Comfort and Joy Page 2

  Apparently she was coming across as too critical. Ms. Becker pursed her glossy pink lips and her eyes narrowed on Robin. “These are second graders, Ms. Greer. If there’s a budding Shakespeare among them, that’s just fine. But really, they need direction, they need guidance—”

  “And they need a little freedom to use their imaginations,” Robin argued. It was too late to back off. She only hoped Philip wouldn’t have to pay a price for his mother’s opinions. “They don’t have to be Shakespeare. They just have to have the opportunity to invent their own worlds. Like Gleek. I’d be willing to bet at least half the kids in class escape to a fantasy world like Gleek every now and then.”

  “Well,” Ms. Becker said, then issued a dubious huff. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Good.” Realizing the need to appease the teacher, Robin added, “I think you’re doing a terrific job. Philip’s learning so much this year.” The part about the terrific job Ms. Becker was doing was an overstatement, but Philip had learned a great deal in the class so far, and Robin felt that a compliment was in order. Thirty-three years of living had taught her the benefits of diplomacy.

  Ms. Becker’s face brightened. “Thank you. I do try.”

  “And the children are learning so much.” Stroke, stroke.

  Ms. Becker preened slightly. If she’d been one of those turkey drawings pinned to the wall, her feathers would be fluffing right now. “This has been a difficult autumn for me. I’m glad to know I’m reaching the children.”

  Robin nodded and offered a polite farewell. A difficult autumn, she pondered, watching as Ms. Becker was engulfed by another swarm of eager parents. Although Robin’s primary concern was for her son, she felt a pang of sympathy for the young woman. Obviously, she was coping with problems that had nothing to do with her pupils. She was only human, a fact that seven-year-old boys generally didn’t take into account when bitching about their teachers.

  “You told her off, didn’t you.”

  The voice floated over Robin’s shoulders from behind, deep and mellifluous. It seemed to enter her mind not through her ears but through some other, secret route. It was low, seductive, insinuating, and it made her scalp tingle. She spun around and found herself staring into the dark, luminous eyes of the man Ms. Becker had called Jesse.

  Close up, he was even better looking than he’d been when standing in the doorway across the room—as if it were possible for him to be better looking than Robin had already thought he was. He loomed over her; he had to be at least six feet tall. His eyes were adorned with the thickest lashes she had ever seen on a man, he smelled of leather and spice and his denim-clad hips appeared slim and firm. She felt inundated by a chaotic barrage of perceptions of the man. His smooth, bronze-tinged cheeks. His laugh lines. His Adam’s apple. His long legs.

  And that honey-sweet voice, speaking again. “Jesse Lawson,” he introduced himself, reaching out to shake her hand. Jolting herself from her daze, Robin pulled her hand from her pocket to accept his. “And you’re—?”

  “Philip Greer’s mother,” she said automatically, then winced. With so many people—particularly in the context of school—she automatically identified herself not as an individual but as a parent. It had been that way ever since Philip was born; she had gotten to know other parents in terms of their children. “Hi, you’re Becky’s mom, aren’t you?” she’d greet a familiar woman at the supermarket. Or, “I remember you—Kyle Romano’s folks,” when a couple wandered into Woodleigh’s while Robin was at work.

  Introducing herself as Philip’s mother seemed natural to Robin not only because it was Open School Night but because she was busy wracking her brain to recall if Philip had ever mentioned a classmate named “Lawson.” Maybe Jesse was someone’s stepfather, and the child had a different last name. Like Philip, many children came from broken families, and some of those families entailed remarriages or mothers keeping their maiden names or whatever. It was hard to keep track. Or he could be Eileen Becker’s boyfriend, even if he seemed to be taking great pleasure in Robin’s having given Becker a piece of her mind.

  The sound of Jesse’s deep, rumbling laughter brought her attention back to him. “Philip Greer’s mother,” he repeated. “That’s an awfully long name. What do people call you when they’re in a hurry?”

