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  They shook hands to seal the deal.

  It wasn’t until Charlotte was home and checked her cell phone, and saw the messages from her mother and from Bridget, that she wondered what it would take to keep Paul’s secret. Meanwhile, she was also waiting to hear back from the missionary program, but for once in her life she hoped the mail would take its time because she still didn’t know what answer she wanted to receive.

  She returned Bridget’s call first because she knew it would be the easier one. Things remained tense between Charlotte and her mother. The doctors couldn’t find a physical cause, but her mother’s symptoms lingered and worsened—aggravated, Charlotte was sure, by her mother’s stress and by her refusing to slow down. But she didn’t dare say that to her mother.

  Lord, I miss Anna. I miss her all the time. I wish we could talk about her...

  She sighed as she dialed Bridget’s number.

  “Hey!” Bridget answered on the first ring. “I thought I might catch up with you at Seth’s today. But I didn’t see you there. What were you up to?”

  “I had some things to deal with after school,” Charlotte replied.

  Bridget dropped her voice, as if sharing in a conspiracy. “I wondered about that. I hope everything’s okay. The new woman in town—Mavis?—was there getting some take-out coffee and I heard her say a couple of things about her boy and some incident that happened at school. She sounded really upset, Char.”

  Again Charlotte thought of the time she planned to spend with Paul and the hazards of a small town where precious little went unnoticed.

  “Bridge, you know I can’t discuss the details of what happened with you.”

  “I know,” Bridget agreed in a cheerfully matter-of-fact way. “But I wanted to give you a heads-up. I don’t think you and Mavis are going to be best friends anytime soon.”

  “That’s too bad, because I get the feeling Mavis needs friends.”

  “I suppose,” Bridget said. “Listen, I just wanted to touch base. Supper’s at our place on Friday so, if I don’t see you on Wednesday night, I’ll see you then for sure.”

  Then Charlotte returned her mother’s call. But it was her dad who answered. “Your mom is napping. You might want to try back in a half hour or so.”

  “I will,” Charlotte said. “I love you guys.”

  “Thank you, Charlotte, that’s good to hear.”

  After they’d hung up, Charlotte still clutched her phone while her thoughts raced. She wished they could find answers for her mother’s headaches. She wished that she knew for sure whether or not she really wanted to go away.

  Most of all, she wished that Anna was still with them.

  * * *

  They had agreed to start meeting on the first Monday that followed Paul’s big revelation. Paul looked around his home, making sure everything was tidy and in place, and that no sticky peanut-butter-and-jelly handprints were going to make an unexpected appearance on walls or countertops.

  “Ms. Connelly is coming over here?” Tyson asked for the umpteenth time.

  Paul remembered the days when it was almost impossible to fathom that teachers actually existed outside the classroom, so he patiently explained again. “Yes, and you’re welcome to come and say hello and visit for a few minutes, and then, remember, I said you could watch one episode of that show you like?”

  “But staying with you and Ms. Connelly would be more fun.”

  “I understand that you like Ms. Connelly, Tyson,” Paul said. “But we have some...grown-up stuff to talk about, and I honestly think you’d be bored.”

  “Does it involve kissing?” Tyson asked with an understanding nod.

  “Kissing? What? No!”

  The brief but utterly pleasing kiss in front of the school came to Paul’s mind, as well as Charlotte’s scent of soap and cinnamon toothpaste and her warmth when she hugged him.

  “You look kinda flushed, Uncle Paul,” Tyson said.

  “You’d better scoot and make sure your room is tidy in case Ms. Connelly wants to see it.” He hoped that was enough to distract Tyson for the moment. Paul saw the boy’s eyes go wide again at the marvel of his teacher coming to his home as he bolted for the stairs.

  But his comment had unnerved Paul more than he wanted to admit, even to himself. He had stripped away all of his defenses and showed the rawest part of his pain to Charlotte. But he had done it so he could improve himself and be in a position to help Tyson and to give him the best life possible. He wasn’t supposed to still be thinking about how it had felt when she had put her arms around him to comfort him.

  While Tyson was upstairs, he hurriedly washed their supper dishes and put them away and surveyed the kitchen with a critical eye.

  You have to stop feeling like you’re getting ready for a date...

  Paul’s thoughts were distracted by the sight of Tyson coming jauntily down the stairs. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who thought that Ms. Connelly was worth making an effort for. He was wearing dress pants, a red-and-blue plaid shirt and...

  “Tyson...are you wearing a tie?”

  The boy stopped at the bottom of the stairs and lifted it up to show it off.

  “Yup! It’s got snowmen on it.”

  “I can see that,” Paul said. Then he noticed that his nephew’s hair looked particularly slick, no cowlicks in sight. He frowned.

  “Come here, bud. What’s that you’ve got in your hair?”

  “I lotioned it,” Tyson said proudly. “I tell ya, it really keeps it in place.”

  “I imagine it does,” Paul said, stifling a laugh. “But, you know, I kind of prefer your natural look. Why don’t you go back upstairs and see if you can wash...”

  The sound of the doorbell interrupted his instructions.

