The SEAL's Secret Daughter Page 9

  “Do you like pudding cups?” Aiden, or possibly Caden, asked.

  “I guess,” Trina replied.

  “Come with us,” one of the twins said, pulling on her jacket sleeve. “We’ll show you where the cafeteria is and where we line up after recess and where the PE teacher keeps the best dodge balls locked in her office and where...”

  The boys’ voices faded as they pulled a taller Trina between them and peppered her with an overload of information. When they got to the top of the steps, she looked back at Ethan, her eyes wide and uncertain.

  “Go ahead, Trina,” Ethan said, capturing Monica’s hand to pull her along. “We’ll be right behind you.”

  Monica made a slight squeak and her head did a double take at his fingers resting against hers. But Ethan liked having her close, he wasn’t about to let go. Besides, with all the kids darting in every which direction, he didn’t want to accidentally get separated from her in all this chaos. Her cheeks turned a rosy shade of pink and several of the other parents murmured to each other on the steps as she took quick tiny steps to keep up with his bigger strides.

  As soon as they set foot inside the building, Ethan was hit with the scent of glue and pencil lead and industrial-strength cleaner. Apparently not much had changed in over twenty years. This place smelled exactly like every elementary school he’d ever attended. And with his father’s job that required them to move every eighteen months or so, Ethan was an expert.

  A shrill bell sounded, making Ethan flinch. Maybe they couldn’t do anything about the aroma, yet one would think they would’ve developed a more pleasant ringtone by now. Man, he was glad he didn’t have to stay. If hating school was a genetic trait, poor Trina must’ve inherited it from him.

  Kids scattered in all directions—including their nine-year-old tour guides, who promised to see Trina on the playground at recess—and Monica and Ethan were left standing alone in the hallway with his daughter.

  Ethan had logged at least twenty parachute maneuvers, along with countless rescue and recon missions by both land and sea into enemy territory. Yet, he’d never experienced the type of paralyzing confusion as he did right that second in the hallway of an American elementary school. Well, except for last Saturday at the mall. And the Wednesday before that when Trina arrived on his doorstep. Hell, was this constant fish-out-of-water feeling ever going to cease?

  Thank goodness for Monica, their undesignated team leader who’d managed to wiggle away from Ethan’s grasp a few minutes ago when a couple of moms cornered him about attending the next PTA meeting.

  “Let’s go to the front office and meet Principal Cromartie.” Monica smiled at Trina while Ethan didn’t get so much as a passing glance. “He usually likes to walk new students to their classrooms.”

  “That’s right,” Ethan said, recalling the principal saying as much when they’d been here last Friday to register. At the time, he’d felt as though he was signing his life away with all those forms and permission slips the admissions clerk had shoved in front of him.

  Compared to all the hoops they’d had to jump through a few days ago, this morning’s meeting with the principal seemed almost anticlimatic. Dr. Cromartie’s skin was smooth enough to make the thin, lanky African American man appear to be in his forties, but the shock of white, wiry hair on top of his head had Ethan thinking the head of the school was much older. Either way, the gentleman had a commanding presence and spoke confidently to Trina about how well she would do in Mr. Yasikochi’s class, then asked Ethan and Monica to stay outside and wait for him as he opened a door with a hand-painted sign that read Learning is Great in Room #8.

  “Have a good day,” Monica said to Trina, who was already looking at the ground.

  “Remember, I’ll be standing outside on the steps at three o’clock,” Ethan offered what reassurance he could. They’d gone over the day’s schedule several more times last night and twice this morning. “And then we’ll go get ice cream.”

  He was hoping for at least a nod, but his daughter surprised him by lifting her face and staring right at him as she spoke. “Don’t forget that I’m also going to Monica’s for dinner so that you can go to your meeting.”

  “I won’t forget,” he said, lifting his hand in a wave that probably came across as way too upbeat. Trina’s own hand flicked upward, but her wave wasn’t even half as enthusiastic.

