that would help him to get through to the boy. Above all, he wanted to keep their relationship open and honest—so he asked a lot of questions. But he didn’t get a great deal of feedback.
“She sounded desperate, so I said I’d do it. Is that okay with you?” he asked. The last thing he wanted to do was embarrass his son, no matter how persuasive the woman on the other end of the line had come across.
“It’s okay, I guess,” Jason said with no real enthusiasm. Then, turning to look at him over his shoulder, his son added a provision to his agreement. “As long as you don’t kiss me around the other guys.”
Steve suppressed a grin. Now, that he could fully relate to and understand. He could remember how embarrassing parental demonstrations of affection could be at that age. “It’ll be hard, but I promise I’ll control myself.”
“Good.” Jason nodded. Going back to killing aliens, the boy asked absently, “Whatcha gonna talk about?”
“My career.” Then, because of the perplexed look on his son’s face when Jason turned toward him again, Steve added, “I’m a lawyer, remember?”
“I ’member,” Jason answered almost solemnly, then asked, “You gonna do some lawyer stuff for the class?”
There were times when he felt that Jason didn’t have a clue as to what he did for a living. Julia liked to say that he argued for a living. He supposed that was as apt a description of his profession as any. But he doubted that a group of seven-year-olds would understand the joke.
“I’m going to explain to your class what a lawyer does,” he told Jason.
“Oh.” It was clear that Jason didn’t seem to think that would go over all that well with his class—but he had a remedy for that. “Maybe you better bring treats, like Jeremy King’s mom did when she came to talk about her job.”
He honestly considered Jason’s suggestion. “Maybe I will bring treats since food seems to be the only thing that impresses people your age.”
The aliens still weren’t dying and the controller remained idle in Jason’s hands, telling Steve that he had his son’s full attention—at least for a half a minute more. “I like chocolate, Dad.”
“Yes, I know,” Steve said with as straight a face as he could manage.
And then the consequences of his affable agreement hit him. He was going to have to stand up in front of a classroom full of restless little boys and girls and try to hold their attention for at least ten minutes, if not more. Steve looked over toward the phone he’d just hung up on the wall. Maybe he’d been just a little too hasty saying yes.
Oh, he had no trouble standing up before an audience. Most of all, he was really apprehensive that he might inadvertently embarrass his son—which in turn might push the boy even further away from him than he was now. Seven-year-olds were sensitive and desperately wanted to blend in, not stand out, and having him in the classroom would definitely single Jason out.
“So you’re okay with my coming to your classroom?” he asked again.
“Uh-huh.”
Steve gathered from his son’s tone that Jason was once again clearly engaged in the business of knocking off tall, thin gray aliens and was a million miles away from him.
* * *
A few days later, Steve was still having second thoughts about talking in front of Jason’s class. Actually, his second thoughts were into their third edition at this point.
But if nothing else, he was well aware that it was too late to pull out. He had committed to this speaking engagement and he was nothing if not a man of his word.
It was a lesson he was trying to teach Jason and he knew if he bowed out at the last minute, aside from leaving the assistant principal high and dry, he would be teaching Jason that it was all right to give your word and then break it on a whim.
He might not be the world’s best father, but at least he knew that much was wrong.
Jason’s teacher, Mrs. Reyes, had placed two folding chairs in the front of the room, putting them a few feet away from her own desk. The intention was that the speakers wouldn’t feel as if they were “on” the entire time. Her aim was to afford the speakers a clear view of the classroom and its occupants, even while keeping everything at a safe distance.
Steve took his seat, wondering who else had been roped into this “sales pitch to seven-year-olds,” as he had come to think of the experience.
He didn’t have long to wait for an answer. No sooner had the question occurred to him than the classroom door opened and he heard a rather melodic, softly compelling voice say, “I’m sorry I’m late. I’m afraid my staff meeting ran over.”
“I’m just glad you could make it,” Mrs. Reyes said, smiling broadly at the owner of the voice. There was more than a measure of relief echoing in the teacher’s own voice.
Steve turned to look at the late arrival and found himself suddenly and completely captivated. The young woman, carrying what appeared to be a wide valise or case of some sort, was all swirling strawberry-blond hair, bright blue eyes and heartwarming smile.
Unlike him—he was wearing a light gray suit—she was dressed casually in a light blue summer dress that brought out her eyes even more than nature already had. To top off the picture, the woman had the best set of legs he’d seen since—well, he couldn’t quite remember since when.
“Hi,” the woman said to him as she took the seat beside his. Her eyes swept over him as she asked, “Are you giving a Career Day speech, too?”
“Yes.” Suddenly at a loss for words, all he could do was smile at her—and feel utterly inept. Something that had never happened to him before.
“What’s your career?” she asked in a deliberately low voice. She was intent on not distracting anyone in the classroom; however, the low timbre managed to distract Steve big-time. “Well, you’re in a suit, so it must be something important,” she assumed, then made a guess. “Doctor?”
He barely shook his head. The rest of him felt as if he had been frozen in place, trapped in her eyes. Who was this woman? “No,” he breathed.
“Lawyer?” was her second guess.
“How did you know?” There was no L on his forehead, no aura particular to lawyers. He couldn’t see her managing to figure it out on her second guess.
She smiled and he found himself even a little more captivated than he already was—if that was possible. “The old nursery rhyme. You know—rich man, poor man, beggar man, thief. Doctor, lawyer, Indian chief. You said no to doctor and you didn’t look like a chief, so I took a stab at lawyer.” That out of the way, she asked the next logical question. “What kind of a lawyer are you?”
“A good one,” he replied.
His own answer sounded almost flippant to him—and that just wasn’t like him at all. He was good, fair and dedicated. None of those attributes had any leeway for flippant.
“Ah, one with a sense of humor. That’s good,” she pronounced with a smile that for a moment rivaled sunbeams.
