Page 9 of Karma Kitty Christmas
“I offered,” Isaac told her. It was important, and Roxy knew that. Paula asked Isaac to knit her a sweater the year before, said the kids would love it if they knew their favorite pre-algebra teacher had done that for the department chair! Roxy had almost gotten herself fired by producing a breakdown of the cost of making the sweater, by material cost for both the cheap stuff (as Paula told himnotto use) and the expensive stuff, and then added an hourly wage.
Paula had yelled first, added, “It was just a stupid joke,” and then thrown the wadded-up invoice into the trash, but she hadn’t apologized, even when the rest of the staff told her it hadn’t sounded like a joke when she’d done it.
“Again, why?” Roxy asked. “Seriously? I know how jealously you guard your crafting time. Why offer it to this guy?”
“His grandmother is lovely,” Isaac told her. “And his grandfather is lovely toher, so he also gets my approval as a nice guy. But it’s….” He let out a breath. “There I was, trying to knit that sweater Todd asked me to make him—”
“The shit-brown monstrosity,” she said.
Isaac bit his lip thoughtfully. “Did you ever see it?”
“No,” she said. “But Isaac, it’s been a year and a half. It’s time to start speaking ill of the dead. If I say nothing else about your late husband, I’ll tell you that his affinity for brown, tan, ecru, and crème was the least of his sins. Why you would want to pull that out now to finish it is beyond me.”
Penance, because I was thinking far worse before I reached for a new project.
“I don’t know,” Isaac told her. “Self-flagellation. Whatever. But Luca walked up and said, ‘Whatever is making your face do that, don’t,’ and I was so grateful I offered to make him something, and thenhetold me about his problems, which was nice—”
“Because you weren’t alone with the problems,” she said, and he nodded.
“And….” He sighed. “I don’t know. I guess anything was better than working on the shit-brown monstrosity.”
Roxy’s disappointment was palpable, and for a moment it was just the two of them in the cool of the early afternoon sunshine with the sound of kids’ shouts and the eternal hum of conversation, even if nobody was near enough to hear.
“That’s it?” she asked. “Was he even cute?”
“Oh yeah. I meanbuilt, and with this sweet little face and brown eyes and—” He stopped himself. “He was pleasant,” he finished weakly, conscious that Roxy had perked up next to him.
“Pleasant?” she asked. “Pleasant?”
He let out a breath. “I,” he said, “am still grieving.”
“And I’m still a virgin with a twenty-eight-inch waist,” she retorted.
He glanced at her squishy, comfortable,happybody. “You never had a twenty-eight-inch waist,” he said critically.
Her laughter burbled into the early afternoon air, and he was reminded again of why he’d knit for her again and again. “You bitch, I did too! Childbirth does terrible things to yourbody, trust me. But”—she sobered—“even if I was a size zero and had hipbones that could pierce steel, that wouldn’t change the fact that what you just said was a lie.”
“I am too grieving.” But even the word was hard to say.
They neared the soda machine and waited patiently—and quietly—while a small group of students made their purchases. One of them—one of Isaac’s favorite kids, actually—glanced up as he grabbed his illicit soda and grinned.
“Hey, Brown-man. You coming to walk on the wild side?”
Isaac gave him a warm smile. “Caffeine and sugar—next it’ll be the hard stuff and a one-way ticket to the big house!”
Marcelle gave a delighted cackle and walked up for a fist bump, which Isaac happily gave. Smallish—his freshman growth spurt had been more like a growth wave—and African American, with his tightly napped hair dyed blond, then purple, Marcelle had been out and proud practically since the cradle. Isaac admired everything about the kid, from his enthusiasm about English lit to his dogged determination to pass pre-algebra, which he was fixing to do this year, as a junior. He’d bonded with Isaac when Isaac had given him after-school help, a thing he did readily for any student who needed it. But Marcelle had really put his back into math. And Isaac had put his back into helping the boy learn math, pulling out every trick he had, from manipulatives to trips around the school looking for math examples, until Marcelle had not only passed pre-algebra, he’d determined to pass algebra in summer school so he could sneak one more math class in as a senior for better hope of a college admission.
This was the kind of kid teachers lived for.
“So what are you two gossiping about?” Marcelle asked, giving the girls with him a bawdy wink. “You got plans to go clubbing this weekend?”
Thatmade Roxy laugh, and she said, “The closest thing I get to clubbing is chaperoning school dances, but nice try. I’m taking the kids to the park and hoping they take a long nap.”
“I will babysit anytime,” Marcelle told her. “I’ve got siblings coming out my ears—I’ve even got a first aid certificate so my mom doesn’t freak out when I’m in charge! And Sheryl”—he nodded at one of the girls—“and me, we watched Mrs. Halford’s kids last week, if you want a reference.”
For a moment Roxy’s face was taken over by wistfulness, and Isaac felt for her. He’d babysat for her plenty, but usually for family stuff or work things, and Roxy was careful not to impose too much. A date night probably sounded like the ultimate in luxury.
“You should do it,” he said quietly. “You and Brian could go see a movie or, you know, have an uninterrupted meal.” Marcelle threw a friendly arm around his shoulders, and Isaac returned the move so they could stand together in brotherhood. “I’ve got Marcelle’s digits, if you want to call Brian and then call him up. I’m a reference. I guess Kim Halford’s a reference.” Kim Halford was a science teacher—nice lady, they agreed, but her room was on the other side of their large campus. “Come on, Roxy,” he said quietly. “You deserve a weekend out.”
