround himself with the land, McCreedy land, and the rich smell of dirt that would not forsake.
Beth stood and held out yet another piece of paper, this time not one with Caleb’s scribbles. “It’s the developmental specialist the school recommends, just in case.”
“I didn’t even know the town was big enough to have a developmental specialist.”
“It’s not big enough,” Beth said. “You’ll have to go to Des Moines.”
“That’s over an hour.”
And still Beth held out the paper. He took it because he’d neither the time nor the inclination to argue. He went into Des Moines maybe once every two or three months. “I’ll think about it,” he finally said.
“You know,” Beth said thoughtfully, “you might want to talk to Maggie. She’s a friend and she’s told me to give her name to any parent needing help. Her daughter Cassidy’s just two years older than Caleb and has problems with focus, too. She’s already walking the path you’re about to travel.”
“I work best alone,” Jared said.
As he closed the door behind him, he heard her utter one word.
“Liar.”
* * *
Maggie pushed her chair away from the kitchen table and rested her elbows on the windowsill. She could feel the cold coming through the pane but she didn’t care, at least not enough to move. Tiny slivers of aged gold paint flecked onto the sleeves of her pink sweater. She did care a bit about the moisture gathering in the center of the pane. It meant she needed to replace the window.
One more thing on her list.
Just a month ago, Roanoke, Iowa, boasted a distant sea of green, orange, red and yellow leaves that Maggie could see from her second-story window. The sight of so many trees, some stretching over residential streets, never failed to take her breath away.
Because the view belonged to her.
Today, the trees stretched their empty, dark limbs like waiting fingers saying, Where’s the snow? We’re waiting.
It was her town. Just like the trees, she intended to put down roots, grow, thrive, make a home, never leave.
Please let this be a forever kind of place.
Even now, in the predawn light, her town was waking up and starting its day. Just like she was doing.
Across the wide street was a drugstore. It had the old-timey chairs but the only thing the owner served up was Thrifty ice cream. Maggie dreamed of a soda fountain. Next to it was a hardware store that Maggie avoided because the only things she liked to fix simply needed a needle and thread. Then there was an antiques store she couldn’t resist. The owner, one Henry Throxmorton, was unlocking the front door. He had a newspaper under his arm. She’d never seen him smile, but she knew his wife was sick a lot. Maybe that was why.
Just two days ago, Maggie had found in Roanoke’s Rummage—an awful name for an antiques