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Nate was frequently late to dinner, but Sandra was more annoyed with him tonight than she usually was. Her brain was bursting with things to talk to him about, and he was at yet another meeting.
“When’s Daddy getting home?” Joanna asked with a pout. Was she feeling the same thing Sandra was or just mimicking Sandra’s own unspoken sentiment?
Sandra didn’t know. “He’ll be here soon, honey. We can start eating without him.” She usually made them wait, but the pot roast was already dry enough to serve as kindling. She should have made gravy. Sometime between interviewing grieving widows and fighting with principals and coaches.
Sandra scooped food onto four of the five plates, giving Sammy only some mushy carrots for now, and then sat next to the head of the table. The beef didn’t look very appetizing, but that wasn’t the end of the world. She wasn’t hungry. Neither, apparently, was Peter, judging from the way he was pushing his food around on the plate. She could hardly blame him. He’d had a rough day. She started to cut up some small beef bites for Sammy.
“Is there any gravy?” Joanna whined.
“No,” Sandra said with more sharpness than she’d meant to. Great. Add a splash of guilt to the whirlpool of emotions swirling around in her head. Her short fuse led to a long, sad silence that remained unbroken until they heard the sound of Nate’s engine pulling into the driveway. Sandra’s heart leapt at the sound of it. After all these years, she still got excited to see him, and on this night particularly, she really needed the calm, peaceful support his presence always brought.
She could tell by the way he nearly fell through the doorway that he was exhausted, and forced herself to pause before verbally unloading on him. “Hi, honey. Dinner’s still hot. Sorry, we started without you.”
Peter didn’t look up from his plate.
Nate dropped his bag and coat onto the chair by the door and then loosened his tie. “No problem.” He traveled around the table, kissing each of them on the top of their heads before sliding into his own chair at the head of the table. “Sorry, I should’ve texted. I didn’t think I’d be that late. I’m glad you started without me.” He took a deep breath as he picked up a serving spoon. “Smells delicious. Thanks, Sandy.”
“You’re welcome. Don’t get too excited. It’s a little dry.”
His eyes traveled around the table. She knew he was looking for gravy, but he was smart enough not to ask for it out loud. “So, how was everyone’s day?” he asked, as he mashed his potato with his fork.
Sandra passed him the butter as she sneaked a look at her oldest son. “You go first,” she said to Nate. “How was your day?”
He shrugged. “About the same as always. Long. Difficult. But worth it.” Her husband really believed in education, believed he was changing the world for the better, one impossible decision at a time.
Peter’s fork clanged against his plate, startling her. She looked at him, and he was staring at his father. “I got in trouble today for pushing Cameron Thompson. I hardly touched him, but he fell down, and they wanted to suspend me, but Mom talked them out of it.”
Nate’s mouth fell open, his face registering horror.
Sandra could read his mind. The way that Peter had phrased it, this was his worst nightmare. She put a hand on Nate’s arm. “Wait a second. It’s not as bad as it sounds. Peter was defending some second graders, who Cameron was being really mean to. Peter was trying to do a good thing.” She studied Nate’s face. She thought he was relaxing—a little. “Of course, he shouldn’t have gotten physical, but overall, I’m quite proud of him.”
Nate pulled his eyes away from Peter’s face to look at her, his eyebrows arched. “Proud of him? He got in trouble for pushing a younger kid to the ground!”
“Yes,” she said quickly. “And like I said, it’s not a perfect scenario, but his heart was in the right place.”
“And what about you?” Nate asked, sounding a smidgen hostile. “How, exactly, did you talk them out of suspension?”
She fought not to roll her eyes. A principal’s son getting suspended. Oh, the horror. “Not them. Just Mrs. Van DeVenter. And I didn’t talk her out of anything. I only stuck up for our son, and she easily saw that it wasn’t a situation that warranted suspension.”
“And what does it warrant, exactly?”
“May I be excused?” Joanna asked.
Sandra looked at her plate. She’d eaten all the meat, and none of the potatoes or carrots.
“No” and “yes,” Nate and Sandra said in unison.
Joanna looked confused.
“Fine,” Nate said. “Take one bite of carrot, and then you can go.”
Joanna puckered up her face as she slid the world’s smallest chunk of root vegetable between her teeth and then ran off before she’d even chewed. Sandra wondered if she’d find that carrot bite in a plant pot later.
Sandra lowered her voice and concentrated on sounding calm and respectful. “It warranted probation.”
“Probation?”
“Yes,” Sandra said. “He got a warning. Really, honey, it wasn’t a big deal.”
Nate’s eyes slid from hers to Peter’s and back to hers. “I’m tired. How about we talk about this later, Peter?”
Fine. Let them duke it out later. This hiccup was the least of her worries.
Peter agreed. “May I be excused too?” He picked up a carrot and shoved it into his mouth. “I ate my carrot,” he said through his full mouth.
Sandra knew it was the only thing he’d eaten, but Nate didn’t know that. Peter would be out of bed digging through the fridge at ten o’clock for another supper. She waited for Nate to answer him, and when he didn’t, she said, “Of course.”
Peter slinked away toward the stairs, and her heart swelled with affection. She remembered how hard it was to grow up.
She let Nate eat for a few minutes, concentrating on minimizing Sammy’s highchair mess, until she couldn’t stand it anymore. She put a hand over Nate’s. “There’s something else.”
He let a long exhale out of the side of his mouth. “What?”
“At church. Peter’s being bullied at church.” Her voice cracked on the words. “Ethan and Jack. They’re picking on him—”
He guffawed. This was the last reaction she’d expected. “Ethan and Jack? That’s crazy! It’s probably just boys being boys—”
“No.” It was her turn to interrupt. “This is not just boys being boys. As an educator, you should know how serious this—”
“Don’t tell me how to be an educator, Sandra!”
She leaned back in her chair, not knowing how to proceed. She didn’t want to fight with him and hadn’t even gotten to the bit about the widow and the angel yet.
“What did he say happened?”
Sandra focused on folding her napkin. “He didn’t give specifics.”
“So how do you even know anything happened?”
“Because he said so.” She took a deep breath. “I didn’t want to push, because I didn’t want him to clam up. But I know my son, and if he says he’s being bullied, he’s being bullied.” She snapped her mouth shut, suddenly really sick of talking.
Nate slid his chair back with a scraping sound that made Sammy jump and stare in his direction, a smashed carrot frozen halfway to his mouth. Sammy’s eyes followed Nate as he walked to the bottom of the stairs.
“Peter!” he hollered up the stairs. “Please come back down here!”