  * * *

  Charlotte made a valiant effort not to act surprised when she stepped into Paul’s house. She knew that the idea of a bachelor pad was a cliché that didn’t suit loyal, hardworking Paul in the least. But while she hadn’t expected to see deep maroon furniture and strobe lights, she also hadn’t quite expected to see the immaculately groomed yard with its fresh white fence and cluster of cheerful-looking pansies in the earth below the window. She also hadn’t been prepared for hardwood floors shined to a gleam, earthy-looking furniture arranged as if people might want to sit down and chat at any time or a butter-yellow kitchen with counter and cupboard space that she couldn’t help coveting.

  “Wow, you’re a lot tidier than I am,” she blurted out, despite her best efforts.

  “Ah, a closet slob, are we?” Paul said with a droll look.

  “Ms. Connelly!” Tyson hurled himself at her and she instinctively reached out her arms to steady him and herself. She was taken aback by the emotions that flooded her for the little boy as she returned his hug. She cared about all of her students, but she couldn’t deny that Tyson was starting to hold a special place in her heart...or that his connection to Paul played into that.

  God, help me to be balanced and to remember that I’m here to do a job. And please help me to keep my own dreams and goals in mind.

  She still hadn’t heard back from the mission committee, but she couldn’t imagine it would be long now.

  Tyson stepped back. “I wore a tie!” he announced proudly.

  “I can see that.” Charlotte caught Paul’s secret smile at her over Ty’s head, and again her heart did a two-step. She quickly looked down at Tyson. “The snowmen look very happy.”

  She registered the overly slick look and lotion-y smell of his hair then and glanced up again at Paul, who shrugged.

  “Uncle Paul says you have some grown-up stuff to talk about and that there’s no kissing planned,” Tyson announced.

  “And on that note,” Paul hurriedly interjected, “this young gentleman was about to go upstairs to try to get some of the lotion out of his hair. As a matter of fac
t, I should probably give him a hand. Be right back.”

  He hurried Tyson up the stairs, and Charlotte noticed that he wouldn’t look at her. But, frankly, she was glad to have the reprieve. What in the world had that kissing comment been about? Based on experience, she knew that six-year-olds didn’t have much of a filter, so she hoped that’s all it was. And that Paul didn’t think she had hopes for a romance or anything like that.

  By the time the two of them returned downstairs, she had composed herself.

  “Tyson is going to watch a show in the den while we work,” Paul explained. He apparently had decided to deal with the kissing comment by ignoring it. Well, that suited Charlotte just fine.

  Tyson’s hair was damp and unruly, as she was used to seeing it. His face had that just-scrubbed pink look. He still wore his snowman tie.

  “Uncle Paul says that if I’m polite and let you get your work done, I can show you my room before you leave.”

  “I’d like that very much,” Charlotte said.

  When Tyson had finally left the room, and it was just the two of them in the kitchen, an expression on Paul’s face, somewhere between chagrin and amusement, signaled to Charlotte that he was not as oblivious to Tyson’s comment as he was acting.

  “Okay, then,” she said briskly. “Should we get started? We might as well use the kitchen table, do you think?”

  She thought she saw Paul’s eyes shadow a bit as he registered that she was in her teacher mode. She remembered what he had said about there being two different versions of her, and she wondered if he had figured out that it was easier to protect her feelings when she was being professional.

  “The kitchen table is fine,” he said quietly. He gestured to an empty chair and took one himself. His arms dangled awkwardly at his sides, as if he wasn’t quite sure what to do with them.

  Charlotte began to busy herself putting picture books and cue cards out on the table, focusing on that so she wouldn’t focus on how large and handsome—and yet how vulnerable—Paul looked sitting there.

  “Now, with my students, I usually like to start at the beginning,” she said, speaking quickly and keeping her attention on the study aids. “Reading begins with the basics—first we start with the letters of the alphabet, we learn their sounds and then we learn how they can be put together to make words. How does that sound?”

  There was no answer.

  She looked at Paul and saw him looking back, the half smile on his lips in conflict with the stormy look in his eyes.

  “Paul?” she asked nervously. It took effort for her not to fill the silence by repeating what she had just said.

  “I think this was a mistake,” Paul said.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The questioning look in Charlotte’s violet eyes almost caused Paul to backtrack what he’d said. But he had meant it, and it was important to him that she understood why.

  He resisted the urge to take her hands in his as he spoke.

  “I am not a six-year-old student,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “And I’m not one of the newcomers at church.”

  “I’m not implying in any way that you’re not intelligent,” Charlotte interjected. “I already told you how I feel about that.”

  “Please...just let me continue.”

  Charlotte opened her mouth, then snapped it shut.

  “I don’t even know if I can explain this...” Frustrated, he fisted some of his hair in his hand. “It’s not that I don’t want to learn, but I don’t know if I can start at the beginning. I know I have to learn the basics, but I—I really can’t stand anything that reminds me of sitting in a classroom. Whatever happened to me, I got through it the best way I could, and I’m living my life the best way I can. I want to do this for Tyson, I do. I just can’t do it this way.”

  He watched an array of expressions cross Charlotte’s face as he spoke, and he knew she was doing her best to meet him halfway.

