Chapter 2

Thinking of Lisa dims the day, but before I can wallow in her memory or hurt myself by trying to imagine what she’d think or do or say right this moment, the bell rings a second time and the doors burst open with first graders. A little bigger, these kids barrel through each other, as noisy as a murder of crows, calling to friends and mothers—one crazy bunch of kids screaming at the joy of being free. I don’t see Tyler immediately—I’m expecting to see him at the end of the group, lagging behind, alone, the new kid in school all by himself. So I’m surprised when I spot him deep in conversation with a girl his own age. She has her tiny hand on his arm in a possessive way that makes me want to burst into laughter.

I frown to keep from grinning, and just in time. Spotting me, Tyler manages to extract himself from the girl’s grip and runs to wrap his arms around my legs. “Daddy!” he cries.

The woman beside me smiles down at him. “He’s the spitting image of you,” she says. “How old is he?”

“Seven.” I don’t add that he looks more like Lisa than me, and before I can dwell on the thought, I turn my attention where it belongs—on my son. Ruffling his hair, I ask, “How was your first day, sport?”

“Boring,” he says with the sort of exasperated sigh only a little child can pull off effectively. Shrugging off his backpack, he starts to unzip it and pull out some papers inside. “There’s all this stuff you have to fill out before tomorrow. Mr. Boucher said make sure you got it—”

“Let’s keep them in here so we don’t lose any.” I tuck the papers back into the backpack so they won’t get lost, then swing the pack over my own shoulder to carry it. “Mr. Boucher, eh? What’s he like?”

Tyler shrugs and slips a small hand into mine. “He’s okay. He said we can call him Boucher the Bear but only on Mondays. When I said it, he growled at me! He’s funny!”

“Sometimes I feel like a bear on Mondays, too,” I admit, weaving through the crowd. Another bell has rung, releasing more students, and the sidewalk is getting busy, so I lead Tyler onto the grass and away from the bustle and rush.

Tyler tugs on my hand with a laugh. “You don’t growl, Daddy! Mr. Boucher growls.”

I could growl if I wanted to, and just to prove it, I swoop down over Tyler and wrap him in a tight embrace as I let out a ferocious roar. He giggles and hugs me so tight, I have to pick him up when I stand. “How’s that?” I ask.

“Not bad,” he admits. “Mr. Boucher’s a little louder but he’s bigger than you.”

Suddenly this feels like it’s becoming some sort of contest for my son’s approval, which isn’t what I want at all. If he likes the teacher, that’s great. I don’t want to outshine the man. Propping Tyler onto my hip, I change courses. “Did you make any new friends?”

“It’s my first day,” Tyler reminds me.

“What about the kid you came out with?” I ask. “She looks nice.”

“She’s a girl,” Tyler says, as if I hadn’t noticed. “She says she wants to be my girlfriend and when I told her no, she hit me.”

I feign shock. “No! Where?”

Tyler points to a spot on his shoulder and pouts.

“The brute!” I kiss the spot through his shirt, then blow a raspberry against the fabric, making him giggle again. “What’s her name?”

In my arms, Tyler wriggles to get down, so I set him on his feet. “Aida. All the kids call her Aida Potato. When I asked her why, she hit me again.”

“Sounds like a winner,” I mutter. “Didn’t you meet anyone else?”

From behind us, I hear someone call my son’s name. It’s a deep voice, a man’s voice, and I joke, “Are you in trouble already?”

“Daddy! No!” Tyler cries. His little face flushes with embarrassment. “It’s my teacher.”

“Ah, the infamous Mr. Boucher.” I turn, expecting…

Well, to be honest, I’m not sure whatI’m expecting. A tall, thin, towering man twice my age, perhaps. My idea of male teachers in elementary school is hampered by my own experiences with Mr. Avery in the sixth grade, a stern, overbearing man who never used anyone’s first name when he spoke to them, which always made me feel like I was being called out for something I didn’t do.

From the way my son talks about this Mr. Boucher, though, I know it’s crazy to think he’ll be anything like that. So my mind swings to the other extreme—a big, burly, Santa Claus-type fellow with ruddy cheeks and a goofy grin, who spends his day joking around with first graders and was probably himself somewhat of a cut-up in school.