Why Not Tonight (Happily Inc. #3)(67)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

THE SALLY RIDE Elementary School was about two blocks from the Rio de los Suenos and ten minutes from the gallery. Ronan figured he’d driven by it maybe a hundred times and had never once paid attention to it. Today, he pulled into the parking lot and told himself he was an idiot. Who was he to think he could help some kid he’d never met? Or a kid he had met. He wasn’t equipped or trained. His entire experience with children came from being a kid himself. He should cancel the meeting and go back to work. Only he couldn’t.

Natalie’s talk about her mother had lodged in his brain and refused to let go. He’d gone online and done some preliminary research and had found out that studies really did show that art made a difference in a child’s mental development. It improved confidence, motor skills and focus. Creating art used both sides of the brain and, as Natalie had said, showed more than one way to solve a problem.

He grabbed his backpack and walked into the school. After introducing himself to the man at the front desk, he was shown to the principal’s office.

Dr. Anthony was in her midfifties. She motioned for Ronan to take a seat on a very worn sofa while she sat in an equally battered club chair.

“This is where I hang out with nervous parents,” she joked. “I call it my corner of tears. Having said that, let’s both try not to cry during this meeting. You’ll be humiliated and that will make me uncomfortable.”

Ronan chuckled. “It’s a deal.”

She studied him. “When I saw your name on my calendar, I thought it sounded familiar, so I looked you up online. You have an interesting reputation, Mr. Mitchell.”

“Ronan, please. As for my reputation, I’m assuming it was all about my work.”

“It is. Your personal life is a bit of a mystery. In this day and age, that’s rare. Most people who can get their fifteen minutes of fame seem willing to do almost anything.”

“I prefer to work in quiet.”

“Then how can I help you?”

He wasn’t sure what to say. “I understand that school budgets are squeezed these days. More students and requirements with less money. Programs get cut.”

“You’re talking about art programs, aren’t you?”

He nodded.

She sighed. “Yes, they have been. We try. Our regular teachers fill in as best they can, but we don’t have a designated art teacher anymore.”

“I would like to offer a monthly program for your students. I haven’t figured out all the details and I’d appreciate some help on that, assuming you’re interested. I was thinking I’d come in for the day and spend an hour with each grade. We’d do something together. If you can provide the space, I’d bring in the supplies.”

Her steady gaze never wavered. “Why would you want to do that? It’s a huge commitment of time and resources. Don’t you have better things to be doing?”

Not the answer he’d expected. “I have never wanted for anything. My father is famous, and once he figured out I had inherited his talent, the assumption was I would follow in his footsteps.”

“Which you have.”

“Agreed. I have been successful by any measure and I’m grateful for that. But it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. Helping kids discover the joy of painting or working with clay one day a month isn’t asking too much of myself.”

He paused. “In the spirit of full disclosure, I have no formal teaching experience. I work with college interns a lot but I’ve been known to yell at them. You’d want me to be supervised.”

He realized about fifteen seconds too late he probably shouldn’t have said that.

“Not that I would yell at children. I wouldn’t. I’m just saying, I’m not a teacher. I don’t claim to be. I’m a guy who knows and likes art and I want to share that.”

“Would you want the press to be around while you teach? Are you working on a documentary?”

“What? No. No press, no parents, no anyone. This isn’t about publicity. I’d prefer to be anonymous.”

Her expression softened. “Interesting. You couldn’t possibly handle the project by yourself. There are too many children in each grade. You’d be overwhelmed.”

“I’ll bring the interns with me.” And he would ask Natalie. He had a feeling she would enjoy helping out.

“No yelling at the interns in front of the children, Ronan. I’d have to insist on that.”

He grinned. “You have my word.”

“Then I think we should talk about this very seriously. Your offer is generous and I want to find a way to make it work.”

“Me, too.”

*

AN HOUR LATER Ronan arrived back at the studio. He and Dr. Anthony had come up with a plan. She was going to have to run the proposal by the school board, but she had said she doubted there would be a problem. Ronan was well-known in the community and his lack of flamboyant lifestyle was in his favor. There would be teachers on hand to provide supervision. Once she had approval, she would be in touch.

He found Natalie working on a massive floral-butterfly mixed-media piece. She’d already sketched the dozens of butterflies and had begun applying torn bits of paper. On a tray next to her desk were the broken clock faces they’d picked up at the recycling center.