I confess I lost track years ago.”
Now Professor Avery’s smile changed from a spontaneous expression of pleasure to one of wry resignation. “If you’re asking about ‘the old gang,’ you don’t remember me, Melissa. We didn’t exactly hang out with the same crowd of kids.”
Melissa blushed. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I don’t remember you. Please tell me how we…er…knew each other.”
“I was in your trig class, senior year.”
Melissa remembered her trigonometry class. It had been a subject that threatened her grade point average. Her predominantly right-brained mentality had always made any sort of advanced math challenging, and she’d have never received a decent grade in that class if it hadn’t been for—
Melissa’s hand flew to her mouth. “You sat behind me. You were the boy with the—”
“Glasses so thick and round you could use them for hockey pucks,” he finished for her, again with that slight, crooked smile.
Now Melissa remembered Charles Avery. But not like this…She couldn’t help it. She gave him another once-over, from head to toe, from gleaming auburn hair to wide shoulders, trim hips and endlessly long legs in snug jeans and trendy athletic shoes. Could this be the skinny, shy guy with bright red hair and glasses that obscured what were obviously very beautiful eyes? He’d been shy and polite and incredibly smart back then. And very, very nice. In fact, if not for him…
“Now it’s coming back to me,” she murmured, her hand still hovering near her mouth. “You were the reason I got a decent grade in that class. You tutored me. You came to my house for three weeks, right?”
He nodded. “Four nights a week.”
“Till I was finally able to comprehend what Mr. Daynes was trying to teach us.” Her hand dropped to her side and she asked, not very hopefully, “Did I ever thank you properly?”
He shrugged, then shifted the cherubic toddler he was holding from one hip to the other. “Well, I remember something about some cookies—”
“Dad, is this the temp’rary nanny?”
Melissa looked down and noticed two little faces peering around Charles’s legs. There was a redheaded boy and a little girl with a mass of curly, bed-rumpled hair so full of static it was sticking to her father’s pants. She was still in her pajamas.
“I think so,” Charles replied, casting Melissa an assessing look, his gaze lowering ever-so-briefly to her pregnant stomach. “They didn’t give me a name. Are you the nanny we requested from the agency, Melissa?”
Melissa could feel her cheeks burning. She didn’t think Charles sounded exactly sure whether or not he wanted her answer to be yes. As well, it suddenly occurred to her that Charles might be shocked to see her in this job. Back in high school she’d been president of the Future Business Leaders of America. Despite her slight math handicap, she’d always been good in business classes back then and had had big plans.
But look at her now! She was embarrassed. Very embarrassed. Charles wasn’t making her feel that way, and she loved being a part-time nanny, but it didn’t take an Einstein to figure out that Charles Avery, labeled a nerd in high school and excluded from her popular circle, had made something of himself, while she on the other hand…
At thirty-one she was already divorced, struggling to get the college degree she’d put off while helping Brad through school, and had to work a part-time job to make ends meet while she paid off debts from her failed marriage and tried to succeed at a business venture she should have started years ago. Actually, it was the things about her life Charles didn’t know that were most embarrassing, so if she could keep them a secret, maybe she’d make it through the week without dying of shame.
“Yes, I’m your nanny,” she finally answered, speaking directly to the little boy. “And I can’t wait to get started.”
Now she looked pointedly at Charles, who took the hint and stepped aside to allow her to enter the house.
“Well…that’s great,” Charles said, not very convincingly as he shut the door behind them and led Melissa into a large living room. He motioned to a chair. “I’ll introduce you to the kids, then we can…you know…get started.”
As Melissa settled in the chair Charles indicated, he and the children sat down on a sofa directly opposite her. Charles seemed to be trying to avoid staring at her pregnant belly as he introduced the children—Christopher, four, Sarah, three, and Daniel, two—but none of the children were shy about staring. As soon as his father stopped to draw breath, Christopher directed a question to the object of all their thoughts. “Are you going to have a baby or somethin’?”
Melissa smiled. “Oh, it’s not a something. It’s a baby, all right. I’ve seen pictures.”
Christopher’s eyes widened. “Wow. Already? But how—?”
“When are you due, Melissa?” Charles broke in, probably trying to curtail Christopher’s questions as well as to discover for himself whether or not he had to worry about a pregnant woman going into labor while she was supposed to be taking care of his children.
“Not for two weeks,” she told him, hoping he found that fact reassuring.
He nodded, but there was still a tiny fissure of worry between his eyebrows. “And…and how’s Brad doing?”
Melissa should have been expecting the question, but it still took her by surprise. She had no idea what to say. Did she dare admit that she and Brad were divorced? That the golden couple from East High had had a tarnished marriage? That she was paying off credit card bills from Brad’s extravagant support of his mistress, the rent on that woman’s apartment and all the little trinkets he bought her?
Probably bored by now with the grown-up talk, Christopher scrambled off the couch, grabbed a ball from the corner of the room, and began tossing it in the air.
Charles returned to the subject. “He’s probably pretty excited about the baby…Brad, I mean. Is this the first for you two?”
That’s when Melissa did it. She did it without thinking. She did it without considering repercussions or the very obvious moral arguments against it. She did it almost before Charles finished speaking.
She opened her mouth and out came the biggest lie of her life.
“Brad’s dead,” she stated abruptly. “Killed several months ago in a car accident.”
Charles’s face immediately reflected his horror at so insensitively mentioning her poor, dead husband. “I’m sorry, Melissa. I didn’t know.”
“Of course you didn’t know. How could you?” Melissa automatically answered, while internally rationalizing what she’d just done. It’s just a small concession to my pride, she told herself. After this week, I’ll never see Charles Avery again. It’s just a little white lie. A little…white…lie.
Charles’s horrified expression softened to one of sympathy and concern. “I won’t say I know just how you feel. People say that all the time, trying to be comforting. But, actually, it’s possible that I do know a little of how you feel, Melissa. When Annette died—”
“Annette?”
