Secrets in the Snow (Seasons of Hillsdale #2)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

FAITH

Istraightened the papers on the short table, built for my adorable second graders’ height. Coach Peters — Hillsdale’s most eligible bachelor and one of my second-grade student’s father, would be in my classroom any minute and I was going to barf.

I wiped my hands off on my pencil skirt as my eyes flicked to the door.

Adults are terrifying. Parent teacher conferences stressed me out for days, but meeting with parents outside those guidelines… nightmare inducing.

And if that wasn’t enough to fray the nerves, I was hardcore crushing on Danny’s dad, who was Henry Cavill yummy with a happy-go-lucky Ted Lasso type attitude.

The man hardly noticed me, let alone talked to me.

The few times he did, my mouth went dry, and I lost all coherent thought.

Last month he wished me a happy birthday weekend at parent pickup (yes, I was wearing the standard elementary birthday crown), I said, “You too…” and no, we do not share a birthday.

I glanced up at the analog clock above the whiteboard. He was ten minutes late, and I didn’t know whether to be annoyed or grateful.

I stood and paced back and forth, trying to expel the antsy energy. I flexed my fingers and counted to three as I inhaled and exhaled. A panic attack right now would be beyond embarrassing, which meant my body was happily prepping for one.

I will not puke. I will not puke.

I looked over to Danny’s desk and pictured his bright blue eyes and stoic expression.

I knew what it was like to not quite fit in, and to struggle in certain social situations. I rolled the fidget ring on my right ring finger. The birthday present from Marissa, my close friend, was trying its best to ground me and not let me spiral.

Doing this right before Thanksgiving break was maybe a bad choice; but the bonus was I wouldn’t see anyone for at least a week once I was done. I was exhausted and ready for it. Baking and bubble baths were high on my wish list.

I checked the clock. Fifteen minutes late. The high school Gymnasium was a few minutes walk away. The entire K-12 school campus wasn’t more than a five to ten-minute walk.

I’d never lived anywhere that was small enough to have K-12 all together. The school campus was a hodge podge assortment of new add-ons, portables, and buildings that dated back to the early 1900s. It felt a bit like walking through time as you went from one end of the campus to the other.

My classroom was in the oldest section. But the heat worked, and the large windows let in plenty of sunshine, so I didn’t mind.

Do I wait longer? My stomach flipped at the thought of rescheduling this meeting again. Despite knowing it was coming for weeks, I still wasn’t sure how to broach the subject.

‘Excuse me, but I’m pretty sure your child is neurodivergent.’ Was hardly a pleasant conversation starter, more like straight into confrontation land.

My favorite.

My hands shook, and I flexed my fingers again.

Almost twenty minutes late. I rubbed my eyes. I would give him till thirty, and then I was bailing. A bubble bath, and panic attacks for that matter, could only be put off for so long.

There was a loud knock on the door, the kind that announced a jovial presence, dun duh duh dun dun… DUN DUN.

Mr. Peters came bursting in, wearing an enormous grin. He weaved around thankful leaves that hung from the ceiling.

“Sorry I’m late, Ms. Lyons.”

I flinched. How many times did I need to ask everyone in this town not to call me by my new last name. The parent - teacher conference we had was months ago, but still.

He shook off his coach jacket with Hillsdale’s colors of maroon and gold, showing a fitted dark T-shirt and large forearms underneath.

I reminded my brain to make sure I didn’t drool and I tried to focus.

“It’s the first week of basketball practice, we ran longer than expected, and then Mom was late grabbing Danny from my office.” He shrugged and chuckled. Waves of a carefree attitude rolled off his massive shoulders. “Anyway, I rushed over from the high school gym as fast as I could.”

He paused, waiting for a response.

I shook my head, hoping to restart my thoughts. I held out my hand. “Please call me Faith, Mr. Peters.” His hand dwarfed mine in a handshake.

“Call me Adam.” He smirked. “Or I answer to Coach if you prefer. Mr. Peters feels so stuffy.” He scrunched his nose.

I took a silent breath and held it. Okay, no time like the present. But where to start?

“Thanks for coming, Adam.” I gestured over to the two foot table that held the papers I had put together for the meeting.

