Four Little Problems

He couldn’t possibly be that unlucky, could he?

“What’s wrong?” The perennially smiling kindergarten teacher slapped him on the back, as if that would help.

“Did you see who’s running for PTO president?”

She shrugged. “Some woman named Patterson.”

“As in, mother of Jason Patterson.” That should have said it all.

“And that’s a problem because?”

She was obviously still too wet behind the ears to understand the implications.

“Jason Patterson, the kid who threw cherry bombs in the boys’ toilets. Led his own gambling and extortion ring.”

“I’m sure he wasn’t that bad.” She flipped her hair and gave him that sparkling, you’re-just-old-and-burned-out smile.

At thirty-eight, he considered himself far from old. But she might have a point about the burned-out part. Summer break seemed very far away some days, especially when he thought about Jason Patterson. His ultimate failure.

Dear Reader,

Four Little Problems is my oldest son’s book in so many ways. Not because he and I have weathered challenges, which we have. And not because I love him every bit as deeply as Emily loves Jason, which I do.

No, Four Little Problems resulted from one of those everyday conversations I suspect I don’t appreciate nearly enough. My oldest son and I were discussing single mothers and dating. He mentioned how difficult some children make the dating process when they don’t like their mother’s potential boyfriend.

When I gave it some thought, I was impressed with the courage it must take for a single parent to attempt a relationship in the midst of juvenile guerrilla warfare. I wondered how a relationship could survive, maybe even thrive, under such stressful circumstances. Then I started the inevitable “What if…” and my imagination was off and running.

Emily and Patrick’s story was born of that “What if…” Their relationship was so challenging from the get-go, even I wondered if they could pull it off.

On a side note, fate came full circle when my editor asked for title suggestions. My son proposed the title you see on the cover–Four Little Problems. I’m so proud of him and his contributions.

I hope you enjoy the story I’ve come to think of as Luke’s Book.

Yours in reading,

Carrie Weaver

P.S. I enjoy hearing from readers by e-mail at CarrieAuthor@aol.com or snail mail at P.O. Box 6045, Chandler, AZ 85246-6045.

Four Little Problems

Carrie Weaver

Special thanks to Mary Jane Brooke, Superintendent of the Le Roy Central School District, for being so helpful in responding to my questions.

She did her utmost to ensure that I had accurate information.

Any discrepancies are mine, made in an effort to merge reality with the fictional world I created.

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN my son needs a reality check?” Emily planted her fists on the substitute teacher’s desk and leaned forward.

Mr. Stevens’s eyes narrowed, but he held her gaze.

Something she had to admire despite his know-it-all attitude.

Topping five-eleven, Emily knew some men found her intimidating during the best of times. But today, suffering from PMS and hearing another childless moron offering advice on how to raise her kids, she felt darn near homicidal.

Or suicidal. Single parenthood sucked at times.

Mr. Stevens gestured toward a chair. “Please sit down, Mrs. Patterson.”

“Ms. Patterson.” She glared at him just long enough to let him know she wasn’t ceding defeat. Then she wedged her rear end in the kiddie chair.

“Ms. Patterson, perhaps I started our meeting on the wrong foot. I’d anticipated Mrs. Wells’s return from maternity leave by now. As a substitute, I’m at a bit of a disadvantage conducting her parent/teacher conferences.”

Emily decided not to point out that her day hadn’t been peachy, either. So, she went for a noncommittal “Mm-hm.”

It wasn’t her fault Mrs. Wells had extended her maternity leave. And it wasn’t her fault this guy was experimenting with the idea of becoming a teacher. Rumor had it, Mr. Stevens was some well-known scientist, on leave from a high-paying job.

He flipped through a file folder on his desk. “Jason is an exceedingly bright child. His test scores are well above average.”

“He’s a smart kid.”

“But he needs a firm hand if he’s to achieve his potential. Perhaps his father should meet with us, too, and we can all formulate a plan for rewards and consequences?”

