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The Widower’s Brother-In-Law

Page 81

by Beth Christopher

The principal enters. She’s the only one smiling, even though she lifts an eyebrow at where Mike and I have joined hands in a way that makes my skin tight.

We’re supposed to be a couple. Couples hold hands.

Even though my face feels stiff, I try to smile back.

“So.” The only other woman in the room leans forward, seeming to be the one in charge. Or at least the one chosen to kick things off. “Mr. Ness, we appreciate you and Mr. Greene taking the time to meet with us today. We’ve looked over Ella’s transcripts and the evaluations from her current teachers. What can you tell us today about why you feel this school would be a good fit for your daughter?”

My tongue is thick in my mouth. I figured they might ask something like this. I spent a lot of time last night rehearsing an answer I thought would sound right. Telling them I want Ella out of the place where they don’t know what to do with her and where drugs were found will not go over too well.

The best thing, I figure, is to say the good stuff. “Well.” I’m embarrassed by the need to clear my throat. It feels like something an insecure person would do. “I suppose I might be biased, but Ella’s a real smart kid. Her mother wanted to be a chemist before she passed, and I see Ella’s same interests when she tries to plug up the bathroom sink and dissolve things in the water in the name of science.”

Damn. I’d hoped to get a laugh or something out of that, but all I see are a couple of weak smiles. “Uh, anyway. Like I said. She’s a smart kid. Reads at a seventh-grade level, or so her teacher says. Did a great job performing as a mouse in The Nutcracker this past Christmas. Her teachers keep telling me she’s got so much potential, but they don’t have the resources to really help her with that. I’d like to see her land someplace that can.”

Honestly, I was proud of my little pitch, but when I pause they’re all still staring as if they expect me to say more. Which I hadn’t been prepared to do. Hadn’t wanted to run my mouth too much, right? And besides, I’m her dad. Of course I’m going to brag about my kid. How much does that matter? More than I thought, apparently.

I’m working myself up to a good panic when Mike’s hand squeezes my leg under the table. He leans forward, giving all those judgy people one of his best smiles.

“Dean doesn’t want to brag too much, so I’ll do it for him. He’s made Ella’s success his number one priority since the day she was born. In fact, just the other day…”

He goes on, but there’s a ringing in my ears that muffles the words. Pressure builds behind my eyes as I try to catch bits of what he’s saying. He’s smoother than I am, of course. Always has been. It kills me that I don’t have the same skill.

I should. When it comes to her, I should be able to say the right things.

The way Mike talks about Ella, though, it just about takes me out. I know he loves her, but hearing him lay everything out is kind of wild.

He takes the people in front of us on a journey with the rise and fall of his voice. The one old man and the woman I don’t know lean forward, as if they’re at the part of a murder mystery where the whodunnit’s about to happen.

“…and we’re both really grateful for this opportunity to…”

I’m trying to nod and smile along with whatever Mike’s saying, even though my brain’s having trouble grabbing hold of most of it.

My hand finds his again under the table, but I hesitate because my palms are sweaty. I’m trying to avoid the urge to tap my fingers or bounce my leg, when suddenly I realize people are getting up to leave.

The brassy blond lady in the pantsuit is shaking my hand and saying something about paperwork. And a deposit check? Everything’s a jumble of clattering feet and too-bright smiles.

Confused, I turn to Mike. He’s laughing at something the oldest looking guy said. “What’s⁠—”

“Did you bring a checkbook?” Mike’s got both of his eyebrows up high. “For the deposit. If not, I’ve got mine.”

I force myself to smother a disbelieving laugh. Is he serious? He’s serious. It’s over already, and somehow we did it.

The two of us. Together.

I force a swallow. “No. I mean yes, I did.” Honestly, I almost didn’t. Never use the thing anyway, and I had to search the whole apartment for it. I was afraid to get my hopes up, but now I’m glad I did.

The principal lady pats me on the shoulder. “If you want to follow me to my office, we can take care of some preliminaries and get you on your way.”

I’m almost hesitant to go, but Michael’s still got my hand, and he tugs me down the hall. Thankfully, he tolerates me hanging on to him until we’ve paid Ella’s deposit and the folks have said she can start at the beginning of next week.

Next week. Next fudging week. I almost can’t even believe it.

We’re back in the car before I feel like I can think again. In the end, it’s the burning sensation when I accidentally turn Mike’s seat warmer up too high that breaks me out of my fog.

“They said yes.”

He nods. “They did. Good job, Dean.”

My ears get hot. I don’t know if he means it. I don’t know if he meant anything he said in there. But still he said it, and whatever he said got them to agree to let Ella attend that school, and that’s huge. Of all the things he’s done for us, this is the one I’m most grateful for.