  When the classroom door closed behind his daughter and the principal, Monica turned to him. “You have a meeting tonight?”

  “Yeah.” He rocked back on his heels and glanced down the hall toward the exit door. Man, it was warm in this hallway.

  “What kind of meeting?”

  Ethan peeled off his coat and was stuck having to loop it through his arm. He wanted to reply, The kind that’s anonymous. But after seeing Monica’s facial reaction to Trina’s comment about Chantal using “medicine” to stay skinny, he didn’t know if he was ready for her to judge him the same way. Before Trina, he wouldn’t have had a problem answering the question. Now, however, he flashed back to the insinuation Monica had made last week in the kitchen of the Cowgirl Up Café when she’d all but accused him of being a deadbeat dad. Since then, there might’ve been a slight thawing in her opinion of him, but he wasn’t ready to find out. Instead he shrugged as if it was no big deal. “The kind that’s personal.”

  She lowered her eyelids skeptically. “Sounds like a date to me.”

  “Would you be jealous if it was a date?” He wiggled his eyebrows while trying to tamp down the thread of hope that began to coil in his belly. If she was jealous, that meant she cared. About him.

  “Not a chance.” Her response would’ve been more believable if she hadn’t added a frustrated little huff afterward.

  “I think you would be.” He leaned in closer, letting his eyes drop to her full mouth as she opened and closed her lips several times. However, before she could utter so much as a denial, Dr. Cromartie walked back out into the hallway to join them.

  “Thanks for waiting for me,” the principal said. “Would you mind coming into my office?”

  The older gentleman didn’t wait for a response, walking away like a man accustomed to students following him.

  “Oh... I’m sure you don’t need me—” Monica started, but Ethan’s hand immediately found hers again and he steered them toward the front of the school.

  “We came in the same car, remember?” he murmured under his breath. Plus, he wasn’t about to let her off the hook so easily. If she was going to start a conversation about the subject of dating, then he would sure as hell finish it.

  The smooth skin against her jaw tightened, but Monica refused to meet his gaze, stiffly allowing him to lead her into Dr. Cromartie’s office.

  “So we got Trina’s file from her prior school,” the principal said as he gestured for them to take a seat. The older man picked up a blue folder and perched on the edge of his desk. “It’s not completely comprehensive because her attendance was pretty spotty the past couple of years.”

  “I figured as much,” Ethan replied, hoping Dr. Cromartie wasn’t judging him for being the flaky parent who hadn’t made her go to school. Of course, his excuse of not being in his daughter’s life before now didn’t exactly make him an award-winning dad either.

  “According to her grades and state testing results, her grammar and language scores are off the charts. So she’s a very smart girl.”

  Ethan sat up a little straighter, pride filling his chest at an accomplishment that didn’t technically belong to him. This might actually be the first time he’d ever been in a principal’s office and not gotten a stern lecture.

  “However...?” Monica pressed, ruining Ethan’s short-lived moment of smugness.

  “However,” Dr. Cromartie gave a brief nod. “When she was in third grade, one of her teachers identified Trina as having dyscalculia.”

  Monica made a
murmuring noise and Ethan looked between the only two people in the room with college degrees. “What does dyscalcu...whatever it’s called. What does that mean?”

  “Dyscalculia is a developmental disorder that makes it difficult to comprehend numbers and understand math concepts. For example, someone with dyscalculia might not remember which order numbers go in, or they struggle to identify the difference between a plus sign and a minus sign. Oftentimes, people refer to it as math dyslexia.”

  “That explains why she was pretty adamant about not going to school,” Monica offered, putting a hand on Ethan’s shoulder as though she was offering him comfort. “She’s been struggling in math.”

  As much as he enjoyed the warmth of her touch, he didn’t exactly need to be consoled. In fact, his back sagged against the seat in relief. “That’s great.”

