The Dog Who Came for Christmas Page 4

  Renee brushed some more hair off her skirt and saw him glance at her left hand. Was he checking for a wedding ring? He wasn’t wearing one himself. She bit her lip, feeling a girlish thrill at the thought that this handsome man might find her attractive.

  “So,” he said, “three kids. They all go to school here?”

  “Nope, just the youngest. The oldest is in high school; the other’s in middle school.”

  “Boys or girls?”

  “Two boys, one girl.”

  “That’s nice. In our family, it was just me and my brother. I would have liked to have had a sister.”

  Renee laughed. “I’ll have to tell my brother that. Maybe he’ll trade you.”

  Why did I say that?

  She glanced down, feeling foolish. Trying to make small talk with a strange man made her feel as awkward and off-balance as a newborn colt. She looked back over her shoulder at the closed door, wondering when Mrs. Dalton would wrap things up.

  “You have an interesting accent,” Travis said. “I take it you’re not from Bolingbroke.”

  She shook her head. “We moved here from Camden in August.”

  “Is that so? I wouldn’t have pegged you for a Jersey girl, but then I’m no expert.” He sighed. “Camden’s a lovely town. I’ll bet you miss it.”

  “You know Camden?” Renee said, feeling a pang of homesickness.

  “I do. I went to school not far from there.”

  “Really? Which one?”

  “Princeton.”

  Renee swallowed. Suddenly, the chances that Travis Diehl was a real cowboy seemed remote.

  “Wow. Princeton, huh?”

  “Went there on a football scholarship,” he said. “Still, my grades were good. I might have gotten in without it. What about you?”

  “Me?” She laughed. “I went to Rowan. It was cheap and close to home.”

  In spite of her flippant attitude, his smile showed real interest.

  “Rowan’s a teacher’s college, isn’t it?”

  “Used to be.” She sighed. “No, I studied graphic art. The most useless major in the world, right?”

  He shrugged. “Not if you love it. Seems to me the world would be a dismal place without art.”

  Was this guy kidding? Everybody knew how worthless an art degree was. Renee found herself wanting to goad him, to provoke the kind of ridicule she’d gotten from others—including her ex-husband—over her poor choice of major.

  “You know what an art major says at his first job? ‘You want fries with that?’” She laughed. “Believe me, it was stupid.”

  “It doesn’t seem stupid to me. Not if you loved it.”

  Renee glanced away, feeling rattled. Okay, maybe it hadn’t been stupid, but it had certainly been foolish of her to get an art degree—everyone else knew that, why didn’t he?

  Travis cocked his head, trying to catch her eye.

  “I take it you never became a graphic designer, then.”

  She felt the corner of her mouth twitch.

  “Actually, I did. We’d had Dylan by then, and I worked at home part time doing work for a print shop. It wasn’t much, but it paid a few bills, and it kept me from falling too far into the mommy trap.”

  Thinking about those years made her feel wistful. Maybe if she hadn’t gotten pregnant when she did things would have been different. She and Greg might have had time to get to know each other before they got married. Or maybe they wouldn’t have gotten married at all. Still, she wasn’t sorry. If she hadn’t married Greg, she’d never have had her kids. Renee wouldn’t have changed anything if it meant that she wouldn’t have them.

  Travis looked thoughtful.

  “I have great respect for my friends who are artists. It’s not easy trying to make a living at it, and most never do. But if it’s in you to create art, then I think you’ve just got to find a way.”

  Renee nodded and looked away, swallowing the lump that suddenly rose in her throat.

  “So,” he said. “When did you become a hairdresser?”

  “Hmm? Oh, after my divorce. It was part of our settlement; my ex agreed to pay for a year of training so I could get a job. Doing hair was something I could learn fast and make some decent money at.”

  “I should think a degree in art would come in handy, then.”

  “It does,” she said. “But it’s not like it’s necessary. Most of the girls I work with barely made it through high school.”

