Six years later…

“Mrs. Hunter,” a rather large, affluent looking man greeted, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Charisse glanced up from her desk, surveying the man who had just entered her classroom. His white shirt, crisply pressed, stretched across his broad chest and shoulders. Dark blue denim jeans fit a tad snuggly around his waistline and came down over black cowboy boots. Only the tips of the boots were visible, but were clearly made from the best leather that money could buy.

This was the parent-teacher conference she had been dreading. Yet, she kept up appearances, plastering a believable smile on her face.

Rising slightly from her seat, she held her arm up to shake his outstretched hand. “Please, sit down Mr. Whitney.”

Mr. Whitney scoffed, “There’s no need for the formalities. Call me Lyle.”

Charisse simply nodded in response. “As you know, we’re here to discuss your son’s academic progress thus far in the year. With school half over I’m afraid that he won’t make the grades to pass.”

As she’d expected, Lyle didn’t seem shocked or displeased by this news. He chuckled heartily, “It’s high school. Can’t you just…put him through,” he waved his hand for emphasis.

 “I’m afraid not,” Charisse’s fake smile tightened, “It’s unethical and, quite frankly, won’t help Dylan in the long run.”

Charisse witnessed the slight change in Mr. Whitney’s demeanor at her refusal. Because of his overly generous donations to the school, many teachers had overlooked his son’s behavior. It wasn’t often that he even attended these types of meetings because he merely purchased his son’s grades. Upon hearing the word no, Lyle’s care-free attitude become more business-like.

He sat up in his chair across from Charisse, wearing an expression that reminded her of a fox, leaning forward slightly before he spoke. “Caroline, may I call you Caroline?” he asked.

“Absolutely not,” she responded, swallowing down the twitch that almost came at the sound of her mother’s name.

Lyle continued to leer at her. “Mrs. Hunter, I make many contributions to this school every year. It brings me joy to do so. All I ask in return is your faculty’s help in guiding my son along. Is that too much to ask?” he questioned, his Texas accent thick on every word.

Charisse clasped her hands together, resting her arms on her desk. “Of course it isn’t Mr. Whitney. It’s our job to help your son. But, there’s a difference between helping him and enabling him. He has potential but he knows that he doesn’t have to do the work. I would just like to see Dylan apply himself.”

The smirk Lyle had on his face completely fell. He blinked at Charisse, as though she’d started speaking an entirely different language. “So, you’re going to fail my son?”

Charisse paused, checking her smart mouth in the work place before she answered, “It’s really up to him, Mr. Whitney.”

Lyle snorted as he stood abruptly from his chair. “We’ll see if you even have a job when school starts back up, Mrs. Hunter. I’ll be speaking to my friends on the school board about this.” He turned on his heel and stalked back out the way he came.

“The best for last,” Charisse muttered sarcastically to herself. She sighed and rolled her eyes before checking her watch. She had just enough time to make the conference scheduled for her own son.

-

HONK! HONK! Charisse’s car horn blared at the truck that had just cut in front of her. Rush hour was in full effect on the Nashville streets. Thankfully, the schools had let out early the past couple days for winter break and conferences and she didn’t have to deal with school zone traffic. She pulled into the safety of Lakeview Elementary’s parking lot with two minutes to spare.

The trek through the lot and through the halls towards her son’s classroom seemed to take less time than usual as her conference with Mr. Whitney replayed itself in her mind.  She couldn’t think of anything inappropriate that she had said. If anything, her actions were admirable. It was deplorable to even think that teachers and administrators would even take bribes, sacrificing a student’s education just to line their own pockets. But it did happen. And she was just one person.

“MOMMY!” Nathaniel’s voice jolted her back to the present. “Mommy, did you see the picture I made?” he asked, drawing her attention finally to the pictures displayed along the wall outside his class. “We had to draw the people we admire and I drew you and daddy.”

Charisse ignored the pang of guilt she felt in her chest and grinned down at her son. “Awe, you admire us?” She squeezed him tightly before glancing up at the drawing. It depicted her with schoolbooks and her husband with a computer. “That’s so sweet baby,” she said, kissing his forehead. “Speaking of daddy, why hasn’t he picked you up from school?”

Nathaniel shrugged, but didn’t seem as upset as she was about him not being picked up from school.

“C’mon sweetie,” she sighed and put her hand on his shoulder, leading him into the classroom, “Sit back here while I talk to Ms. Dixon.”

He nodded once before complying.

Ms. Dixon was a tall, slender woman. Her hair was always cropped short, framing her face, and dyed platinum blonde. She reminded Charisse of a business woman, possibly living in a fast paced city like New York, and she always had to bite back the urge to ask what made her start teaching.