I walked over and sat, rolling my fidget ring one last time.

I watched as he stalked towards the table, looked at the child size chairs, and pulled out the tiny chair and sat gingerly on the edge, his knees bent up almost to his chest.

I had an adult size chair on the other side of the table, but he must not have seen it, and I wasn’t sure if I should point that out now.

Besides, he seemed less scary, scrunched like this, and honestly downright adorable.

“So what’s up?” Adam smiled in my direction, and I wondered if that smile would stay in place when I brought up testing and support for Danny.

I bit my bottom lip and slid the folder towards him.

Breathe in for three, hold, then out.

“I called this meeting because I am worried about Danny.”

His head reared back. “What do you mean?” His eyes no longer held amusement. He grabbed the folder and began flipping through it, looking at the half done assignments.

“For one, he is exhausted, and often falls asleep in class or is completely zoned out.”

Adam flinched. “That’s probably on me.” He scratched the back of his neck with his right arm, and I was proud of my restraint for not staring at his bicep.

“The neighbor’s fence broke, and his cows got out, and then we had a few late basketball practices this week.

” He shrugged. “If I go, he comes with me. There’s not much I can do about that. ”

I could feel the energy shift in the room, the little sting of confrontation poking at my skin.

“I am a single dad. What do you expect?” He folded his arms across his chest; his biceps pushed forward with the effort. “Look, I’m sure you mean well, but I get enough advice on how to raise Danny from everyone else in this town.” He raised his left eyebrow.

This was not going well. “As his teacher, I thought I might provide a different insight to Danny, that’s all.” I held my hands up between us.

Adam sighed. “I will try to get him to sleep earlier this week. Maybe he can go to my mom’s more.” He looked down at the stack of papers of unfinished homework assignments. “Are we done?“

I cleared my throat. “I’m afraid not.” I tried to fill my tight lungs with a deep breath. “I have some other things I was hoping to discuss.”

He side-eyed me and leaned back into the chair, causing it to nearly snap before he surged forward. “Is Danny misbehaving in class?” His eyes held worry, but his body was rigid.

“No, it’s not that. It’s…” Maybe I should have practiced this conversation with someone, this was hardly a wing-it situation.

I clasped my hands in my lap so I would stop fidgeting. Might as well get it out there as fast as I can. “I have noticed some signs that make me wonder if Danny is perhaps neurodivergent and would benefit from testing and further assistance. I am not qualified to diagnose, but—”

“Neuro what?” He tilted his jaw towards me. It seemed like he was still trying to process everything I had said.

I tried to swallow. “Neurodivergent. It just means their brains work a little differently from others…”

“Are you saying he is stupid?” His voice and eyebrows sank lower.

“NO!” I leaned back, and waved my hands in front of me. “I would never!”

“So, what is he doing that’s wrong then?” He gestured with his hand over the folder. “So he missed a few assignments… big deal. That is as much on me as on him.”

The cheery, carefree side of Adam was nowhere in sight, replaced by his angry papa bear side. This was definitely a side I’d never seen from him.

I cleared my throat trying to loosen the tight muscles. “Again, not wrong.” I hated that anytime someone was different, we labeled it as wrong. “I’m simply stating his brain may function and perceive things differently than some of his peers.”

“Why?” he growled. His brown eyes pierced mine and left no room for hiding.

I blew out a tight breath and dropped eye contact. Maybe I should have left things alone. But I hated to think some child out there might feel misunderstood.

“Why,” Coach Peters repeated, his lips in a scowl.

I steeled my shoulders; this was for Danny. I could puke later. “He never makes eye contact, has problems if the schedule has an unexpected change, certain noises seem to bother him, he has a hard time understanding others’ emotions and regulating his own—”

Adam tossed the papers back onto the table. “He’s seven, lay off. He will figure it out.” He pushed himself and the chair away from the table and stood.

I was trying to help Danny, and Adam wasn’t listening to me at all. Why do parents always assume different is bad? Moments from my childhood flashed in my memory. It didn’t have to be like this.

My palms pressed down on the table and I stood. “It’s not something for him to figure out; it’s more for us than for him.” I didn’t need Adam looking down on me. I eyed the chair behind me suspiciously.

