The truth was that Ben Anderson had had his fill of hard times and heartaches: his parents had died when he was young; he had lost his sister long before a doctor had told him she was going to die; he’d buried men he had shared a brotherhood with.
He could not ever be what he had been before. He could not get back the man who was unguarded, open to life. Long ago, he could remember being a young boy, Kyle’s age, and every day ended with the words “I love you” to his mom and dad.
He could not be that again.
A memory, unbidden, came to him. His mother getting in the car, blowing him a kiss, and mouthing the words “I love you” because at seventeen he didn’t want them broadcasted down the street.
Ben had not said those words since then, not ever. Was it insane to see them as a harbinger to disaster, to loss? He did not consider himself a superstitious man, but in this instance he was.
“Hello?” he said, aware that something cautious had entered his tone. He was not what she needed.
He was probably not what any woman needed. Damaged. Commitment-phobic.
“There were problems again today at school,” she said wearily.
Considering he had just decided he was not what any woman needed, Ben was inordinately pleased that she had phoned to tell him about her problems! Nice. She probably had a little ache right between her shoulder blades, that he could—
“Kyle put glue on Casper’s seat during recess. Not like the kind of glue we use at school for making fall leaves. I’ve never seen glue like that before.”
Construction-site glue, Ben guessed, amazingly glum she wasn’t phoning to share her problems with him. No, this was all about his problem.
“Casper stuck to the chair. And then he panicked and ripped the seat out of his pants when he tried to get out of the chair.” There was a strangled sound from her end of the phone.
“Are you laughing?” he asked.
“No.” It was a squeak.
“I think you are.”
Silence, followed by a snort. And then another, muffled.
“Ah,” he said. He could picture her, on the other end of the phone, holding back her laughter, trying desperately to play the role of the strict schoolmarm. He wished he was there to see the light in her eyes. He bet her nose crinkled when she laughed.
After a long time, struggling, she said, “There has to be a consequence. And he can never, ever guess I laughed.”
“Oh,” he teased, “a secret between us. This is even better than I could have hoped.”
“If you could be mature, I thought we should talk about the consequence together,” she said, her voice all grade-five schoolmistress again.
“I’ve always thought maturity was a good way to take all the fun out of life, but I will try, just for you.”
“I hope you didn’t suggest the glue to him!”
The truth was he might have, but his and Kyle’s relationship had not progressed to sharing ideas for dealing with the class bully. He decided it was not in his best interest to share that with Miss Maple.
“We have to be on the same page.” Sternly.
“Grown-ups against kids. Got it.”
Silence. “I wasn’t thinking of it that way. As if it’s a war.”
“A football game, then?”
“It’s not really about winning and losing,” she said carefully. “It’s about finding what motivates Kyle. The class has a swim day coming up. I was going to suggest Kyle not be allowed to go. I hope that doesn’t seem too harsh.”
“No less than what he deserves. I’ll let him know.”
“Thank you.” And then, hesitating, “You won’t tell him—”
“That you laughed? No. I’ll keep that to myself. Treasure it. It’s something no grade-five boy needs to know about his teacher.”
“Thank you for your cooperation,” she said formally, and hung up the phone.
Ben went and found Kyle. He didn’t have to look far. Kyle was in his room, the music booming. He was trying to get his frog to eat dead flies.
“Ah, Miss Maple just called. I heard about what you did to Casper.”
“They can’t prove it was me.”
“Yeah, well, you’re not going on the class swim trip that’s coming up because of it.”
“Boo-hoo,” Kyle said, insincerely. Unless Ben was mistaken, rather than seeing his absence on the class trip as a punishment, Kyle was gleeful about it!
Unremorseful, Kyle went back to feeding his frog. Its long tongue snaked out, and the fly he had thrown in was grabbed from the air and disappeared.
“Wow,” Kyle said. “Was that the coolest thing ever?”
Ben thought it was the first time he’d ever seen his nephew look truly happy. Silly to want to call Miss Maple back and tell her about it. Ridiculous to want to hear her laugh again.
If he wanted to hear laughter, he just had to turn on the television.
Except he didn’t have one anymore. It was in Kyle’s room. And besides, listening to a laugh track was going to seem strangely empty after hearing her trying to choke back her chortles.
“Wanna go for ice cream?” he asked Kyle. Too late, he realized he was letting down the home team. Since swimming had been no kind of consequence at all, he probably shouldn’t be taking Kyle for ice cream. It was almost like saying, Go ahead. Glue Casper to his seat. I think its funny.
Which, come to think of it, he did.
“Ripped the whole seat out of his pants?” he asked Kyle as they walked down to Friendly’s, the best ice cream store in Cranberry Corners.
“Yeah, and he had on blue underwear with cowboys on it.”
“Oh, baby underwear.”
And then he and his nephew were laughing, and despite the fact he was letting down the home team, Ben wouldn’t have traded that moment for the whole wide world.
She phoned again the following night.
“I think he was very upset about the swimming being canceled,” she confided in Ben. “Everybody else was talking about it all day, especially Casper. And he was left out.”
Ben remembered Kyle’s gleeful boo-hoo.
“He didn’t even try to do the class assignment, but I’m remiss to punish him again so soon. Just to punish him will make him feel defeated,” she told him. “You have to reward him when he does good things.”
“Look, the only thing he does around here is feed his frog. I can’t exactly reward him for that.”
“I think rewarding him for being responsible for his pet would be good!”
Ben mulled that over. “Okay. I’m going to take him for ice cream.” He hesitated. “Want to come?”
She hesitated, too. “I shouldn’t.”
“Why not? We’re on the same team, right? I bet you like vanilla.”
“That makes me sound dull.”
“Surprise me, then.”
And she did surprise him, for showing up at all, and for showing up on her bicycle with her hair down, surprisingly long, past her shoulders, her lovely cheeks pink from exertion.
“I