“Mrs. Hunter, it’s always a pleasure to see you,” Ms. Dixon greeted cheerily, “Please, sit down.” She pulled two chairs out from a large round table not far from where Nathaniel sat.

“Thank you,” Charisse obliged. “I’m so sorry you had to play babysitter.”  

Ms. Dixon waved her hand in dismissal. “It’s not a problem. I didn’t have too many parents to meet with today and Nathan is always a delight to be around.”

Charisse couldn’t help but beam at the compliment. “So, I take it everything is going well then?”

Nathaniel’s teacher nodded while shuffling through a folder in front of her. “His grades are above average, particularly reading and math. My only concern is his anti-social behavior.”

“Anti-social behavior?” Charisse parroted, eyes narrowing slightly.

The drastic change in expression was noticed by Ms. Dixon, who immediately became a bit flustered. “Well, yes…,” she answered hesitantly, “He doesn’t seem to do well in groups. I’m wondering if, due to his speech impediment, he wouldn’t be more comfortable in the special class.”

Anger burned beneath Charisse’s skin and it was almost too much for her to contain. “My son does not have a speech impediment,” she snorted. It was true that he hadn’t spoken a word for the first two years of his life. Charisse had been worried until one day her son began to sing along with the radio to none other than Justin’s first single, “Like I Love You.” Since then, she’d used music wherever she could to help him learn.

Ms. Dixon’s indifference was worn plainly on her face. “He stutters-,”

“Because he’s nervous!” Charisse exclaimed, rising from the tiny chair faster than it could handle. It skittered across the floor a couple feet behind her.

It was then that it occurred to Ms. Dixon that there may not be a problem with Nathaniel at all, but his overprotective mother.  “There’s no need to be so defensive, Mrs. Hunter. I’m not denying Nathaniel’s intelligence. I just worry about him not associating with the other students. He doesn’t seem to have many friends.”

“And how would his being in Special Education help him?” Charisse crossed her arms tightly.

Ms. Dixon exhaled deeply. “He seems to respond better to one-on-one exercises. In a class this size, I can only provide so much of that. The only other alternative I would suggest is home schooling, but I’m not sure if that would be better for him socially…” Her look at Charisse expressed all the words Ms. Dixon wasn’t saying.

Charisse didn’t respond, but looked from Ms. Dixon to her son. Had she really gone overboard in her attempts to shield her son from the cruelties of the world? “No,” she said to herself, “No.” She shook her head and walked over to her son. “We’re going.” She heard Ms. Dixon start to protest but they were already headed out the door.

-

The drive home was silent, except for Nathaniel’s singing. Charisse was too lost in thought. It was too much to accept that she had isolated her son from the world. She kept telling herself that he was young and shy and that he had time to grow out of it. There was nothing wrong with not socializing with people who would probably just end up hurting him anyway. She blew out a sigh as she pulled into the drive, not bothering to pull into the garage.

“Daddy’s home!” Nathaniel pointed to the white Excursion parked next to Charisse’s more modest Maxima.

Charisse only grunted as she helped Nathan from his seat. She wasn’t too pleased with her husband right now. She led the way up the winding path towards the front door before asking, “Why don’t you go play in your room, kiddo? Mommy wants to talk to Daddy alone for a moment.”

Nathaniel didn’t answer, but dropped his bag in the doorway and sped off up the stairs to his room.

“What did I tell you about leaving your bag here?” she yelled half-heartedly after him. She lifted the backpack from the floor, carried it across the foyer into the living room, and set it on the couch. She moaned in relief at the chance to kick off her heels and plant her feet on the plush rug. Charisse picked up her shoes and walked back to the closet by the front door, dropping them carelessly inside it.

The answering machine blinked on the table beside the closet, alerting her that there were three unheard messages. She hit the button, barely listening to the messages.

Strong hands slid their way across her waist from behind. “Hey baby,” her husband kissed her neck softly, “What’s for dinner?”

“Don’t ‘Hey baby’ me, Bryan. You didn’t pick Nathan up from school.” She turned around so she could properly glare at her husband.

Bryan sighed and stepped back. “I’m sorry,” he apologized, looking down at his socked feet. “I was running late at the office and I knew you had to go there anyway for your conference.”

Charisse scoffed, rubbing her temples at the memory. It was then that she heard the message:

“Message three, received at 4:15 PM,” the machine announced.

