One Wish

“Well, you wowed ’em tonight. I even heard a marriage proposal.”

He laughed.

“Does that ever become...you know...difficult?”

“What?”

“The girls,” she said. “They crush on you! And some of them are beautiful! And look older than me, by the way! Does that ever worry you?”

“Worry me in what way?” he asked, his brow crinkling.

“What if one of them got the wrong signals? Thought you were romantically interested or something?”

He chuckled. “They do all the time, but not because of anything I do—because of their imaginative, nubile young minds mixed with the irresponsibility of raging hormones. Grace, teachers have to play it real safe or find themselves in a bad place.”

“What does that mean?”

He shrugged. “There are very specific guidelines. We don’t touch the students, except maybe a hand on an arm or shoulder to say, ‘Wait up a second.’ We can never have private conversations with students with doors closed. We don’t give them a lift home even in a nice little town like this. We don’t make gestures that could be interpreted as seductive, and we don’t respond to such gestures—the list is long. And it’s not just for young male teachers but for all teachers—young women, old women, crusty old codgers, guys like me. Counselors like Iris. If she closes her office door, the door to the main hallway is closed to the passersby, but all the offices are internal cubicles that share a common hall between them so that a conversation can be private but if someone yelled or called out, it could be heard. Counselors, principals, nurses—they have to be afforded a degree of privacy to do their work. Students need to feel safe. I, however, am always seen in a crowd. During my private conversations with students, the door to the classroom is open. And we’re on opposite sides of the desk.”

“But has it happened, Troy? That some girl takes her crush too far?”

“You understand that I like women, but women my own age, right? I’m not tempted by children. High school students are minors. And our school system forbids fraternization with students even of legal age, like eighteen-year-olds. There is absolutely no compromise there.”

“Of course,” she said. “But...”

“To a certain degree, there are some normal feelings in the mix for the kids. Little girls sit on their daddy’s laps and promise to marry them and the fact is, they probably will marry a man just like their father. Crushing on teachers is not unusual, but they’re children and it’s the adult teacher’s job to keep that from escalating. You get to be good at recognizing the signs and creating appropriate distance and barriers before...” He stopped. He pulled up behind her building and parked. He turned to her. “Gracie, why are you asking me this?”

“I just thought it must sometimes be challenging.”

He rubbed a knuckle along her cheek. “Honey, were you molested? Assaulted? By an older man or teacher? Someone in a position of authority?”

“Me?” she asked, genuinely shocked. “No! No, of course not.”

“Then you knew someone who was,” he said matter-of-factly.

Boy, did she! Years ago, and it all ended so tragically it marked one of the most traumatic experiences of her life. But that was not the direction Grace wanted this conversation to go. Not tonight. So she smiled gently.

“You must either be a very wonderful teacher or so intuitive it’s scary,” she said. “Once, I thought someone I knew was a victim, a younger girl, but even though I had suspicions, I never had proof. She wasn’t a good friend of mine, just a girl I knew. Seriously, I didn’t bring it up to discuss that—that was so long ago. I really was curious about how you manage the situation with the students. I’d have asked Iris all the same questions if it had ever come up. It was the dance that brought it to mind. Some of those girls are gorgeous. And you do kind of make them giggle.”

“The really scary part is I don’t have to do much to make them giggle. There’s a real dearth of young teachers in Thunder Point. Another one who gets their constant attention is Coach Lawson. But he doesn’t have female students.” He leaned toward her and put a small kiss on her lips. “You must be exhausted.”

She gave him a little smile. “Would you like to come up?”

“If you think you can stay awake awhile...”

“Come on up,” she said. She hummed under her breath all the way up the back stairs to her little loft, and right inside the door, she turned to him and, for once, she made the advance. She put her arms around his neck and kissed him like she really meant business.

“Whoa,” he said.

“Would you like a glass of wine? I think we should have a little talk.”

He paused for a moment. “Should I go down to the flower fridge for the wine?” he finally asked.

“No, tonight is this very special Shiraz. I hope you like it.” She picked up a bottle from the counter and handed it to him so he could look at it.

But Troy frowned, as if he was worried about what was coming. “Let me open it for you so we can get to the talking part.”

She turned to grab the corkscrew, then picked up the two glasses that she’d set out earlier.

“Where are we talking?” he asked as he shed his coat and tie.

“How about right in here?” she said, carrying the glasses to the little living room. She put the glasses on the coffee table, kicked off her shoes and got comfortable. “Why do you look worried?”

“Because this seems planned and I have no idea what’s coming. I hope it’s not bad news.”

“I hope so, too. Open that wine and let it breathe.” While he did that, she took a deep breath. “Troy, I’ve never been to a high school dance before tonight.”

He stopped twisting the corkscrew for a second, then looked at her. He pulled the cork. “A lot of kids don’t go to the dances, Gracie.”

“I bet you did,” she said.

“I did,” he admitted. “But by now you know me—I’m a flirt. I get along with everyone. I’m the fun coach. I almost always had a girlfriend or at least a date. I didn’t date just anyone, though—I’m no man whore. I’m not a screw around kind of guy.”

“Troy, I never went to a high school dance because I never went to a high school.”

He seemed to be momentarily confused. “Boarding school? Some private academy?”

She shook her head. “Homeschooled. With tutors.”

“And some classes here and there?”

“Some,” she said. “Small groups of tutored kids, now and then. Mostly independent study with guidance and lots of tests to track my progress.”

“Wow. You’ll have to share that study plan with me someday. It seems to have worked. You’re very accomplished for someone who never went to high school.”

“I didn’t say they were lazy tutors,” she said. “I learned things a lot of high school students wouldn’t even get to. But there’s a reason I’m telling you this, Troy. I’ve also never had a boyfriend.”

He chuckled. “That’s very hard to believe. You’re beautiful.”

“Oh, I had a couple of bad dates, but that’s about all. I just wasn’t in the mainstream of life like other young women. See, I said my parents were gone and that’s true, sort of. My father died when I was only fourteen and my mother and I fell out five years ago. We had an argument about what I wanted to do with my life. She comes from money—she’s very spoiled and demanding. She’s a diva, that’s the only way to describe her. The very thought of me in the back of a florist’s shop, filthy, lifting big pots, driving to residences to deliver flowers, being the help at weddings and funerals...” Grace shrugged. “She was mortified. We had a standoff. She wanted me to live at home with her, follow in her footsteps, plan charity events, travel with her, let her... Well, she probably had some guy lined up for me from somewhere. We never got that far in a discussion. I wasn’t interested. I wanted my own life and I wanted it simple. We haven’t spoken in years. It’s very sad. It’s for the best, I think.”

By his expression, he was stunned. He reached out and grabbed her shoulder. “Grace...I’m sorry.”

“Thank you. Maybe someday it will sort itself out. What I really want you to know is...” She lifted her chin bravely. “Troy, I’m not like Iris. I’m not like other girls. I’m probably less experienced than some of your students. I’ve never had a guy I really liked before. I’m pretty lame at it.”

“You’re doing very well,” he said with a smile. He poured them each a glass of wine.

She took a sip. Then a breath. “Well, even though you’re probably going to figure it out anyway, I thought you should know—I don’t know much about men. Just what my boyfriends in my romances told me. That’s it.”