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He was a cute kid.
“I’ll figure it out,” she said, picking up the pencil.
He tapped on his iPhone. “Begin,” he said.
Desdemona nodded and traced her fingertips across the top of the table before releasing a breath and tearing the tab on the booklet. She looked across the large space to the painting over the fireplace. She could almost envision pride in the depths of their eyes.
Several times during the test she looked up to think and noticed Loren looking pensive himself as he sketched away on a drawing pad. The quiet was often interrupted by the turning of a page or the swift back-and-forth motion of his large eraser. The time flew by far too quickly.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
“Pencil down,” Loren said.
She looked up at him just as he did the same. “I think I may make you rich trying to pass the test,” she admitted, her voice soft but still filled with her awkwardness.
She hadn’t felt so out of sorts in years. More like Desdemona and less like Mademoiselle.
I don’t like it.
Loren came down to take the test. “I’ll score it this evening and call you with the results and my teaching plan for you,” he said, before setting a card before her. “This is the website for the GED, and I want you to sign up for an account. It will let you enroll for your testingwhenyou’re ready.”
Nodding, she slid the card under her baton before she rose to her feet and walked down the length of the table.
“How are you feeling?”
She stopped and looked back at him, her surprise clear. “What?” she asked.
Loren picked up his book bag and began sliding his supplies back inside of it. “I’m sorry. I saw a sadness in your eyes and I was just checking on you,” he said. “It would have bothered me all day—maybe even longer—if I didn’t at least check on you when I saw your sadness. So how are you?”
Desdemona looked away from him, finding his stare unnerving. “Sad,” she admitted, surprising herself.
“Why?” he asked, coming down the table to pick up his sketchbook.
She held his hand, stopping him from closing it. “Is that me?” she asked in wonder, taking the sketchbook out of his hand.
“I hope you don’t mind.”
The sketch was so realistic, picking up every nuance of her face. Her frustration at this moment was clear. As was her sadness.
“You can keep it if you want,” Loren offered, taking it back from her and tearing the page free to hand over to her. “My girl would act up if she knew I was tutoring you anyway.”
Desdemona stroked the edges of the page with her thumbs as she held it. “Why wouldn’t she trust you?” she asked. “Have you given her reason not to?”
Loren zipped his backpack and hitched the straps up his arms with an incredulous face. “Me? Definitely not,” he said with a laugh.
Desdemona shifted her attention to something she was familiar with: sizing people up. For the majority of his life, he had given more attention to his education than women. So much so that he was unaware of his looks and his appeal. “Listen to what she asks of you and give it to her if you’re able. Her jealousy will fade, and if not, she has more issues then you’re required to handle,” she said, setting the sketch on the table before retrieving her wallet and pulling out the cash she owed him from her wallet.
“Sounds like good advice,” he said as he walked across the room to the foyer.
Desdemona followed him. “Thank you for helping me right a wrong in my life,” she said, handing him the fifty dollars plus a tip.
“And is that why you’re sad?” he asked, with those eyes on her again.
She gave him a half smile, looked down at her feet and back up at him. “I regret dropping out of school,” she admitted.
He gave her a warm and toothy smile. “No worries. It’s never too late to right a wrong,” he said, before turning to walk out of the condo.
Desdemona caught the front door before it swung closed and peeked her head out to watch him walk down the hall as he whistled without a care in the world.
