You're My Baby Read Free Page B

briefly, before turning back, a watery smile in place. “Stupid, isn’t it, to let something so minor throw me.”
    He watched her mask of bravado slip back into place. He’d bet it would take a whole lot more than a little mess to shake Pam Carver. “I’m willing to help.”
    â€œSomehow I can’t imagine you draping my bookcases with Indian shawls or putting together a montage for my bulletin board.”
    He pointed to a stack of cardboard leaning against a file cabinet. “Maybe not, but I can certainly assemble your Globe Theatre replica.”
    â€œYou’ve just made me an offer I can’t refuse. I never was any good at inserting tab A into slot B.”
    They worked quietly side by side for half an hour. Every now and then she’d stifle a sigh. Her shoulders, usually held back confidently, sagged periodically, as if she bore a huge weight. He didn’t want to pry, but something was going on with her.
    She finished with the bulletin board about the same time he put the flag atop the Globe. He stood and faced her. “Feeling better?”
    Her eyes were too bright, her smile too brittle. “Much. I needed a little nudge, that’s all.” She laid a hand on his sleeve. “Sorry if I upset you.”
    He put an arm around her and snugged her close. “What are colleagues for, anyway? Remember, our school motto is Caring, Character, Curiosity. This was the caring part.” Then, struck by a new idea, he laughed. “And curiosity, too, I guess. Pam Carver reduced to tears? I couldn’t picture it.”
    â€œIf you live long enough, you see everything.”
    Although her tone was light, he had the disturbing sense she was making a joke of something very serious. Then he became aware he still had his arm around her waist, his hand on her hip.
    She moved away at the same time he dropped his arm. “Thank you, Grant. I’m fine now. Really.”
    â€œTake care, then. See you at Tuesday’s meeting?”
    â€œSure thing.” She extended her arms, more like the old Pam, and said, “Let the games begin.”
    He chuckled at her final remark as he left the school. But gradually his smile faded, replaced by a sadness he couldn’t identify. He had always been fond of Pam. Heck, tell the truth. He was attracted to her. But she was like a tropical bird—colorful, flamboyant, dramatic. He’d always figured she’d never go for a plodding, meticulous math teacher who just happened to be tied up several months a year with a high school basketball team.
    Driving home, he couldn’t shake the feeling that her brave front had been just that. A front. He didn’t think she was fine. Not at all.
    And he didn’t like that. He wanted her to be fine.
    Â 
    P AM BANGED AROUND the small kitchen of her condo, fixing a salad and warming leftover corn bread for dinner. What kind of idiot Grant must think she was! All afternoon she’d replayed the scene in her mind. Whythere? Why then? To fall to pieces like some fragile Melanie Wilkes. Unthinkable.
    It was the notes that had done it. She’d been rummaging in her desk drawer for the key to her filing cabinet when she’d come across them. She made a habit of saving complimentary correspondence from students and parents. Then on bad days she’d pull them out and read them to remind herself why she loved being a teacher. She’d been okay until she came to Cissy Philbin’s scrawled message. Poor Cissy, who struggled to make B’s and had been devastated by the death of a sibling and later by her parents’ divorce.
    â€œDear Ms. Carver,
    I couldn’t have made it through high school without you. You always believed in me and demanded my best. You knew what I was going through and willed me through bad time after bad time. You wouldn’t let me quit. Or be a crybaby. You made me believe that like the saying says, there can’t be a rainbow