  She laughed as well. “Robin. Robin Greer.” Jesse’s smile relaxed her. He seemed pretty approachable for someone so intimidatingly gorgeous. “Which kid is yours?”

  His smile remained. “I haven’t got a kid. I’m here as a favor to Eileen. She asked me to drop off some documents she’s been waiting for.”

  Okay, so Jesse Lawson’s relationship with Eileen Becker was personal. He was doing favors for her. Ms. Becker must be the lucky woman.

  But if a man as dazzling as Jesse Lawson could exist, there must be others similarly dazzling, somewhere. Three years of celibacy was enough. It was definitely time for Robin to start putting an effort into meeting men. She wondered what he would say if she ask him if he had any available friends.

  Of course, he might not want to introduce her to his friends. He could be looking at her and thinking: this is Philip Greer’s mother. Not a babe. Not an attractive single woman.

  At one time, she’d been reasonably confident about her beauty. Back then, during her teens and twenties, she’d taken pains to make sure she always looked her best. Besides curling and fussing with her hair, she’d lavished hours on her face, learning how to use the most stylish cosmetics in the most effective manner. She’d dressed fashionably, and although there was nothing inherently wrong with the bulky crew-neck sweater and corduroy slacks she’d put on before leaving the house that evening, there was nothing inherently right about them, either. The clothes just hung there, serving a function, concealing a body that might weigh the same as it had during Robin’s adolescence but lacked the sweet lusciousness of youth. Robin’s breasts were small and saggy, her skin was beginning to crinkle at the corners of her eyes, her hands were perennially chapped and manicures were a distant memory. Divorced working mothers simply didn’t have the time to pamper themselves.

  Ordinarily, Robin didn’t waste her energy worrying about the toll the years had taken on her. She was doing fine, considering. The divorce had been amicable, and Ray was as much a part of Philip’s life as he could be, given his constant traveling. Robin’s career was flourishing; a year and a half ago, she had been named manager of the Belleford outlet of Woodleigh’s. She’d even had the good fortune to secure the services of Kate O’Leary, a widow who lived down the street from Robin and who welcomed the income Robin paid her to watch Philip every weekday from three o’clock until closing time at Woodleigh’s. Robin couldn’t complain.

  Except that, standing barely three inches from Jesse Lawson, she felt sorely inadequate. Not that Eileen Becker was fashion-model pretty, not that the woman had revealed outstanding intellect or awesome talent, but Robin suddenly found herself wishing that she wasn’t just another suburban single mother trying to keep the many balls she was juggling from tumbling down around her head.

  “I only caught part of her speech,” he was saying, “but it sounded dull to me.”

  “Ms. Becker’s speech?” Robin eyed the teacher, who was prattling to a rapt couple about their daughter’s academic progress. “She’s...a decent teacher.” Robin figured it would be in poor taste to belittle the man’s girlfriend to his face, even if he himself had just referred to her as dull. “I only wish that she spent a little more time encouraging the kids to be independent, instead of urging them to color inside the lines. They’re going to be regimented enough in the upper grades. But when they’re this young...” Realizing that she was rambling, she cut herself off and smiled sheepishly.

  “I agree,” said Jesse. “Not that I’m an expert when it comes to children, but, sure, they ought to be independent. Independence is too important to squelch, no matter what the age.”

  Robin considered his words. Despite his charming smile, he sounded awful
ly solemn. Then she remembered his interruption during Ms. Becker’s presentation, when he’d mentioned the constitutional separation of church and state. Maybe he had a special interest in great American principles. Independence. The Constitution. “Did you really mean that, about how celebrating Christmas in class is riding roughshod over the Constitution?”

  His eyes darkened briefly, and then he shrugged again. “I think there’s too much emphasis on Christmas,” he said.