“Honey, if you can find Walt, you feel free to bring him in and have that conversation. Child services hasn’t been able to locate him in seven years. But if you do, be sure to offer him a beer. That’s the kind of reward he’ll understand. And as far as consequences, he’s not big on those. That’s why he works under the table to avoid taxes and child support. I’m the one who administers rewards and consequences for four children.” Emily ran out of breath, her chest heaving with emotion.

Mr. Stevens glanced around the room, at the ceiling and everywhere but at Emily. “I’m sure it’s very difficult.”

You have no idea. “Yes, it is.”

“Maybe we could work more closely to ensure Jason makes the most of his opportunities.”

Warning bells went off in Emily’s head. Hadn’t a boss once made a similar offer in mentoring her boys? And expected a game of slap and tickle with Emily in return? “Would you please clarify what you mean by working more closely together?”

“An accountability notebook would be a good thing. I’ll write down Jason’s homework assignments and you can check them daily to make sure he stays on task. I’ll also include a section regarding his behavior in class. Consequences at home should help there.”

Emily released a breath. “Okay. We can do that. He’s a good kid, Mr. Stevens. For some reason, he’s just gotten out of hand this year.”

“He’s gotten out of hand because he’s been allowed to. If you’re interested, I have a few brochures for the district-sponsored parenting classes.” He opened his top desk drawer.

Emily’s heart sank. If she didn’t think he was right, she’d call him on his condescending attitude. As it was, she was too embarrassed to tell him that she’d already taken the courses and tried her darnedest to apply what she’d learned, but none of it seemed to work with Jason these days. Neither did any of the tactics she’d used when he was small. He’d turned into an alien creature almost overnight.

The teacher rummaged in his top desk drawer. “And I can give you a list of reading resources. Some parents find behavior modification quite helpful. Skinner, of course, was the—”

A muffled snap came from his drawer.

He jumped to his feet, cursing under his breath.

Emily tried to place the snapping sound—she’d heard it recently in another context.

Mr. Stevens brought his hand to chest level. “What the hell?”

Emily gulped at what she saw. A small mousetrap gripped the teacher’s middle finger, turning the tip an ugly purple.

Now she remembered the sound. Jason’s ill-advised purchase at the dollar store. And how she’d instructed him to get rid of the mousetrap before he broke a finger.

Jumping up, she grabbed a pair of scissors, intent on prying the spring open.

“No!” Stevens jerked away.

“Stand still.” Emily advanced, intent on saving him.

The door opened and the principal entered. “Mr. Stev— What’s going on?” she asked. Her gaze skimmed over Emily, the raised scissors, the swearing teacher, the mousetrap.

The principal crossed her arms over her chest. “Ms. Patterson, I think it’s best if you leave.”

“Let me explain.”

“Go.” Her voice brooked no argument.

CHAPTER ONE

Two years later…

PATRICK STEVENS GLANCED at the meeting agenda and almost aspirated his coffee right there in the teachers’ lounge.

God, no.

He couldn’t possibly be that unlucky, could he?

“What’s wrong?” The new, perennially smiling kindergarten teacher slapped him on the back, as if that would help.

“Did you see who’s running for PTO president?”

She shrugged. “Some woman named Patterson.”

“As in, mother of Jason Patterson.” That should have said it all.

“And that’s a problem because?”

She was obviously still too wet behind the ears to understand the implications.

“Jason Patterson, the kid who threw cherry bombs in the boys’ toilets.”

No recognition.

“Led his own gambling and extortion ring.”

“I’m sure he wasn’t that bad.” She flipped her hair and gave him that sparkling, you’re-just-old-and-burnt-out smile.

At thirty-eight, he considered himself far from old. But she might have a point about the burnt-out part. Today, a little over two months into the second semester, summer break still seemed very far away. And other days, he couldn’t imagine being anywhere else but in the classroom. It was a dichotomy that would have intrigued him if he had time to contemplate abstract thoughts. But, as it was, he barely had time to knock back a cup of coffee before his kids returned from music class.

