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After collecting a few papers on her desk at the front of the room, Ms. Cotton waltzes toward me and pulls up a chair right next to mine. She’s so close I can smell the roses of her perfume. It kind of irritates my nose. I press a knuckle against one nostril to suppress a sneeze.
She lays the papers on the small desktop, her fingers brushing mine. She leans forward far enough that I swear I could feel the swell of her tits against my arm. “Duncan is a bright student, and I think he should take AP Calc. If he passes the examination, he’d be entitled to college credit. I’ve suggested this to Duncan, but he didn’t seem interested. Do you know why that is?”
What had Dunc said? That Ms. Cotton wanted in my pants? I don’t have a lot of experience with women, so I don’t want to read anything into this, but maybe he’s right. Do I scoot my chair away? Do I stand up? I clear my throat. “Well, I suspect it’s because he’s been planning on joining the construction firm after school and doesn’t see a lot of need for, ah, AP Calc.” Whatever that is.
“But he’s not certain what he’ll be doing. Perhaps he’d like to venture into architecture.”
Those assholes? I hope not. Architects dream up wild things without paying even a dot of attention to practicalities. They sell those dreams to clients and then those clients get mad as hell when I tell them that the design has more flaws than the Hoover Dam.
“Sure, if that’s what he wants.”
“So you’ll talk to him about this or if you don’t feel comfortable talking to him, I could come over to your house. I make a mean lasagna.” She tilts her head and brushes her hair over her shoulder.
I watched an animal documentary on the Discovery Channel once, and it said that when birds play with their feathers, they’re trying to attract attention. Probably time to bring this chat to a close. I scoop up the papers and get to my feet. The little desk starts to tip over, and I lurch forward to catch it. At the same time, Ms. Cotton is reaching for the desk. I end up with both the desk and a handful of Ms. Cotton. I drop them both and step back. The metal legs make a clattering noise against the linoleum. Ms. Cotton’s cheeks are red, and her shirt is mussed.
There’s a cough behind us. I turn to see a pretty girl standing in the doorway. Her hand is over her eyes.
“I was—” I start.
“The desk fell—” Ms. Cotton says at the same time.
The girl backs away. “I didn’t see anything.” She laughs a little and whirls around so her back is to us.
I run a hand through my hair. Hope this doesn’t get back to Dunc. I’ll have to explain it when he gets home.
“Sadie, did you get the homework?” another voice, a deeper, masculine one says.
“I’ll come back later,” the girl says. She’s just out of the doorway, so I can’t see who she’s talking to. Not that I really care.
I dip my head to Ms. Cotton. “Sorry about that, ma’am. Dunc will tell you that I’m kind of a clumsy lug.”
“I highly doubt that. You run one of the most successful businesses in the city. I know you’re very bright just like your son.”
“I can’t take credit for that.” For all intents and purposes, I’m Dunc’s dad. He calls me Dad. I raised him, but I’m listed on all his forms as his guardian. I’ve never adopted him because that required terminating his parents’ rights, and I couldn’t do that to my brother and his wife. It wouldn’t be right.
“You’re so modest.” Ms. Cotton beams at me.
“Just go in there and get it. It’s school hours so Teach shouldn’t be doing anything but working on lesson plans and grading tests.” The male voice gets louder.
Ms. Cotton’s cheeks grow pink again, but this time I don’t think it’s embarrassment but irritation. She turns toward the door and opens her mouth, but before she can get a word out, I hear a thud.
The girl’s backpack falls out of her hand to the floor.
“What in the hell, Sadie—” The male’s voice trails off. I look up and am knocked back on my heels.
“Holy shit, Van, he looks like you,” the girl says.
Her voice feels like it’s coming from the end of a tunnel. I shake my head, trying to dislodge the odd sensation, trying to get a grip on what’s in front of me. If I had a long-lost son, it’d look just like this kid. Long-lost…
“How old are you?” I blurt out.
The boy’s lip curls. “None of your fucking business.” He grabs the girl’s hand, and the two disappear from the doorway. My feet get unstuck, and I burst forward, only to be halted by Duncan’s sudden appearance.
“Dad? You look like you saw a ghost.”
CHAPTER4
FISCHL