  “I’m sorry?” Dr. Cromartie pulled his chin back. “Are you saying that you’re happy about this diagnosis?”

  “Well, not happy. I mean, I’m definitely unhappy about the fact that she struggled for so long and that she never got the help she needed. I’m downright pissed that she’s had to go through this and so much more without me being there to support her. But I’m relieved that we’re getting some answers and that we can get her on track now. You already said she was smart, right?” Ethan asked and waited for Dr. Cromartie’s slow nod of assent. “Then this math dyslexia is the only thing wrong with Trina.”

  “I don’t know if I would characterize it as something being wrong with her,” Monica started.

  “No, of course not. I just meant that if we have an explanation for why her brain does what it does, then we can get busy and fix it.”

  “Well, like dyslexia, it isn’t necessarily curable,” Dr. Cromartie warned. “But there are specialized tutoring and strategies that can help a person overcome it.”

  “Great.” Ethan smacked his hands together. “How do we sign her up for that class?”

  “As a smaller school, we don’t exactly have a budget for specialty programs like that here. There are schools in Boise that could better accommodate this sort of—”

  Ethan braced his palms on his knees. “I’m not moving her. No way. She’s already been through too much and I don’t think it would be fair to make her start somewhere new again.”

  Okay, so he wasn’t just looking out for Trina’s best interests in that regard. He also preferred not to uproot himself when he was just getting settled and had developed a dependable support system. Just like on the airplanes when they tell people to put on their own oxygen masks before helping others, Ethan’s personal self-care would be essential if he truly wanted to be a better parent for his daughter. Really, it’d be better for both of them if they could avoid having any more disruptions in their lives.

  “We have after-school tutors who come into the library a few days a week,” Monica offered, placing a calming hand on top of his twitching fingers. “I can ask around to see if there’s someone who specializes in dyscalculia. But you’d probably have to pay them out of pocket.”

  He studied the woman who sat beside him, the woman who was consistently a source of quiet strength and seemed to always know the answers before he could even think of the questions. He flipped his palm over, lacing his fingers through hers and giving them an instinctive squeeze in appreciation. God, it felt good not to be sitting here alone.

  “I might not be rich, but I’ll spend every damn dime on Trina’s education if that’s what it takes to get her where she needs to be. Maybe it didn’t matter to Chantal, but it does to me. I want to help her the best way I can.” He smiled gratefully at Monica, and looked back at Dr. Cromartie. “We’ll start working on this as soon as we find the right tutor.”

  It also meant that Ethan would be spending a lot more time at the library.

  Chapter Seven

  “Hey, Monica,” Nurse Dunn called, poking her head out of the health office. The woman wore medical scrubs covered with teddy bears and carried a coffee mug stamped with two different shades of lipstick. “Were you talking to Dr. Cromartie about the open school librarian position?”

  “Um...” Monica tried not to look at Ethan behind her or in any way signal that they’d just been in the principal’s office together. “No. We were just going over some tutoring programs at the city library.”

  “Oh.” Nurse Dunn’s eyes landed on Ethan’s hand which had somehow nestled its way into Monica’s again. The first time they’d held hands had been so they could stay together as they fought traffic in the crowded hallway. Then, in the office, the gesture had been more of a show of emotional support between friends. Now, though, his firm, wide grip was a little more difficult to write off as platonic. In fact, she didn’t know what burned more—the area just below her wrist where his thumb was tracing slow, steady circles, or her cheeks that were flaming with mortification. “Well, if you know anyone who is interested, send them our way.”

  “I will,” Monica replied, but it came out in a muffle and she had to clear her throat to repeat herself.

  She stepped into the hallway, hoping that the quicker she walked, the easier it would be to dislodge Ethan’s hand. But the man wasn’t letting go. Obviously, she could yank hers away, however, that would only serve as an admission that his touch had any sort of effect on her. So she kept her spine stiff and her head facing forward and tried to pretend that she hadn’t even noticed how overwhelming, yet natural, it felt to have his long, work-roughened fingers settled against hers.