Jason Patterson. His ultimate failure.

“The little delinquent told the playground aides the dice were for improving his math skills,” he muttered under his breath as the newbie practically skipped out of the lounge. Obviously, she hadn’t heard the mousetrap story and he wasn’t about to enlighten her.

The girls’ physical education teacher came in before the door clicked shut. Her eyes were on the prize—the coffeepot.

Patrick reread the agenda, hoping he’d been mistaken. No such luck. He suppressed a groan.

“What’s your problem, Stevens?”

“Did you see who’s running for PTO president?”

“The Patterson woman. You can kiss that field trip of yours goodbye. I doubt the woman can head up a fundraising campaign. But with poor Mrs. Bigelow deader than a doornail, I guess we have to take what we can get.”

“Yeah. A heart attack at thirty-three. Who’d have thought?”

“Mrs. Bigelow was such a nice woman, too. And her kids know how to behave. Not like that oldest Patterson boy.”

“Jason. His mother transferred him out of my class the first year I taught here.”

“Yeah. I heard something about that.” She shrugged. “It happens.”

“Not to me, it doesn’t. At least not since Jason Patterson. I’m here because I want to make a difference. Otherwise, I’d still be a chemist, making serious money.”

She planted her hands on her hips. “Spare me the greater-good lecture, Stevens. You better figure out how you’re going to work with her and fast. No PTO sponsorship, no Sea World trip. It’s as simple as that.”

“I am not letting that woman ruin sixth grade for these kids. They’ve worked hard. Car washes. Bake sales. Sold candy out the wazoo. All the PTO needs to do is come up with the money that was promised.”

She tilted her head to the side, tapping her chin with her index finger. “I hear Jason Patterson plays point for the basketball team.”

“So?”

She smiled mysteriously and grabbed an insulated cup. For a woman who’d been in such a hurry, she took her time pouring her coffee. Returning the pot to the burner, she said, “It means Emily Patterson probably has a soft spot for the sports programs. And if your SeaWorld trip doesn’t work out, maybe the PTO will spring for that new sports equipment I’ve been requesting forever.”

Then she punched him playfully on the shoulder and headed out the door, whistling cheerfully.

The vultures were already circling.

EMILY’S STOMACH CHURNED as she approached the cafeteria, which had recently been renamed the multipurpose room. Straightening her spine, she pasted on a confident smile.

“You’ll do fine.” Nancy, her best friend in the world, patted her arm.

“You think? Some of the parents act like I’m something they scraped off the bottom of their shoes. That Tiffany Bigelow was the worst. Not that I want to speak ill of the dead.”

“Since when? She wasn’t nice when she was alive, so why should you pretend now?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know why I’m doing this, either.”

“Because you love children and you don’t want to see all the programs go down the tubes this year, just because of Tiffany’s hard heart.”

Emily chuckled in spite of herself. She whispered behind her hand. “I was a little surprised she even had a heart.”

“You’re not the only one. Her über-volunteer act didn’t fool me. I’ll never forgive the woman for telling Ana I adopted her from Russia because they wouldn’t give me an American baby.”

“I would have gladly scratched her eyes out for you.”

Nancy slid her arm through Emily’s. “I know. And I’m here to return the favor tonight. It’s finally my chance to be there for you.”

Emily swallowed the lump in her throat. “Thanks, friend.”

“You’re very welcome. Now, let’s go show them who the next PTO president is going to be. The woman who will change things around here for all the parents and children who don’t have a voice. The anti-Tiffanys and their kids.”

Nodding, Emily adjusted the neckline of her blouse.

Nancy tipped her head. “The gray’s lovely. But I’m glad you didn’t go with the turtleneck. It didn’t suit you.”

“You don’t think this is too, um, revealing?”

“No. You’re absolutely beautiful just the way you are. Besides, the black camisole makes it downright respectable.”

