A Time To Forgive. Darlene Gardner

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      She stood in front of Abby in the empty classroom, looking adorable in her pink Abercrombie & Fitch T-shirt and designer jeans. Abby handed her the permission slip.

      “I know your father didn’t sign this so don’t bother telling me he did,” Abby stated.

      The child looked down at her feet, which were encased in brand-name tennis shoes. Her eyes were filled with unshed tears when she gazed back up at Abby. “Am I in trouble?”

      Sympathy rose in Abby like the Potomac River after a rainy season. The girl had recently confided that she’d come to live with her father after her mother had died. It wasn’t any wonder she wreaked so much havoc at school.

      “You’re only in trouble if you don’t tell me why you forged the signature.”

      “Because I really want to go on the field trip,” she said in a plaintive voice, sniffling not so delicately.

      “Did your father say why he wouldn’t sign it?”

      She nodded. “He says I don’t deserve to go because I’m bad.”

      Abby bit down hard so she wouldn’t call the girl’s father-come-lately a cuss word. The nerve of the man. She supposed she should give him some credit for taking in his daughter after her mother’s death, but he shouldn’t have shirked his responsibilities in the first place.

      “You’re not bad. You’ve done some things that are wrong. But you’re a good girl with a good heart. Don’t let anyone tell you differently.”

      The girl blinked back tears, not inspiring much hope that Abby’s message had gotten through. “He doesn’t understand how much I want to hear the symphony, Miss Reed.”

      Abby understood. Of all the students she’d taught in the four years since she’d worked in Montgomery County schools, this one loved music the most.

      The child reminded Abby of her own young self. During the darkest times of her childhood, Abby had turned to the violin and let the music lift her soul. The music could fill a similar void in this child if only her hardheaded jerk of a father would let it.

      Abby vowed in that instant to do whatever possible to gain permission for the girl to attend the field trip, even if she disliked what it would entail. “Would you like me to talk to your father, Jaye?”

      Jaye Smith smiled, the misery on her face turning to hope. “Oh, yes, Miss Reed. I’d like that very much.”

      CONNOR SMITH WAS NOT HAVING a good day.

      It had started off on a sour note when Jaye had “accidentally” dumped his potted amaryllis onto the cream-colored carpet in his living room, throwing their uneasy morning routine so out of whack that she’d missed the bus.

      He’d gotten snarled in traffic on the way to Blue Moon Elementary, causing him to deposit the silent-as-a-stone Jaye to school after the bell had rung. Then somebody had rear-ended his Porsche on the way to the office. And now one of his clients was talking nonsense.

      “I think we should dump it, Connor.” The panicked, masculine voice belonged to a bank president who had trusted Connor with his investments for the past three years. “I checked the paper this morning and the price of a share is down eight cents.”

      Connor leaned his head on the backrest of his office chair and stared at the white ceiling. He usually had more patience with Daniel Mann, who called every time the market fluctuated. This time he was panicking about an emerging pharmaceutical company in which he’d invested.

      “Remember how I told you that checking the markets is my job, Daniel? The fluctuations can drive you crazy if you let them. But trust me on this. If the FDA approves the drug the company’s developed, the stock will go way up. Sit tight and wait to see what happens.”

      By the time Connor ended the connection ten minutes later, Daniel Mann had heeded his advice. But then most of his clients did, as well they should. Connor had made impressive amounts of money for himself and his clients since he’d passed the stockbroker exams and joined the Capital Company six years ago.

      Connor glanced up at the flat-screen television in his office that was tuned to the financial news network, satisfied himself on the status quo and reached for another client portfolio. If he was going to get off work by six so he could spend time with Jaye, he needed to cram as much into the day as possible.

      Before he could open the folder and dial the number listed inside, his secretary’s smooth, professional voice came over the intercom.

      “Ms. Abby Reed is here to see you, Mr. Smith.”

      The name was naggingly familiar, but Connor couldn’t place it. He glanced down at the list of appointments scheduled for that day, but didn’t find an Abby Reed. Had his usually efficient secretary added an appointment she hadn’t told him about?

      He pressed down on the intercom button. “Does she have an appointment, Mary Beth?”

      “She says she’s here about Jaye.”

      Connor grimaced, although he wasn’t surprised. In the five rocky weeks Jaye had lived with him, every day brought a new problem. He depressed the intercom button. “What was her name again?”

      “My name’s Abby Reed.” The voice that traveled over the intercom and filled his office had a low, sultry quality even though it was heavily laced with annoyance. “I’m Jaye’s strings teacher. And I’m not leaving until you see me.”

      Of course. Abby Reed was the Ms. Reed who had been leaving messages at his office and home, trying to get him to reconsider his refusal to allow Jaye to attend a field trip. He’d neither the time nor inclination to call her back because he had no intention of changing his mind.

      But what was she doing here? The Silver Spring office of the Capital Company was only a mile from Blue Moon Elementary, but he’d never known a teacher to make office calls.

      Jaye’s reign of terror on the fourth grade must have taken a turn for the worse.

      “I can vouch that she’s serious when she says she’s not leaving until you see her,” his secretary added.

      Connor pinched the bridge of his nose. He really did not have time for this, but he couldn’t send the child’s teacher packing.

      “Send her in,” he said and took off his headset.

      The door flew open, and a slender, dark-haired woman marched to his desk with a determined stride. Her hair was cut so short it fell shy of her collar, giving her face a gamine quality and making her resemble the young Audrey Hepburn in the old movies he liked to watch. Her lips were unpainted, her makeup minimal and brown eyes angry.

      He wasn’t a stupid man. Recognizing the signs of an imminent verbal eruption, he took the offensive. “I don’t intend to make excuses for Jaye, Ms. Reed. So just tell me what she’s done now.”

      She recoiled. “Excuse me?”

      He rubbed the back of his neck. “What’s Jaye done? Gone on musical strike? Bashed in an instrument? Bloodied a classmate’s nose?”

      “What makes СКАЧАТЬ