  He nodded. “So what brought you here?”

  What was this, she wondered, Twenty Questions? Still, he seemed genuinely interested, and Renee found that she was enjoying his company.

  “The cost of living, mostly. Plus, my mother died last year, and Dad was at loose ends. After my divorce, he suggested that the four of us move closer to my brother and buy a house together.”

  “So, you live with your father?”

  She made a face. “Sounds lame, doesn’t it?”

  “Actually, I think it’s kind of nice.” Travis smiled. “How’s it working out?”

  “Pretty good. The house we bought is on a slope, so it has a lower floor with a separate entrance in back. Dad can come and go as he pleases, and I’ve got privacy when I need it.” She felt her cheeks warm. “Not that I do very often.”

  Renee brushed a few more hairs off her skirt, trying to think of a way to get off the subject of her family. The fact was, in spite of their differences, she was having a good time talking to Travis Diehl. After the horrible date with Butch, the last thing she wanted was to scare him off by telling him about her kids. Or more specifically, Kieran.

  She heard the door behind her open. A man and woman stepped out of Kieran’s classroom and hurried away, their eyes averted. Renee looked up and saw Kieran’s teacher standing in the doorway, smiling.

  “Mrs. Richardson? You and your husband can come in now.”

  “Oh. No, he’s not—”

  She turned back and gave Travis an apologetic look.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  He shook his head.

  “It’s fine,” he said, waving her on. “You go on now. I’ve kept you long enough.”

  Renee stood up and walked into the classroom.

  “Sorry for the wait,” Mrs. Dalton said as she closed the door.

  “That’s okay,” she said, taking a seat.

  If only it had been a little longer.

  Mrs. Dalton sat down across from her and took out her grade book.

  “Thank you for coming down here on short notice. I know we’re all busy with the holidays coming up, but there’s been an interesting development around here that I wanted to talk to you about.”

  “Something to do with Kieran?”

  “Yes.”

  “He’s not in trouble, is he?”

  The teacher smiled.

  “No, not at all. In fact, Kieran’s one of my favorite students. He’s obviously very bright, and he behaves himself as well as he can in the classroom.”

  Renee frowned.

  “What do you mean, ‘as well as he can’?”

  The woman colored.

  “Oh. I just mean . . . you know . . . the counting and the facial tics can be distracting. And sometimes . . . well . . . the noises, but they don’t generally disrupt our classroom activities.”

  “What about the other kids? Is he making any friends?”

  “As far as friends go, it’s still a bit early. It always takes a while for a new student to fit in.” She cleared her throat. “The playground monitors tell me there’s been some mild teasing at recess, but there’s not really much I can do about that.”

  Renee squeezed her hands together, remembering the taunts Kieran had endured at his last school and the bullies whose parents she’d confronted when things got out of hand. Why couldn’t they just leave him alone?

  “Kids are so cruel.”

  Mrs. Dalton made a noncommittal gesture.

  “I think most of them just lack social skills. They see someone who’s acting di
fferently, and they point it out.”

  Renee took a deep breath and nodded. There was no sense arguing about it. Mrs. Dalton had a lot of other kids to keep an eye on; it was probably just easier for her to think the best of them.

  “So, if Kieran’s not a problem, why am I here?”

  The woman brightened, setting her folded hands on the desk.

  “A gift of one hundred thousand dollars has been given to the school, to be used to help students like Kieran who have emotional or learning disabilities.”

  Renee frowned. “Who says Kieran has a disability?”

  “Well, I thought . . . I mean, the things I mentioned . . .” Mrs. Dalton looked flustered. “I’m sorry. Has no one ever mentioned that your son may have OCD? Our counselor tells me he has all the classic signs.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Renee snapped. “He’s just a kid. He makes faces and funny noises, and yes, sometimes he counts out loud, but that doesn’t mean he’s sick.”

  The teacher held up a placating hand.

