I walked over to him. “Your dad told you he’s coming in today, right?”
“Yeah.”
“That should be fun.” I smiled.
He shrugged his shoulders.
“Does that make you nervous?”
He nodded his head yes.
“Don’t be.”
Jonah very rarely offered anything without being asked, so I was surprised when he said, “He’s going to embarrass me.”
I laughed inwardly at the fact that I was expecting him to be calm about Mack coming in when I was a nervous wreck about it myself—for totally different reasons, of course.
The firm knock made me jump.
Mack offered a smile and a wave through the narrow window of the classroom door.
Lorelai looked giddy when she spotted him there, which prompted me to roll my eyes at her.
It was show time.
When I let him in, the broad smile that spread across his face brought on a sudden feeling of nostalgia. So much had changed in our lives, but the intense emotions that pummeled through me whenever I looked at him were very much the same. They were just mixed with sadness, too, now.
“Sorry I’m a few minutes late. Lunch-time traffic on Route Nine.”
“It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not,” he insisted.
His eyes lingered on mine, and suddenly I was back in college again, looking into the eyes of the first guy who’d ever broken through my walls, made me comfortable in my own skin, then broke my heart. Mack still had the ability to take my breath away. I’d missed looking into those gorgeous, hazel eyes that were a mix of green, gold, and caramel with brown borders. I had to look away because I sensed he wasn’t going to be the first one to break the stare.
This was going to be the longest year of my life.
Turning my attention toward the students, I cleared my throat. “Class, this is Mr. Morrison, Jonah’s dad. He’s going to be reading to us today.”
Knowing Jonah was embarrassed, Mack grinned sheepishly at his son. “Hi, Jonah.”
The boy simply turned red but didn’t say anything.
“What are you reading?” I asked.
“It’s a children’s story I wrote myself, actually.”
“I didn’t know you wrote children’s books.”
“Neither did I until this past week.” He winked.
What?
Mack situated himself on the chair I’d set up in the middle of a circular rug. The children gathered on the ground around him. Lorelai grinned over at me. She still didn’t know anything about us; she just thought he was hot.
“So, today, I’m going to tell you a little story I wrote and illustrated myself. It’s called Frankie Four Eyes and the Magic Night Stick.”
My breathing stopped for a moment.
Frankie Four Eyes.
Great.
He’d made me into a book character.
He started, “Once upon a time, there was a little girl named Frankie Jane, but people called her Frankie Four Eyes because of her gigantic, purple glasses.”
Giggles could be heard all around as I started to break out into a cold sweat. Of course, the kids had no clue it was based on me.
Mack continued, “Frankie was scared of other people and often hid behind her glasses. One night, she decided to take a walk in the dark without her spectacles.”
“What are spectacles?” one of the girls interrupted.
“Spectacles are glasses. Just another word for them.” He resumed reading. “But Frankie was blind as a bat. She couldn’t see a thing. In the darkness of the night, it was even worse. Suddenly, a stranger crossed her path. At first, she was scared of this man. When he saw how frightened she was, he assured her that he wasn’t dangerous. He even offered his nightstick for protection.”
Nightstick. There was only one other time I could recall Mack using that term. This story sounded awfully familiar—vaguely like our first encounter. It occurred to me that this was just his own twist on it—one that was appropriate for children. I have to give it to you, Mack. Very clever. I couldn’t help but laugh to myself.
Mack continued, “The man said the nightstick was magical and claimed it held the power to protect her from anything she was ever afraid of. The only thing was…she needed to hold onto it and never let go whenever she felt she needed it.”
He looked at me. My face must have been turning red. I shook my head at him.
Seeming amused, he continued telling the story. “Frankie believed the man’s tale and after that day carried the magic nightstick around with her almost everywhere she went. That is, until she spotted the man again in broad daylight, selling the nightsticks on a street corner for practically a dime a dozen. It was then that she realized her nightstick wasn’t magical at all. It had all been an illusion. Frankie then realized that she never needed anything to protect herself other than a new point of view. She believed something, and therefore it was.”