would be a mistake. One that she might not recover from.”
A direct hit. Nina and Zoe’s father, Eric, were known in the community for opening their hearts and home to others. Years ago they’d adopted Zoe’s younger brother Jack after he’d lost his parents to drug overdoses. And they’d even accepted Ben—albeit reluctantly—when Zoe had brought him home from college and announced that they were getting married. Ben had always wondered if Nina harbored a nugget of resentment toward him, believing he’d triggered Zoe’s decision to quit college to raise Maddie. Even if had really been Zoe’s call. Nina was a fiercely protective woman, and ever since Zoe died, she’d directed those energies at her grandkids. As if they didn’t have a dad, or at least one whose parenting methods and choices she agreed with.
He got the message loud and clear every time. She’d been around his kids over the years more than he had. She knew them better. He looked back toward the bedroom hallway. Empty. Chad had either taken himself to do number two in the bathroom, or was trying to pull the inflatable bed out of its box. As long as no little ears were sticking around the corner...
“Nina. You know how grateful I am for all you’ve done over the years—being there for Zoe and the kids, being here for us, helping me, especially with Ryan, over the past seven months. But with all due respect, this is my home, and they have a father. No decorating this year.”
“But Zoe would—”
“Exactly. This was her thing. She decorated for Christmas. And she’s not here. Out of respect for her, it’s not happening. What my kids need is to get through the rest of this year without any more pressure or sympathy or attention that does nothing but remind them of losing their mother. The stuff in this box will only emphasize what they don’t have anymore.”
Nina’s chin and brow rose simultaneously, and she turned her back to him. She carried Ryan, who was half-asleep and drooling like a pro on her shoulder, and laid him on his back in the playpen occupying the corner of the family room. End of conversation. Good.
Ben glanced at his watch. He hurried to check on Chad and found him on the potty buck naked and humming. Or was that moaning? And at what age was he going to stop stripping every time he used the bathroom?
“Daddy, I think I’m conti-pasted.” Constipated. Ben knelt down and rubbed Chad’s back. He should have known the packet of gummy lizards he’d given him in the car on the way to picking up Maddie had been a bad bribe.
“Uh, how about giving it a few more minutes? Here.” Ben picked a book from a stack of Chad’s favorites, which he kept in the bathroom for “encouragement.” “Read this. I have to go, but Grandma is here. Call out to her if no torpedoes launch. But not too loudly. Maddie’s napping.”
“Okay,” Chad said, taking the book.
Ben slipped into his room and grabbed his sweatshirt. Nina had picked up all the remaining toys and was checking Maddie’s backpack at the kitchen table.
“She hasn’t done her homework yet?” Nina asked, looking up from the student agenda.
“No. She can do it when she gets up, if she feels up to it.”
“But she was watching a video,” Nina said, putting the homework agenda back inside and propping the bag on a chair. Ben closed his eyes briefly and exhaled.
“She had a headache. Chad’s on the toilet. I really have to go.” He grabbed his wallet and keys. If he was going to make his appointment with the teacher, he needed to leave now.
“You go. I have everything covered. I really don’t mind helping. Especially since I guess I won’t get to help as much with Jack’s friend around.”
Oh, for crying out loud.
“You’ll be busy cooking for Thanksgiving and then the holidays. You wouldn’t want to deprive everyone, would you? Don’t worry, you’ll still see the kids,” he said, opening the front door.
“I hope so. Of course, you’ll bring them for Thanksgiving, then. Right? Even with losing Zoe, and with what Maddie is going through, there’s a lot to be thankful for.”
Ben’s temples started to pound, and his knuckles whitened against the doorknob. Everyone mourned in their own way, but being thankful was pushing it. She had to be in denial.
“Nina, I’ll bring them, but I’m not thankful for the drunk who killed my wife, and I’m not thankful for what my daughter is going through.”
“But you should be thankful that you’re here with your children and that they didn’t lose both parents. Be thankful that Zoe wasn’t still pregnant with Ryan when she was in that car.” Her eyes glistened and her voice hitched. “Ben, I need you all there to get through it,” she whispered.
Ben felt sucker punched. What if Zoe had still been pregnant? Bile burned his chest, and he swallowed the emotions churning with it. He nodded as he let go of the door. “Thanks for watching the kids,” he said. “Lock the door. It’ll be a couple of hours before I make it back.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be here when you come home.” He could hear the door click shut behind him.
I’ll be here when you come home.
How many times had Zoe said those words over the years?
He double paced to the Expedition hogging the small driveway. After Zoe’s death, he’d bought a year-old model because of cost, but he wanted the equivalent of a tank to haul his kids around in.
At least maybe he could keep the rest of his family safe.
* * *
BEN SCANNED THE report card preview before him. It looked like a Fortune 500 company stock sheet. Numbers, letters, categories and subcategories. What happened to just giving students As, Bs and Cs? Or Fs... He quickly searched the columns, relieved when no Fs jumped at him.
Ms. Serval crossed her legs again and kept fiddling with her necklace. Did teachers really dress up that much for a school day? He wore his worst jeans just to get through a day with three kids. She had eighteen. Ben pretended not to notice when she flicked her hair back over her shoulder and leaned forward to pass him another sheet of paper, and tried not to pass out from her tear-gas perfume. Maybe that was what had triggered Maddie’s headache. What he really wanted was for the woman to turn off the background music in the classroom. It was driving him insane, but he didn’t dare give her a reason to get up and walk in front of him. Not in his precariously low position on the child-size chair he was in.
“What’s an N?” he asked.
“That stands for Needs Improvement,” said Ms. Serval.
“In class participation? Seriously? After our meeting at the start of the year with the school counselor, knowing what’s going on, did you really find it necessary to give her an N on her report card? I’m sure there are ways to show participation that don’t involve raising your hand and speaking.”
Ms. Serval pulled back and gave her skirt a tug.
“Well, she’s doing great academically, really, Mr. Corallis. I wanted you to have a chance to see her interim grades, since you missed the scheduled conference.”
“The office gave you my message about my youngest getting sick, right?”
“Yes, of course. I completely understand and sent you an email about rescheduling.”
She had? Crap. He had a vague recollection of one that he’d planned to get back to. And forgot.
“Please understand, the whole report card is computer based now,” she said, redirecting the conversation. “We have to input a grade or letter, and there are criteria we have to follow to be fair. I couldn’t put anything else, given the situation. I do understand the reason and I understand that she’s getting therapy for her selective mutism and to help her heal from her—your—loss. But it’s more than that. Lately, she acts as though she doesn’t