Too Good to Be True(103)

I turned. “Hi, Stuart.” He looked…older. Grayer. Sadder.

“I hope you have a nice summer,” he said politely, looking at a particularly beautiful pink dogwood.

“Thanks,” I murmured.

“How’s…how’s Margaret?” His gaze flickered to mine.

I sighed. “She’s tense, jealous and difficult. Miss her?”

“Yes.”

I looked at his sorrowful face for a beat or two. “Stuart,” I asked quietly, “did you have an affair with Ava?”

“With that piranha?” he asked, looking shocked. “Goodness, no. We had dinner. Once. All I talked about was Margaret.”

What the heck. I decided to throw him a bone. “We’ll be at Soleil in Glastonbury, Stu. Tonight. Reservations are for seven-thirty. Be spontaneous.”

“Soleil.”

“Yup.” I looked at him steadily.

He inclined his head in a courtly nod. “Have a lovely day, Grace.” With that, Stuart walked away, the sun shining on his graying hair. Good luck, pal, I thought.

“Ms. Em! Wait up!” I turned to see Tommy Michener and a man, presumably his father, judging by the resemblance between them, coming toward me. “Ms. Emerson, this is my dad. Dad, this is Ms. Em, the one who took us to that battle!”

The father smiled. “Hello. Jack Michener. Tom here talks about you all the time. Says your class was his favorite.”

Tommy’s dad was tall and thin, with glasses and salt-and-pepper black hair. Like his son, he had a nice face, cheerful and expressive, sort of an Irish setter enthusiasm about the both of them. His grip was warm and dry when he shook my hand.

“Grace Emerson. Nice to meet you, too. You have a great kid here,” I said. “And I don’t say that just because he adores history, either.”

“He’s the best,” Mr. Michener said, slinging his arm around Tommy’s shoulders. “Your mom would be so proud,”

he added to his son, a little spasm of pain crossing his face. Ah, yes. Tommy’s mom had died the year before he came to Manning.

“Thanks, Dad. Oh, hey, there’s Emma. I’ll be right back,” Tommy said, then bolted off.

“Emma, huh?” Mr. Michener said, smiling.

“She’s a great girl,” I informed him. “Been nursing a crush on your son all year.”

“Young love,” Jack Michener said, grinning. “Thank God I’m not a teenager anymore.” I smiled. “Did Tom tell you he’s majoring in history at NYU?”

“Yes, he did. I was so pleased,” I answered. “As I said, he’s a fantastic kid. Really bright and interested. I wish I had more students like him.”

Tommy’s dad nodded in enthusiastic agreement. I glanced at my car. Jack Michener made no move to leave, and being that he was the father of my favorite senior, I decided I could chat a little longer. “So what do you do for a living, Mr. Michener?”

“Oh, hey, call me Jack.” He smiled again, Tommy’s open, wide grin. “I’m a doctor.”

“Really?” I said politely. “What kind?”

“I work in pediatrics,” he said.

I paused. “Pediatrics. Let me guess. Surgery?”

“That’s right. Did Tom tell you that?”

“You’re a pediatric surgeon?” I asked.

“Yes. Why? Did you think it was something else?”

I snorted. “No, well…no. I’m sorry. Just thinking of something else.” I took a deep breath. “Um…so. How rewarding your work must be.” The irony sloshed around my ankles in thick waves.

“Oh, it’s great.” He grinned again. “I tend to log in too many hours at the hospital—hard to leave sometimes—but I love it.”

I bit down on a giggle. “That’s wonderful.”

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and tipped his head. “Grace, would you like to join Tom and me for dinner?

It’s just the two of us here today…”

“Um, thanks,” I said, “but I can’t. My sister’s getting married tomorrow, and tonight’s the rehearsal.”

His smile dropped a few notches. “Oh. Well, maybe some other time?” He paused, blushing. “Maybe even without Tommy? We live in New York. It’s not that far.”

A date. The pediatric surgeon was asking me out on a date. A burst of hysterical laughter surged up my throat, but I clamped down on it just in time. “Um…wow, that’s really nice of you.” I took a quick breath. “The truth is, I’m…”

“Married?” he said with a no-hard-feelings shrug.

“No, no. I just broke up with someone, and I’m not over him yet.”

“Well. I understand.”

We were quiet for a second, both of us mildly embarrassed. “Oh, here comes Tommy,” I said, relieved.

“Excellent. It was great meeting you, Grace. Thanks again for all you did for my son.”

Tommy enveloped me in a hug. “Bye, Ms. Em,” he said. “You’re the best teacher here. I’ve had a crush on you since my first day of class.”

I hugged him back chastely, my eyes wet. “I’ll really miss you, buddy,” I said honestly. “Write to me, okay?”