style="font-size:15px;"> The class chuckled.
“—that if you’d just stop to eval—” Ben stopped midrant.
“Yes, well…he’s a former leading light in the investment community, but now something of a recluse here in…”
Ben quickly glanced over at Matt. “Wait a minute. What is this class?”
“Shush, Ben, would you?” Matt said with a frown. “I’m trying to listen.”
“Unfortunately I never heard back from the speaker, and it doesn’t look as if he’s going to show…” The teacher’s voice dropped off.
Ben leaned across the aisle. “Just tell me. What’s the subject?” He raised an apologetic hand when another student swiveled around to stare at him.
Matt kept his eyes focused on the front of the room. “Finance. Personal finance.”
“Holy—” Ben bit back the expletive. This time he got two annoyed stare downs.
“You were the one who was supposed to come talk, weren’t you?” Matt did the eye-roll thing again, big-time. Then he shook his head in disgust.
CHAPTER FOUR
“YOU FORGOT, DIDN’T YOU?” Matt accused. “Why am I not surprised?” He turned his head away. “Some dad you turned out to be. You forgot about my mom. You forgot about m—” He bit back the final word.
The boy turned back, his scowl evident. “So what are you going to do about it?”
Ben stared. “Did you just refer to me as your dad?”
Matt straightened and faced forward. “Don’t take it personally. It’s just a figure of speech. And don’t change the subject.”
Matt had resolutely insisted on calling Ben by his first name since they’d met a month and a half ago, and Ben hadn’t tried to dissuade the boy otherwise. He figured Matt would come around and accept the relationship. Ben was still waiting.
The teacher’s voice rose higher. “Could everyone pass these around?”
Ben glimpsed up to see papers making their way back. He ignored them and bent toward Matt. “Listen, like I told you before, for whatever reasons, your mother didn’t tell me about you.”
“Maybe because you never stuck around to find out.” Matt took the assignment from the student in front of him. “Here. Have some homework.” He thrust the extras at Ben who got an additional stack from some crazy-looking woman with punk hair.
Flummoxed, Ben dropped the handouts in a rough pile on the desk. A few drifted to the floor. “Listen, we really need to talk and—”
“Mr. Brown, is there some problem?” the teacher called out from the front of the classroom.
Matt hung his head in his hands and groaned.
Ben he looked up. The teacher was frowning. “No problem,” he lied. Everybody’s a critic, he mumbled under his breath.
He angled his shoulder under the desk and stretched his arm awkwardly, managing to snag the last paper. Then he went to straighten up. And promptly clipped his head on the corner of the desk. “Holy—”
Only visions of Matt dissolving with shame kept him from finishing his thought. He gingerly straightened up, clutching the back of his head with one hand and holding the papers in the other. He looked around.
Everyone’s attention was again locked on him.
“No damage done,” he assured them, ignoring the lump forming on the back of his head.
“If you’re sure?” the teacher said. She turned sideways, and Ben saw her cover her mouth to hide her laughter.
He lowered his head and died a thousand deaths. This must be what Matt’s every waking hour is like, he thought.
The teacher spent the next thirty minutes or so talking, and Ben, who was still pondering the unfairness of fate, vaguely heard terms like pension, 401K and IRA defined and discussed. And somewhere in the mix she seemed to have mentioned something about homework until finally, miraculously, a buzzer sounded. There was a remote chance he’d survive this moment after all.
Ben looked across the aisle and found the kid’s seat empty. He checked the room. Matt had found refuge in a corner and was furiously texting, moving his fingers across the keypad with lightning speed.
Ben sighed and unfolded his legs from under the desk. “Get me out of here,” he said to no one in particular.
Rufus swiveled around from his front row seat. “Don’t worry. In four or five years he’ll actually become human again.”
The woman with the spiked hair thrust a small flat packet in his direction. Her large hoop earrings looked like they had razor-sharp points at critical junctures. “Here, crack this. It’ll help,” she said.
Ben stared at the thin plastic-covered square. “Microwave popcorn?” he asked, confused.
“God, you’re helpless. It’s a cold pack that activates when you crack it. Put it on your head where you hit it. Otherwise I can guarantee you’re going to have a nasty bump. I always carry one in my bag on account of tennis. You never know.” She tapped the oversize canvas tote.
Ben could have sworn it moved, but maybe he’d been hit on the head one too many times tonight. “Thank you, but I’m fine, really,” he said.
She patted his hand, something he couldn’t remember happening in quite some time, if ever. “No, you’re not.” One more pat, then she marched back up the aisle.
Ben closed his eyes and shook his head. He heard more footsteps coming his way. What now? he wondered. More unsolicited advice from the soft food crowd?
Reluctantly he opened his eyes. And saw the teacher. She appeared all radiant and dewy, though perhaps a more accurate appraisal was semidried out.
She stopped a few paces in front of him. “Mr. Brown.”
“Ms…ah…I’m afraid I didn’t catch the name.”
“Zemanova.”
“Zemanova.” Saying her name produced a vibration on his tongue that was mildly exhilarating. Maybe he did need that ice pack after all?
She tucked a lock of her wild red hair behind her ear. The lobe was pearly pink, the rounded edge as delicate as fine china.
Ben told himself to breathe.
“Mr. Brown,” she repeated, “I wanted to talk to you. Maybe we could have a seat?”
Ben groaned inwardly.
She motioned to the empty desks.
“I’m…ah…” He caved. “After you,” he said, wondering as he lowered himself sideways if Hunt knew the name of