Emily tucked her hair behind her ear. Though she loved Nancy like a sister, her friend’s cheerleader looks precluded her from ever really understanding what it was like to be slightly overweight and unsure. Or from totally understanding the reasons behind Emily’s tendency to overcompensate by talking a little louder and allowing R-rated jokes to slip out at inopportune times.

No, when Nancy spoke, she was always classy and intelligent. People listened.

When Emily spoke, people rolled their eyes.

The multipurpose room door loomed.

Nancy patted Emily’s arm again. “Okay, time to go in there and show them what you’ve got. You’re smart, you’re capable and children love you. You will be the best PTO president Elmwood Elementary has ever seen.”

Emily raised her chin. Taking a deep breath, she flung open the door and strode inside.

It felt like all eyes were upon her.

The principal smiled, though it looked forced. She had to be remembering the mousetrap incident. “And here is Emily Patterson, who has so graciously stepped forward to take over the job of PTO president. Emily, please come sit here by the podium.” She gestured to a row of seats.

It was a long walk to the front of the room, or so it seemed to Emily, who wished she’d lost that last fifteen pounds. And it wouldn’t hurt if she had a few impressive initials after her name, like B.A. or Ph.D. But she was just plain Emily Patterson and that would have to do.

She headed toward the chair the principal indicated. She almost froze when she realized who sat in the next chair. Patrick Stevens.

He nodded tersely and shifted in his seat, his body language saying he didn’t want to be within a mile of her.

Fine. She didn’t particularly want to be near him, either.

Emily sat, her back ramrod-straight.

“Now,” the principal said, “voting is just a formality, since we only have one candidate for the position.” She smiled brightly at the handful of parents assembled. “All those in favor of Emily Patterson taking over as PTO president for the remainder of the school year, please raise your hand.”

Most of the hands shot up immediately. None of the busy parents wanted the job themselves, and normally, Emily would have been right there beside them. But this was too important.

“Good. It’s approved.” The principal beamed.

There was a rustle as the parents lowered their arms.

Emily was aware that Patrick Stevens, beside her, didn’t move a muscle. Because he hadn’t raised his hand to vote.

She steeled herself not to let it get to her. Two years ago, she’d apologized for the mousetrap. She’d also made Jason apologize and work cafeteria cleanup for a week as penance. But it had been obvious Stevens had had it in for Jason, so she’d eventually asked to have her son moved to a different class.

Since then, she’d managed to avoid Patrick Stevens. Until now.

“I’m sure we’ll all do our best to help Emily transition into the position.” The principal gave the science teacher a pointed look. “I’ll give her Mrs. Bigelow’s files, and Mr. Stevens will be working closely with her regarding fund-raising for the sixth-grade Sea World trip. This is bound to be the most successful year yet.”

Emily would have believed the principal, except for the nervous twitch under her right eye.

PATRICK STARED at his planning guide. It didn’t give him any answers. Only told him a quiz was long overdue.

Removing a file folder from his desk, he flipped through his notes and the information on Sea World. The kids would be completely blown away by the experience. And maybe, just maybe, he could ignite that flame of scientific enthusiasm in one or two of them. He wanted to make this happen for Ari and Kat. He needed to make this happen.

And there was only one way to do that.

He picked up the phone and dialed. “Ms. Patterson, this is Patrick Stevens. I’d like to meet with you as soon as possible to discuss the Sea World trip. And make sure all the information Mrs. Bigelow had is there.”

“Of course, I want my files to be complete…” she answered.

Patrick exhaled with relief.

But his relief was short-lived when Emily continued. “…so I can properly weigh all the requests for PTO funds.”

“But Tiffany agreed to pay at least half the Florida expenses if the students could raise the initial deposits.”

“Hm. I’m looking at her notes, and there’s no indication she agreed to that.”

Patrick gripped the phone. He could almost see the disappointment in Ari’s eyes when he told the class they wouldn’t see Shamu or the Shark Encounter as planned.

Calling on his very limited schmoozing skills, he managed to keep his voice even. “Do you think we could meet at the coffee shop on Cedar tomorrow after school, say four o’clock?” He had a better chance of convincing her in person.