  “Can I say a couple of things now?” she asked, softly.

  He nodded.

  “First of all, as I’ve said before and will say as many times as you need to hear it, you are a good person, Paul Belvedere, and Tyson is blessed to have you as his guardian. No,” she stalled his protest, raising her voice slightly. “Now I’m asking you to let me finish. The love and care you show Tyson can’t be learned from any book, and you’ve more than proven how capable you are by the way you pay attention and the things you can do and remember.”

  “So you agree there’s no point to this,” Paul said, sitting up straighter in his chair and leaning forward.

  “No, that’s not what I’m saying at all.” Charlotte tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. He noticed that she was wearing it down the way he liked it. “What I’m saying is that I think that what you’re not admitting is that you don’t just want to do this for Tyson. You want to prove something to yourself.”

  Paul pondered her words, unable or unwilling to know if there was truth in them.

  “If we can come up with a way for you to learn that feels comfortable to you,” Charlotte said with a thoughtful expression, “would you be willing to try?”

  He shifted in his chair in what he knew was a futile attempt to stall for time. Then, in the waiting silence, a delighted chortle came from the den and reminded him that he and Charlotte weren’t alone in the house, nor was he alone in this decision.

  “I want to do what’s best for Tyson.” He wasn’t ready to concede her earlier point that he himself wanted more. “So if you can think of anything that might help, I’ll give it a try. But I can’t promise anything beyond that.”

  Charlotte nodded. “That’s good enough for me.”

  Paul hesitated, uncertain about whether he should bring up what else was on his mind.

  “What else are you thinking about?” Charlotte asked, perceptive as always.

  He took a deep breath and plunged in. “I’m still thinking about Tyson and what happened at school with Michael. I know you have to be a neutral party,” he hurried to assure Charlotte as he saw her posture stiffening. “But I see Ty here at home, and he can be a happy, goofy kid, you know? Like with that tie he’s got on and the whole hair-lotion thing.”

  Charlotte nodded, a smile lifting the corners of her mouth.

  “I mean, he still has his moments,” Paul continued, “but in general, he’s doing a lot better.” He shook his head. “I just can’t equate the kid who’s laughing over some silly show in there with the one who decided the best way to settle his problems was to punch someone.”

  “We don’t always know how people are going to react to things,” Charlotte said. “Not children...not even ourselves.”

  “I suppose not...” Paul shook his head. “It just makes me feel like, wow, did I ever drop the ball on that one. Something I promised myself I’d never do.”

  “You’re only human, Paul. I wonder if you forget that sometimes.” Her eyes were soft with understanding. “You’re right in saying that I have to stay neutral, but I’m asking you again to trust me and my experience with this. I personally think it will do both Tyson and Michael a lot of good to spend some time together and sort things out, and it will always be under my supervision. You might not want to hear this, but I believe that behind all of that bluster, Michael is just a little boy in pain, too. They may have more in common than you think.”

  Paul shrugged, again not willing to commit himself. But, once again, Charlotte had made him think. She had a way of challenging him, and although based on his track record, that should have pushed him away, it made him want to get closer to her.

  “So...” Charlotte began to gather her training tools back up. “I guess we won’t do any more today. Does Ty still want to show me his room before I go, do you think?”

  Paul felt bad that she had obviously spent considerable time getting the study materials ready, and before he knew it,
the words were out of his mouth. “Why don’t you stay and have supper with us?”

  The decidedly unprofessional flush on her cheeks made him glad that he had asked.

  “That would be nice... I mean, if you’re sure.”

  “Yes, I’d love it if you would stay. I mean,” Paul hurriedly amended, “we would both enjoy the company.”

  * * *

  Paul had turned down her offer to help in the kitchen, and Charlotte was secretly relieved. Whenever she was around other couples, it wasn’t so much the obvious signs of affection like kisses and embraces that would tug at her. It was things like the intimate dance of familiarity and companionship that she’d observed when couples like Seth and Rena were in their kitchen preparing a meal. She didn’t often let herself think about what it would be like to be part of a couple, because life and circumstances just never seemed to point her in that direction. But, if the thoughts came, they were often stirred by the demonstration of a secret language that couples developed over time.

  “Ty, now would be a good time to show Ms. Connelly your room,” Paul suggested. Tyson was thrilled to oblige, bounding up the stairs while Charlotte followed close behind him.

  His room was perfect for a little boy, Charlotte thought, without resorting to the themes of popular comic book and cartoon characters. As she took in the neutral color of the walls, the denim-blue bedspread and the darker blue of the dresser and nightstand, as well as the collection of stuffed toys and small cars that adorned one of the shelves, she again admired Paul for the home he had provided for his nephew. It was obvious to see the care and concern inherent in the surroundings.

  But she also noted that there were no books on the shelves and, while she understood why now, she hoped even more fervently that she and Paul could continue to work together and that eventually he would have the basic skills he needed and the confidence to keep building on them.

  And she hoped that would all happen before she went away to do her mission work.

  “Ms. Connelly?” Tyson looked like he was thinking hard about something, then he gave a firm nod.