What were the chances of standing on it in my heels without either looking ridiculous or falling off?

Not great. I focused back on Adam.

“Right. So what…” Adam’s eyebrow raised.

“You want to test him. Give him a label?” He scowled.

“You’re not from here, but I know this town.

They would make him carry that his whole life.

” He grabbed his jacket off the ground and slammed it over his shoulder; it must have fallen when he stood up.

“He isn’t stupid, and he doesn’t need a label. ”

I placed my hands on my hips, feeling my blood heat. “Again, I never said stupid. I said different.”

“Danny’s fine how he is.” Adam shoved the small chair back under the table hard.

So hard, it bounced off the table and fell to the floor. The movement caused a box of crayons to fall, and a few scattered pieces rolled off the table and onto the brown stained carpet.

This conversation reminded me of my mother and her need for perfection and for me to fit a certain mold that I desperately tried to, but I never could.

I stared at the pieces of crayons, shattered and broken. This conversation could not have gone worse. I took a deep breath and held it, I smelled something citrusy coming from Adam’s direction.

Why was I getting so worked up about this?

Was this because of Danny, or my past?

My thoughts kept flicking to my past and my mother, and I knew too much of my own scars had resurfaced during the exchange.

The thought cooled my anger, and I rubbed my forehead.

“This isn’t about a label.” My voice was soft, broken like the crayons. “This is about trying to understand Danny, so that you as the parent, and me as his teacher, can have the tools to help him, now and in the future.”

I gestured towards the toppled chair. If my second graders had to pick up their messes, surely that applied to adults as well.

His icy expression melted as he bent down and righted the chair and scooped up the crayons into the bin. Seeing Adam scoop up the crayons, my awareness and anxiety rushed back into me.

My reaction, plus my nerves, were over the top.

Adam stood, shoulders hunched in. “I shouldn’t have acted like that. I’ve had—”

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes.

It was obvious my body was done masking the panic.

It had too many big emotions and was collapsing.

This conversation wasn’t going anywhere, and I needed to leave.

Now. I shook my head.“ The choice lies with the parents if they want to pursue that or not.” I tried to breathe with my belly.

“Let me know if you would like to discuss my concerns about Danny at a different time, but I think we both need some time and space.” I pointed my hand toward the door, praying he didn’t notice how much it shook.

His gaze took in my shaking hand, and his eyebrow raised.

I was not so lucky.

I clasped my hand into a fist.

He nodded. “I’d better go get Danny.” Adam went towards the door, but glanced once more in my direction before he left. He looked ashamed of his outburst, but I was even more so.

I was seconds away from crying.

Well, that went absolutely terrible.

Of course, Danny was fine. Danny was wonderful; I just wanted… Well, never mind what I wanted. Parents got to choose and shape their kids’ lives, and that was how it should be. I wished sometimes they were less rigid about how that plan needed to look.

I walked to my desk, shook out my hands, and sank into my chair. I might need to work through some worksheets when I got home. I hadn’t been to therapy in over two years, but I still used the cognitive behavior therapy worksheets from it when needed.

I breathed in for four, held for four, and then slowly released. Energy coursed through me. Maybe I would feel better with movement. I walked the length of my little classroom.

I straightened my shoulders and exhaled. I would have to see Adam after Thanksgiving break at parent pick up, but that was a future me problem.

What would I even say to him next?

Sorry, I accidentally brought all my childhood drama into our conversation about your son. Sorry, I didn’t help you pick up the crayons. Sorry, I didn’t listen to your apology and treated you like a child…

So many options to choose from.

He would probably ask for Danny to be moved to the other second grade class. I rubbed my forehead and the oncoming headache. I hoped he wouldn’t do that. I loved Danny and honestly felt like we were finally making progress on some of his transition struggles.

My phone vibrated on the table. It was an unknown number.

Weird.

“Hello?”

“Astrid?” the voice sounded sad.

My breath caught in my throat. It couldn’t be. “Mom?”

“Astrid Luxe, you have some major explaining to do!”

The sadness was gone, replaced by her familiar frustration.

Speaking of disappointed parents who still tried desperately to shape their kids’ lives… How did she even get my number?