Page 16 of Love Lessons

That afternoon, while the kids were busy at work coloring their All About Me booklets, I squatted beside Finley’s table. She raised one eyebrow at me in curiosity, and it struck me how much she looked like her father. “Hey Finley,” I said sweetly, looking at the family portrait she’d drawn. There were four ovals on the paper, each with stick arms and legs poking out from them. It was easy to tell which one was meant to be Mason, with his blond hair drawn with a yellow crayon. “Who did you draw here?”

“Me and my daddy and grandma and grandpa.”

“I love how everyone is smiling in this picture,” I said, tapping the paper with my fingernail. “What kinds of things do you like to do with your grandparents?”

Finley tilted her head to the side and gave this some thought. “Eat spaghetti and play Candy Land.”

I giggled. “That sounds perfect. Are you having a good first day of school?” Finley nodded, but I couldn’t help but notice a frown forming on her face. “Is something wrong?”

She looked over her shoulder at Elijah, who was sitting several feet away. “I’m worried about Elijah.”

“You are?” I adjusted my legs, dropping my knees to the ground to get more comfortable. “Why’s that?”

“He has to ride the bus home, and he’s afraid he’s going to get on the wrong one, Ms. Devin. And then his mom won’t be able to find him.”

I stared at Finley and blinked. “Elijah… talked to you?” Finley nodded, and my mouth fell agape. Elijah’s mom had alerted me in his registration papers that he may never speak out loud at school—he didn’t talk to anyone besides his parents. He’d spent the entire morning quietly observing everyone else, so I was surprised Finley got him to open up so soon. “I’ll make sure Elijah gets on the right bus. What else did he say?”

Finley picked up a purple crayon. “Um. He said he doesn’t like The Wiggle Song.”

I laughed. Unfortunately for Elijah, The Wiggle Song had been part of my morning routine since I’d started teaching, and it was the only way I knew to get my students warmed up and ready to learn. “Well, what about you, Finley? Besides worrying about Elijah, are you having a good day?”

She nodded. “I love school.”

“Good!” I patted Finley’s arm as I stood back up.. I let her get back to work, sneaking a picture of her as she colored to send to Mason in the parent portal. He replied almost immediately with a stream of heart emojis.

There was that ache in my ovaries again.

chapter eight

mason

“Daddy, what’s wrong with your hands?”

I wiggled my black-tipped fingers at Finley in the seat beside her at Moretti’s, her second-favorite restaurant in Woodvale. While it couldn’t quite beat McDonald’s level of cuisine, their spaghetti was one of Finley’s favorite foods. And when she asked us to take her there for supper to celebrate the first day of school, we couldn’t say no. Even my dad, who was normally against eating out on weeknights, was along for the ride.

“I had to get fingerprinted today to make sure I’m not a bad guy,” I explained. I’d washed my hands at least three times since my background check that afternoon, but it did very little to remove the ink from my fingertips.

Finley raised her right eyebrow at me as she sipped her Sprite. It was noisy in that little restaurant—apparently we weren’t the only family with this idea. Moretti’s was a beloved institution in this town, and the sticky tables and grumpy servers were just part of the experience. Finley sat her Styrofoam cup on the table. “Does someone think you’re a bad guy?”

“No, but they just want to make sure. It’s for your school.” I picked up my straw wrapper to play with it. “And guess why I had to do it?”

“Why?”

I glanced across the table at my dad before answering her. “I’m going to come help Ms. Devin in your classroom.”

Finley’s mouth dropped open and her eyes lit up as she said, “My dad gets to come to school with me?”

“Yup.” I looked down at the table, feeling my father’s disapproving glare. I knew exactly what he was thinking—this was unnecessary. A woman’s job. I was hovering. He didn’t have to say any of it out loud—his scowl told me enough.

My mom, on the other hand, already knew about it—and she was delighted. “I was a Room Mom when you were in kindergarten, remember? I helped at the Halloween party. The year you went as Woody.”

I smiled down at my sweet tea. “How could I forget?” Just then, our server arrived with the food. Spaghetti for Finley, mushroom pizza for me, and fettuccine for both of my parents. The conversation died down for a few minutes as I cut Finley’s spaghetti so she wouldn’t slurp it and make a mess.

It was only a matter of time before my dad had to chime in with his opinion about my volunteering. “How are you going to get any work done if you’re up at the school?”

I inhaled through my nose. “It’s just a few hours a week.”

“Well,” he said, shaking his head as he swirled fettuccine noodles around his fork. “With her at school, you could probably get you a real job now.”

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