glass on a nearby table, trying to find something safe to say. Fortunately, there was no need. Several people joined them and took over the conversation, which gave her the opportunity to listen and watch.
Watching Bryant’s face and listening to his voice made her feel very much alive, a light, effervescent feeling that tingled all through her.
It was very late when she decided to leave. She felt good, very good. Her spirits had been much restored. Actually, she felt quite charged up. She smiled to herself as she skipped down the steps to the quiet, dark street. The air was crisp and cool and she took in a deep breath, lifting her face to the night sky. Stars, a swelling moon. Endless space full of mysteries. It made you think of magic and love and hope.
Life was exciting and full of promise.
She wished she could hug the feeling to her and keep it there always.
Paul’s school performance did not improve in the following week. Twice in that time Zoe ran into Bryant as they were leaving for work at the same time. On both occasions her heart made a nervous little leap as she saw him-dressed in a business suit and smelling faintly of something clean and masculine. Neither time did he mention his son.
She’d seen him one other time, but he’d not seen her. The day after the party, Sunday, she’d taken a walk and noticed Bryant and Paul in the park, shooting hoops. Like Paul, Bryant had been wearing jeans and a T-shirt. He’d been like a different man, running, jumping, tossing the ball through the hoop with the smooth agility of an athlete. With her heart in her throat she’d watched his lean, muscled body twist and stretch and leap. Disturbing feelings had stormed through her-disturbing because of their intensity, because of the total lack of control she seemed to have over them.
It was frightening and exciting at the same time.
Sitting in her office, looking at the teachers’ reports about Paul’s work or lack thereof, she tried to concentrate on Paul and put Bryant out of her mind.
She called Paul into her office to have another talk with him. He sat huddled in a chair with his head down and stared at his hands as he fiddled with a paper clip. The body language was not promising. He answered all her questions with one of three mumbled answers: ‘I don’t know’, ‘I don’t care’ and ‘It’s stupid anyway’.
It was not the first time she had encountered a child like Paul with an attitude like his, yet she could feel her emotions getting the better of her. Bryant had to know something was wrong. Bryant had to take charge of this problem. Bryant had to care.
She wanted to do something, but scheduling another conference was most likely not going to work. She had to think of something else.
Something else-but what?
She needed inspiration, an idea, an opportunity. Something.
The next day she came home from school and found Paul outside sitting on the brick steps, his book bag next to him. He moved it to let her pass.
‘Why are you sitting here?’ she asked.
‘I forgot my key.’
‘Where’s Mrs Garcia?’
He shrugged. ‘She had to go to the doctor or something. My dad said I could be by myself today until he came home.’
‘Well, I can let you into the front door. When is your dad coming home?’
He shrugged. ‘I dunno.’ He got up and followed her into the small hall they shared.
‘Why don’t you come up to my place and wait? You can have a snack and do your homework.’
He shook his head. ‘Naw, I’m okay.’ He sat down on the floor with his back to the wall.
She started up the stairs to her apartment. ‘If you change your mind, just come on up, okay?’
‘Okay.’
He did not come up. Half an hour later she went downstairs with a glass of apple juice and some cookies. ‘I thought you might like something to eat.’
He put down the comic book he was reading and looked up in surprise. He took the glass and the small plate from her. ‘Thanks.’
‘You’re welcome. When does your dad come home usually?’
He shrugged again. ‘Different times.’ He bit into one of the cookies. ‘These are good,’ he said.
‘I made them myself. I’m famous for my chocolatechip coconut cookies all over Africa.’ This was rather an exaggeration, but it did get his attention.
‘Really?’ he asked. ‘Did you live in Africa?’
She nodded. ‘Several places. Last I was in Cameroon. I taught English at a boarding-school, and I was the girls’ counselor too.’
His face closed up. ‘Oh,’ he said, and glanced back at his comic book.
Berating herself for her stupidity, Zoe went back up the stairs into her own apartment and left the door ajar, hoping to hear Bryant’s arrival home. Paul was twelve, old enough to be on his own for a couple of hours when it was necessary.
It was five-thirty when she heard voices in the hall below. Bryant. Not so late.
Fifteen minutes later there was a knock on her door and Bryant stood in front of her, suit jacket gone, tie gone, shirt-sleeves rolled up. He handed her back the glass and small plate she’d given Paul earlier.
‘Thank you,’ he said, smiling. ‘That was very nice of you.’
His hand was brown and strong, she noticed as she took the things from him. ‘I asked him to come up here, but he refused,’ she said, trying not to be affected by this tall, vibrantly sexy man standing in front of her. It was hopeless. Her heart fluttered crazily and her blood tingled.
‘He told me.’ His blue eyes held hers, as if looking for something. ‘I’d like to take you to dinner tonight,’ he said.
She laughed. ‘Because I gave Paul some cookies?’
His mouth quirked. ‘No, because I want to. Paul’s going to spend the weekend with his cousin in Philadelphia. He’ll be picked up in half an hour. I thought it would be a good opportunity to try out that little Thai restaurant on M Street and for us to get better acquainted.’
The gods are with me, she thought with sudden excitement. Maybe this was the opportunity she’d been looking for, an opportunity to find out more about what was going on. Maybe Bryant had changed his mind and decided he wanted to talk about Paul. Perhaps talking over dinner was easier than in her office, and in a casual atmosphere she had more chance to reach him.
‘Do you like Thai food?’ he asked.
She smiled. ‘Oh, yes. I love fire and spice.’ Oh, God, she thought, shut up.
A gleam in his eyes, a faint smile. ‘Is that a yes?’
She tried to look sober, not to give