  “Hold on. No one’s suggesting that Kieran is sick,” she said. “But if he does have a disability, I think it’s important that you at least consider this opportunity. Receiving this donation now means that we’ll be able to hire a full-time psychiatric aide to help any of the children who need it before their symptoms become problematic.”

  “No.” Renee shook her head. “I will not allow Kieran to be labeled. I’ve seen how this works: A kid seems a little different and the next thing you know, he’s on medication so he doesn’t disrupt the classroom. I’m not going to let you turn him into a zombie just to make your job easier.”

  Mrs. Dalton was visibly struggling to control her temper.

  “I’m sorry you feel that way. Obviously, I made some assumptions here that I shouldn’t have, and that’s my fault. However, I would like to point out that no one is talking about medicating your son. The funds that are being donated are only to be used to help children like Kieran make the most of their time in school and to learn coping strategies for the years ahead. You’re under no obligation to enroll him in the program, but I would strongly urge you to consider it. The longer Kieran goes without some sort of help, the harder it’ll be for him to deal with it later.”

  Renee sat back and lifted a hand to cover her eyes. She supposed she’d known for a long time that something was wrong, but she’d told herself it was temporary. Something Kieran would grow out of in time. Greg’s way of dealing with it had always been to tease Kieran or to punish him for what he believed was willful behavior. It had caused a lot of stress in their already shaky marriage, and when things fell apart, he’d blamed the breakup on the problems with their youngest child. But it was a lie, and they both knew it. With or without the added stress, their relationship wouldn’t have survived. She took a deep breath and lowered her hand.

  “I’m sorry,” Renee said, reaching into her purse for a tissue. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you. This is just a lot to take in.”

  “Of course. I understand.”

  She wiped her eyes, thinking about the couple who’d just left, their eyes downcast, scurrying away like they didn’t want to be seen, and hoped that Travis Diehl would be gone by the time she left. She didn’t want him to ask her what had happened. She crumpled up the tissue and sniffed.

  “So,” she said. “This gift. What does it mean for Kieran?”

  “Well, the first thing would be for him to have a formal evaluation with the district’s psychologist. Then, of course, she’d want to interview you and your husband to see what behaviors you’ve observed at home.”

  Renee glanced at the door.

  “You know that man outside wasn’t Kieran’s dad, right?”

  “I gathered that; I’m sorry if I made things awkward for you. I knew that you and Kieran’s father were divorced. I just thought perhaps he’d come—”

  “Greg doesn’t come to anything that has to do with Kieran,” Renee said. “He’s remarried now, too, so unless the poor kid becomes a star athlete, I don’t expect he’ll ever see his dad again.”

  Mrs. Dalton looked down at her grade book.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Don’t be. Believe me, we’re all better off without him.”

  Renee forced herself to smile. She hadn’t meant to sound so bitter. It wasn’t this poor woman’s fault that Greg was such a lousy father.

  “So, this evaluation,” she said. “When will that take place?”

  “It depends on how many candidates are identified for the program, but our principal is anxious to get things moving. The school psychologist has offered to clear her schedule for us, too, so it could be as early as the first week of January.”

  “And after that?”

  “We’ll see what she recommends. If Kieran does appear to have OCD, he’ll be enrolled in the program for further evaluation and therapy.”

  “But not drugs, right?”

  Mrs. Dalton paused. “My understanding is that drugs will not be the first choice in this program, but I’m sure it all depends upon the child and how well he or she does in therapy. However, no child is going to be forced to take medication. It’ll be up to each individual family to make that decision, if and when the time comes.”

  Renee took a deep breath and fought to keep the tears from flowing again.

  “Well, that’s that then. Thanks for letting me know.”

  She grabbed her purse and was almost out of the chair when Mrs. Dalton reached for her hand.

  “Can I just mention one more thing before you go?”

  Renee laughed cheerlessly and sat back down.

  “Oh, great. You mean there’s more?”

