Paige scooted back a little and her eyes darkened. “Did I say something to offend you?”
“No, no,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s just that word—‘healing.’”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s nothing. I just seem to find myself thinking more and more about what it actually means for someone to be healed from something.”
Liam knew he was getting closer to the core of Paige’s discomfort, whatever it might be. He guessed it must be related to Owen’s condition. It wasn’t a normal thing for a kid to completely stop talking, not unless there was real trauma at the bottom of it. His first thought had been that maybe there was an abusive father in the picture, but Paige had been very clear that she was a Ms., not a Mrs., so possibly that was out—at least he hoped it was.
But he couldn’t figure out what else it might be. Usually, children didn’t have such reaction to normal, everyday kid problems. It wasn’t like a bruise that would gradually heal itself, transitioning from black to purple to yellow, before it simply disappeared. Selective mutism was almost always a response to something very far out of the ordinary. Regardless, Liam knew it couldn’t be anything good, and, for some reason, he felt compelled to find out what may have caused it.
The truth was, he had something different to offer Paige and Owen—in the form of art therapy, of course. Liam figured Paige wouldn’t be open to it at first. Most parents he worked with had trouble understanding how art could help their children process their emotions. But maybe, just maybe, if he worked slowly to convince her, he could help her son get better. As it was, Owen was probably missing out on social experiences in his formative years. In fact, Liam estimated that, if the boy didn’t make major progress soon, resulting emotional damage could last beyond his elementary school years.
Liam could tell easily that Paige was a good mom—a great one, in fact. He knew, though, that often parents were so close to their kids that they lost the ability to see any alternative ways to help them. It was as though they’d sunk into an ocean of advice and needed to be pulled above water again to breathe and start fresh. As a teacher, it was his duty to help each child.
And his desire to help Owen had absolutely nothing to do with the ridiculously lovely Paige Graham.
* * *
Before Paige had a chance to say anything more, a microphone crackled up on stage. Principal Matthews addressed the staff, then a barbecue was laid out, filling the air with its rich, enticing scent, and Liam and Paige joined the long line of teachers to get their plates.
Paige knew she should have been mingling with a few teachers, but she had gotten sidetracked...by Liam. It was unnerving how easily he seemed to grab her attention. He was so close that she couldn’t concentrate on anything else but his presence behind her. She needed to watch out; otherwise she’d be entering territory she wanted to stay as far away from as possible. Even though six months had passed since her husband’s death and she truly wanted to move on at some point, the idea of letting Mark go completely was new enough to frighten her. Taking a step in that direction would be a risk she wasn’t yet certain she should take.
As Liam filled his plate, Paige headed off to grab a cup of sweet tea. Despite the delicious aroma that initially caused her mouth to water, and the passing plates piled high with some of her favorite dishes, she somehow wasn’t hungry anymore. And she needed to get back to work.
She circulated around the room, armed with her tea, and greeted all the new teachers before catching up with some of the more seasoned ones, many of whom had been close friends when she’d been in the classroom herself. She found herself relieved to be free of Liam for a few minutes. Something about him drew her in. Something comfortable and safe that had her stomach churning with uneasiness—a warm feeling she hadn’t had in a long time.
Sometimes she wondered if she’d ever really had a chance to grieve her husband’s death, so obsessed had she been with making sure Owen had everything he needed. Mark dying from the fire had been unexpected and traumatic—like something out of a shocking news story that could never actually happen to her.
Paige lost her train of thought as Principal Matthews approached. “How’s everything going?” she asked.
“Pretty well. I think I’ve managed to say at least a few words of encouragement to just about everyone. I think we’ll have a good year. You’ve hired an excellent staff, as usual,” Paige said, smiling in appreciation.
“I’m glad,” Principal Matthews said. Paige had known the older woman for many years and had admired her just as long. Her silver hair and round, pink cheeks gave her a grandmotherly appearance that kids naturally warmed to. Kind and fair, and always quick to smile at the children, she defied all stereotypes of what kids thought a principal should be. Ms. Matthews had a grandmotherly air about her and the students seemed to think that it would be worse to disappoint her than to be shouted at by her. If Ms. Matthews would indeed be retiring soon, her shoes would be very hard to fill. Paige couldn’t imagine anyone doing the job as well.
“Paige,” Ms. Matthews said, reaching up to place a small hand on her shoulder. “There is something I’d really like to talk to you about if you have a moment tomorrow afternoon.”
“Yes, of course.” Paige hoped she hid her sudden concern. She couldn’t guess what it might be, but she knew there had been an incident with a student’s parents that morning. Apparently the couple had had some understandable difficulty accepting the school diagnostician’s new diagnosis of their child’s learning disability.
Principal Matthews smiled at Paige, who thought she saw a hint of sadness in the older woman’s eyes. “I’ll stop by your office, Ms. Matthews,” Paige said, and her boss squeezed her forearm gently before turning to talk with some of the other faculty.
Paige felt her stomach grumble and decided she’d finally been social enough; her appetite had returned with a vengeance. She navigated toward the barbecue spread and put together a plate of what was left at the buffet. Sitting down at an empty table, she suddenly remembered that she’d left her notes and favorite pen at the table she’d shared earlier with Liam. Just as she started to get up to fetch them, she felt someone standing behind her and looked over her shoulder to see Liam’s large frame looming uncomfortably close. He smelled delicious—a unique mix of masculine soap and art supplies. “I’m sorry to bother you,” he said, reaching down to hand her the pen and folder full of notes she’d just been thinking about, “but it looks like you forgot these.” His hand brushed hers as he passed her belongings, and a confusing mix of desire and caution flowed through her.
“Thanks so much,” she said, hoping he hadn’t caught on to what she’d felt. “My grandmother gave me this pen when I got my first teaching job.” The smile he’d worn so easily before was gone.
“And about Owen...” he said, before pausing, then continuing. “I’ve been thinking about him a lot and I know that there must be some way I can help him. It’s a pretty big deal for a kid to lose the ability to speak to other kids his age. I’m just wondering, as his teacher, if there’s anything more I should know.”
Paige knew she was overreacting the minute she felt her heart begin to throb faster in her chest. Any of the desire she’d felt for Liam a moment ago vanished, to be replaced by maternal defensiveness. She knew he was just trying to help, but she was tired of people trying to tell her how to handle her son. Over the past six months she’d heard her fill of advice. She felt indignant when she thought that someone she’d just met, someone she’d have to interact with regularly, would offer her advice on her son’s life.
She’d