  “Too much? How can there be too much emphasis on something so wonderful?” As far as Robin was concerned, there was no such thing as too much Christmas. Woodleigh’s had put up Christmas decorations before Thanksgiving—a decision made at company headquarters, but Robin had been all in favor of that. She loved the baubles and evergreen sprigs, the crystal snowflakes she and her staff had hung from the ceiling. She’d already arranged for a delivery of a half-cord of split logs to her house; she had considered and discarded at least three menus for Christmas dinner, and she was praying for snow. The holiday couldn’t come soon enough—and it would be gone much too soon. Too much Christmas? No way.

  Jesse’s attention had turned to the bulletin board. “Philip,” he reflected, locating the bizarre orange-and-purple turkey. “Your son drew this?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Studying the picture, Jesse frowned slightly. “Are the hands supposed to signify something?”

  Robin laughed. “I guess they’re supposed to signify that Philip has a mother who encourages independence rather than conformity.”

  Jesse’s smile returned as he turned back to her. “And what does Philip’s father say about that?”

  “Not much,” Robin answered. “Philip’s father and I are divorced.”

  Something sparked in Jesse’s eyes, and one corner of his mouth skewed upward in a lopsided smile. Then his gaze drifted past Robin and snagged on Ms. Becker. “If you’ll excuse me for a minute, I think Eileen is free.”

  Robin watched him stroll down the side of the room to the teacher, who had extricated herself from yet another cluster of parents. The babble of voices in the room remained at a steady, raucous pitch, and Robin edged between two rows of desks to get closer to Jesse. Eavesdropping wasn’t the most polite thing to do, but she was curious to know why her mention of her divorce had caused him to abandon her. Besides, he had eavesdropped on her conversation with Ms. Becker. Fair was fair.

  He reached into an inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out an envelope. “Here you go,” he said, handing it to Ms. Becker. “Signed, sealed, delivered. I imagine congratulations are in order.”

  Ms. Becker appeared flustered again, and then suddenly grateful. Her eyes glistened slightly as she accepted the envelope from Jesse. “I really appreciate your coming down to the school just to bring this to me, but since I probably won’t be getting home till late—”

  “I got your message. No problem.”

  “It’s just—I wanted it in my hands, tonight. Just to get it over with, to have it with me—”

  “I understand.”

  Ms. Becker’s teary gaze met Jesse’s for a moment. “Are you sure I can’t pay you for this?”

  “Positive,” he said gently. “All it entailed was a couple of telephone calls.”

  “Perhaps you’d let me treat you to dinner or something?”

  He shook his head. “No thanks. Really. It wasn’t any trouble. I’m glad I could help.”

  If he refused an invitation for dinner with Ms. Becker, then they couldn’t be lovers. That understanding shouldn’t have made any difference to Robin, but she suddenly felt elated. Not that a rusty, dowdy, out-of-practice divorced mother like her could ever snag the interest of a man like Jesse Lawson. But if he wasn’t taken, then there must be others who weren’t taken. Robin began her mental list of New Year’s resolutions with a promise to start exerting herself to meet men.

  She hadn’t expected Jesse to turn around so suddenly. He found her standing too close to him, and he must have guessed by her abashed expression that she’d overheard his conversation with Ms. Becker. Yet instead of appearing angry, he smiled. “That’s my good deed for the day,” he said. “I think I deserve extra credit for doing it in front of a witness.”

  “Your good deed?”

  “Eileen’s a neighbor of mine.” He didn’t owe Robin an explanation, and she considered pointing that out to him, but he didn’t give her a chance. “She needed some minor legal assistance, and I was able to help her out with it.”

  Legal assistance. The man was a lawyer. That could explain the pricy-looking leather jacket. Lawyers were rich.

  That Jesse Lawson was rich as well as handsome struck Robin as almost unreasonable. No man deserved to have that much going for him. “Your assistance couldn’t have been all that minor, if you raced all the way to here on Open School Night just to deliver that envelope to her,” she said.

  Jesse shrugged. “I was going to drop the papers off at her house this evening, but by the time I got home she’d already left for school. She left a message on my phone saying she and some other teachers were going out after this Open House thing, and would I mind bringing the papers here? She didn’t want to have to wait until tomorrow.”