“Hey Bryan…I know you told me not to call this number again but it’s important and I couldn’t reach you on your cell. Ben needs money for his football uniforms and he’s growing so fast…I can’t afford to keep buyin’ clothes for that boy. And Chelsea’s getting worse every day. I can’t raise these kids by myse-“

“Message erased.”

Bryan stood over the answering machine, index finger jamming the delete button. But the damage was done.

Charisse stared at him, questions written all over her face, but she remained utterly speechless.

“Baby, I…She…,” he started, “It isn’t what you think.”

Charisse laughed dryly. “Please, tell me what I am thinking right now because I have no idea.” She hugged herself, staring down at the hardwood floor. Her mind was racing, but couldn’t settle on any one thing to say. It was as though she had been living her life while asleep and was finally being woken up only to realize that everything had turned to shit.

“I had Ben before I even met you,” Bryan explained, as if this excused his actions. “And Chelsea…” His eyes shifted across the room.

“And you didn’t think it was important to tell me you had children because…?” Charisse finally lifted her gaze from the floor to watch Bryan.

His jaw tightened. “Well, she’s four. I didn’t tell you because I wasn’t even sure if they were mine.”

Charisse could feel herself begin to shake as the events from the day kept piling on top of her. “You have a whole little family outside of this marriage! Why wouldn’t you tell me that you had kids?! Unless you’re still sleeping with her!” She hadn’t meant the last part, but when Bryan’s face fell, Charisse knew it was true. She suddenly felt dirty and rubbed her hands up and down her arms, hoping it would help. But it didn’t. “How could you do that to us?” she sobbed.

“I never wanted you to find out like this,” Bryan said, taking a bold step forward, “I just…They’re my kids, Charisse.”

“So, it’s okay because Nathan’s not really your son. You can just leave him at school and barely pay attention to him while you’re home. Did you know that he admires you?” she spat, “You’re the only father he knows!”

Bryan looked as though he might be affected by her words, but shrugged them off. “Whose fault is that, Charisse? I’m supposed to take responsibility for your son just because you don’t know who his father is?”

That was it. She couldn’t control her temper anymore. “GET OUT!” she screamed, shoving Bryan’s chest so hard he stumbled back into the wall. “GET THE FUCK OUT! I HATE YOU!” She left him, stunned against the wall. The living room was a blur as she crossed through it swiftly and climbed the stairs. “The nerve of him,” she huffed angrily, slamming her bedroom door shut.

She didn’t even bother to watch him pull out of the driveway. Exerting so much energy just to push him had drained her, and she collapsed in front of the closet. Now that she was alone, she could cry. Her head leaned against the closet door as she wept silently. She couldn’t blame her mother, Justin or even Bryan for the mess she was in. The fault rested squarely on her shoulders.

Charisse wondered if she could even be upset with Bryan when she had been keeping her own secrets from him. She pushed the closet open and moved a couple pairs of her shoes, exposing a loose floorboard. Beneath it hid a box containing letters that her mother had forwarded from Justin. She had thought that she was doing him a favor in keeping the door between them cracked open, but now it occurred to her that it was something she needed as well.

Very delicately, she picked up one of the more recent letters. She unfolded the paper and skimmed over the part where Justin thanked her for pictures of Nathaniel to the bottom where Justin had given her a number to reach him. It said for emergencies and she wasn’t sure if this qualified, but dialed the number before she could stop herself.

“Hello?” Justin’s voice came after a few rings. “Hello?”

Charisse sniffed into the receiver, her breath still short from crying. She couldn’t speak, as Justin’s voice had taken her back six years.

“Charisse? Is everything alright?” Justin inquired.

“Y-yes,” she found her voice, “It’s fine. How did you know?”

Justin chuckled softly, “I bought this line just in case.”

Of course he did. “Oh…Well, I didn’t mean to bother you. I just,” Charisse stopped. She couldn’t bring herself to admit that she had been wrong. “How would you like to see Nathan?”

It was a stupid question, but Justin seemed shocked to hear it. After a moment, he answered, “Yeah, of course. When?”

“As soon as possible,” Charisse responded a little too quickly.

“Um, okay. I’m in LA now.” She could hear Justin scratch his beard. “Are you sure everything is okay?”

Charisse sighed. Even after all this time, there was no fooling him. “I really don’t want to talk about it right now,” she croaked, “I’ll book the earliest flight out to Los Angeles.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Justin rebuffed, “I’ll fly you guys out. I’ll call you back with the details.” He paused for a moment, debating on what he should say. “Thank you,” he added finally.

Guilt washed over Charisse again. “Don’t thank me.” ‘You wouldn’t have to if I’d listened…,” she thought.