  “Yes, but it’s good news this time.” The teacher smiled. “I know this has been a shock, and I know how worried you must be.”

  “You got that right.”

  “But you should also know that your son is very smart, and I’ve asked that Kieran’s IQ also be tested. Unless I miss my guess, he should easily qualify for our gifted and talented program.”

  Renee closed her eyes and felt a tear run down the side of her face.

  “Well, that’s something anyway,” she said. “Thanks for letting me know.”

  The temperature outside had dropped by several degrees. As Renee stepped out of the building, she saw her breath come out in puffs of white. There’d been no sign of Travis Diehl when she left the classroom and none outside, either. Probably for the best, she thought. Even if he had been interested, he’d probably have changed his mind once he found out why she was there. Who wants to take on someone else’s problems?

  She thrust her hands into her pockets and hurried across the parking lot, feeling wistful about what might have been. Travis Diehl had seemed like a nice guy. It was too bad she’d never see him again.

  CHAPTER 6

  “Hugh? I’m home!”

  There was no answer, but that didn’t mean no one was home; his brother didn’t always respond even if he did hear someone calling him. Travis hung up his coat and heard music coming from the living room. He picked up the bag of Bojangles’ chicken he’d bought for supper and went to investigate. As he’d suspected, Hugh was playing Tetris on his XBox.

  He stepped between his brother and the screen.

  “Hey! I’m home,” he said. “Have you eaten yet?”

  Hugh shook his head, craning to see around the body in his way. Travis pointed to his watch.

  “Ten minutes. Finish your game and come eat.”

  Travis headed into the kitchen and set the bag on the counter, then went to call Max inside. The Irish wolfhound dashed into the room, his nails scrabbling for purchase on the wooden floor as he wiggled a happy greeting. Travis bent down, dodging sloppy kisses and patted the big guy’s back.

  “Whoa,” he said, running his fingers through the coarse grey fur. “Did you lose another collar?”

  He walked over to the pantry and got out a chew bone.

  “You’re getting to be an ex
pensive habit,” he said as Max caught it in midair, “you know that?”

  While Max ran off to enjoy his treat, Travis set the table and started fixing the rest of their meal.

  The meeting with Hank had gone well. A dozen kids had already signed up for the program at school and another half dozen were considering it. After all the hassle he’d gone through to get the ball rolling, it was exciting to see things finally moving forward.

  He felt the phone in his pocket vibrate and took it out. It was a message from Savannah.

  Dinner tonight? I made fried chicken.

  Travis texted back.

  Sorry, didn’t see this in time. Thanks anyway.

  Seconds later, another text came through.

  Going to The Growler later. Wanna come?

  Travis shook his head.

  Another time. Hugh and I are staying in tonight.

  He hit “send” just as his brother walked into the room.

  “Who are you texting?”

  “Savannah Hays.”

  Hugh made a face.

  “What does she want?”

  “Nothing.”

  Travis set the phone down and opened the refrigerator.

  “Was Max’s collar missing when you got home?”

  “Dunno,” his brother said, reaching for the Bojangles’ bag.

  “Did you wash your hands?”

  Hugh stomped over to the kitchen sink and turned on the water.

  “That’s the second collar he’s lost this month,” Travis said as he took out a bagged salad. “I’ll have to check the fence; maybe he caught it on a nail again.”

  With the salad on the table, Travis poured the drinks and said grace.

  “How was work today?”

  Hugh shrugged and bit into a piece of chicken. For the last three months, he’d been working at a nonprofit that hired programmers to do contract work for some of the big tech companies in the Raleigh-Durham area. Finding his brother a job hadn’t been easy—it wasn’t everyone who wanted to deal with people like Hugh—and Travis was proud of his brother for sticking with it. He only wished his folks had lived long enough to see how well their younger son was doing.

  “The meeting at school went well.” He smiled. “You know, you forget how small an elementary school is until you go back as an adult. I remember when we were there; we thought the place was enormous.”