  There’d been such a suffocating warmth in the school hallway that Monica sucked in deep gulps of the cold February air when they got outside. She should’ve steeled herself better for the sudden drop in temperature, though, because her shoulders let out an uncontrollable shiver, causing Ethan to release her hand so that he could wrap that arm around her waist and pull her toward him.

  His body shielded the wind from her and it was tough not to notice how perfectly she fit against him.

  Okay. She’d only allow herself to enjoy the strength and warmth of his protective arm for a few more steps. But before they could make it past the sidewalk, Carmen caught up with them in the parking lot.

  “My boys forgot these in the back of my squad car. I swear if their heads weren’t attached, they’d forget those, too.” She held up two lunch boxes—one Batman and one Spider-Man. “Anyway, I’m glad I caught you guys alone.”

  Monica opened her mouth to argue that despite the way she was pressed up to his side, she and Ethan weren’t really alone. At least not like that. And not on purpose. However, Carmen didn’t bat an eye as she continued, “I got a call from Trina’s caseworker this morning.”

  “What did they say?” Ethan stiffened beside her, but didn’t let go. Monica could only imagine the type of information he would need to brace himself for. Her own muscles were probably equally as tense at that moment.

  “She reiterated pretty much what Trina already told you. Chantal DeVecchio has had numerous arrests for drug-related charges. Irene DeVecchio, Trina’s grandmother, primarily raised her seeing as how Chantal was in and out of jail and rehab so often. The Texas Department of Family and Protective Services didn’t open the case until Irene’s health began to decline and Trina’s school attendance suffered. The caseworker was assigned primarily to help with social services and to watch over the situation and make reports. She’d even referred them to family court to get Trina’s guardianship legally established and to look into the possibility of other relatives raising the girl if and when Irene could no longer do so. She said your name came up when Trina asked her to do a search for her father.”

  “Trina mentioned that she’d been the one to find me, not her mom.” Ethan lifted his face toward the cloudless sky, but his eyes were squeezed shut and his hand slipped from her waist to find hers once again—as if he was dizzy and Monica was the only thing grounding him. “I wanted to ask her more about that, but s
he shuts down if I try to get too much information from her at once.”

  “The caseworker said that when Irene passed away, Chantal took off with Trina and they stayed off the radar for a while. She was relieved when I told her that the girl was here with you.”

  “Does that mean they’ll let her stay with me?” Ethan’s normally unexpressive eyes were flooded with determination and resolve. She’d seen him friendly, she’d seen him charming, she’d even seen him confused. But this was the second time this morning she’d witnessed his intensity when it came to Trina’s well-being. Maybe he was truly serious about wanting his daughter, after all.

  Carmen’s expression was a bit more guarded. “Texas is referring the case to the authorities here in Idaho. They’ll be in contact with you soon to set up a home visit.”

  “A home visit for what?”

  “To make sure that you’re providing Trina with suitable living conditions and to probably interview you both to determine if being in your custody is in her best interest.”

  Ethan let out a whooshing breath, his shoulders relaxing. “What do you think, Carmen? You think I can pass the home visit so that they’ll let me keep her?”

  “My personal opinion? Of course they will. My professional opinion, however, is that you never know what can happen in these kinds of situations. Like I told you last week, it might be beneficial to retain an attorney, just to make sure all the legalities are in order.”

  Ethan nodded, then looked at Monica. “What about you, Mon? If you were the caseworker, would you let me keep her?”

  Her tummy quivered at his use of the intimate nickname again and her body grew warm at the realization that he craved her reassurance. If he’d asked her to direct him to the family law treatises or the top-rated parenting books, it’d be no problem. Yet, here in the real world—away from the reference desk—she would only be offering him false hope.

  Before she could say as much, the phone in the back pocket of her jeans vibrated.