  The only legal paper Robin had ever been that anxious to have in her possession was her divorce decree. The divorce had been so long in coming, and the negotiations, although devoid of bitterness, had seemed to take forever. Robin’s attorney had offered to mail her the decree, but she’d insisted on driving over to his office on her lunch hour the day it was ready, just to have it in her possession.

  A difficult autumn. Ms. Becker’s words resounded inside Robin. “You handled her divorce,” she guessed, her exasperation with the teacher abruptly replaced by a tide of sisterly compassion. No wonder Robin’s mention of her own divorce had spurred Jesse to perform his good deed.

  He glimpsed the teacher, whose smile as she conferred with another student’s mother seemed more genuine than it had appeared when she’d been lecturing the parents en masse. Then his gaze returned to Robin. “I don’t think she wants the news broadcast in a big way,” he said.

  “I won’t breathe a word,” Robin promised, then frowned as she recalled his exchange with Ms. Becker. The teacher had offered him payment, and he’d refused. What sort of lawyer didn’t take money for his services? Although Robin’s and Ray’s divorce had been amicable, although they had worked out all the details without a quibble, although Ray had willingly left her the house, given her custody of Philip, and volunteered both generous child support and a small monthly stipend until she’d been promoted at work and calculated that the alimony was no longer needed—in spite of all that, their lawyers had pocketed hefty retainers for doing little more than dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s.

  “Why won’t you let her pay you?” she asked Jesse, assuming that if he minded her probing he would have walked away from her by now.

  “I didn’t do much,” he told her. “She had her own lawyer negotiate the settlement, but he’s away on vacation now, and the other side was sitting on the papers too long. I just called them for her and gave them a nudge.”

  Despite his modest claim, Robin was impressed by his refusal to accept money from Ms. Becker. Most lawyers would charge hundreds of dollars for making a single telephone call. Maybe Jesse Lawson was so wealthy, a few hundred dollars more or less didn’t matter to him. Even so, his gesture in helping out his neighbor was generous.

  She turned away, following Ms. Becker with her eyes for a moment. Then she shook her head. “I feel sorry for her.”

  “Do you? You don’t seem to feel sorry for yourself.”

  Her head snapped back to Jesse. His face was impassive, and she admitted that he’d simply stated the truth. “I’m not. It’s hard at the beginning, but after a while, you become so involved in other things, it doesn’t hurt anymore.”

  “If you’re lucky,” Jesse noted. “What other things are you involved in?”

  “Philip,�
� she said, then grinned. “Of course, Philip. And I’ve got the house, my job—”

  “Where do you work?”

  “Woodleigh’s,” she told him. “On the Post Road.”

  “Woodleigh’s,” he repeated uncertainly. “Is that a store of some sort?”

  That he’d never heard of Woodleigh’s surprised her. The store served an affluent clientele. It specialized in hand-blown crystal and hand-painted dishes, fine linens, artist-designed flatware, butcher-block furnishings, ceramic napkin rings, and all sorts of elegant knickknacks. There were currently four Woodleigh’s outlets, all located in shoreline Connecticut towns, all catering to upwardly mobile, well-heeled suburbanites—the sort of people who wore expensive leather jackets.

  “Yes,” she remembered to answer him. “It’s a store. I’m the manager. And—especially at this time of year—I’m much too busy to sit around moping.”

  “Green!” a familiar voice squawked shrilly into her ear. “Oh my God, it’s green!”

  Spinning around, Robin found Joanna glaring at one of the crayoned turkeys on the bulletin board, her hands on her hips and her face screwed into a grimace. “Hey,” Robin greeted her. “How was the snake?”

  “Either he was sleeping or he was dead. I didn’t bother to ask. But look at this, Robin! Jeff colored his turkey green!”

  “What’s wrong with green?” Robin laughed. “At least his turkey has wings. Philip drew hands and antennae on his.”