“I don’t get off work till five. I can meet you briefly about five-fifteen. Then, I need to get home to my kids.”

“Great. That’ll be fine.” He didn’t have anyone he had to get home to. Other than his salamander, Newt Gingrich, tarantula, Hairy S. Truman, and boa constrictor, Arnold. But being predominantly nocturnal, they probably wouldn’t even notice he was late.

CHAPTER TWO

EMILY WAS EARLY. She folded her hands and rested them on top of the file folder. Her latte was off to the side, untouched. She couldn’t summon her usual gusto for sweets.

Her boss, Olivia, had allowed Emily to skip her second break in favor of leaving early. Voice mail could pick up the phones at the Luxury Lingerie office for the last fifteen minutes of the workday.

Glancing at the file folder, she tried to gather her thoughts. None of it made sense. Not Tiffany’s notes, not the numbers, nothing.

The bell above the door tinkled as Patrick Stevens entered and placed his order. Tall, dark-haired and serious, he was everything a single woman of forty should want. Unfortunately, Emily’s tastes strayed more toward the unreliable. What was it about her that was attracted to the worst kind of man?

She was surprised when Patrick approached, two bottles of water hanging from his fingers, while he balanced a plate with two double chocolate chunk cookies. It was a sight that might have endeared him to her, if he weren’t such a pompous ass. And if she had an appetite. For cookies, that is.

“I hope you don’t mind. I took the liberty of ordering an extra cookie and water bottle….”

“No, I don’t mind.” It was kind of sweet. But she didn’t like sweets these days, she reminded herself.

Emily gestured toward the opposite chair.

While he deposited the food and drinks, she pretended to read Tiffany’s notes. Instead, she found herself watching him from beneath her lashes. He had beautiful hands. Not feminine beautiful. Strong, masculine, survey-every-inch-of-a-woman’s-body beautiful. They hinted at slow, skillful lovemaking.

The small, white scar at the tip of his middle finger stopped her errant thoughts.

Had he acquired a sense of humor about the mousetrap incident?

She was afraid to ask.

Shaking her head, Emily forced her thoughts to the practical. This was her opportunity to show everyone she was more than a brash woman who couldn’t control her kids. “I’m glad you suggested meeting. I’ve read Tiffany’s notes backward and forward and I can’t seem to make sense of them. I thought maybe you’d have more luck.”

He handed her a water and removed the cap from his own. “Sorry, didn’t realize you’d already ordered. You can save it for later. It’s important to stay hydrated.”

Ah. This was the Patrick Stevens she remembered. She sincerely doubted he’d acquired a sense of humor about anything.

“Yes. Thank you.”

She slid the file folder across the table. “See what you think.”

He opened the folder. Flipping through the pages, he frowned. “Most of this looks like doodling.” Turning the file sideways, he said. “And this looks like it might be her grocery list.”

“That’s what I thought. Kinda weird, because Tiffany always seemed to be taking notes with her PDA. I figured she was so anal, everything would be prioritized and printed up.”

“She did seem very organized. And you’re right, there’s nothing in here about the Florida field trip. Are you sure this was all you were given?”

“Of course I’m sure.” Did he think she was so scatterbrained, she might have misplaced a whole sheaf of papers containing Tiffany Bigelow’s rounded script?

Two could play at that game. “Didn’t you keep any notes?”

“Yes, they’re in my backpack somewhere.” He shoved a piece of cookie in his mouth, wiped his hands on a napkin and rummaged through his pack.

He reminded Emily of a chipmunk. But his hazel eyes were too serious for such a mischievous creature. He might be cute, if he’d lighten up.

“Here it is.” He triumphantly produced a wire-bound pad of paper, suitable for taking notes in class.

He paged through until he found the appropriate section.

Sliding it across the table, he pointed to a row of figures.

“Those are the projected costs, minus the monies we’ve brought in through various fund-raising projects of our own.”