Chapter 5 - Claire’s POV

The next morning my leg really started hurting. The painkillers had worn off and I could barely get out of bed. 

I sighed. I guess there was nothing else for it. I’d have to use the crutch. And I had to admit they did help a lot. 

By the time Emma woke up, I had already hired a babysitter to take her to school. 

Mrs. Patel had been recommended by the hotel receptionist. She was pleasant and professional, and, most importantly, Emma seemed to like her. It hurt to watch them walk away from me, hand in hand, but I had no choice.

Once I was alone in the room, I took a bite of my breakfast sandwich and opened my laptop, scrolling through the listings.

As a soon-to-be divorcee, I needed a job, but each job description made my chest tighten. Minimum five years experience. Must provide references. Must have active licensure. 

I had been good at my job, a patient and careful child therapist. Parents and children alike had trusted me. That was years ago now. I wouldn’t trade my time with Emma for the world, but I hadn’t kept up with the professional literature, let alone my licenses. 

It was almost noon when a certain listing caught my eye: Homeschool teacher needed for a special needs child—knowledge of sign language a must.

The post was simple, written with care. It described a boy who was having trouble adjusting after a traumatic experience. The father was looking for someone patient, understanding, and well-versed in sign language. 

Without overthinking it, I applied for the post.

“Hello, my name is Claire Brooks. I am a certified child therapist with experience working with children with communication and trauma-related issues. I saw your listing and would love to discuss the position. I’m currently recovering from a leg injury but am available for an online or in-person meeting at your convenience.”

I didn’t really expect a reply, but one came within minutes. The father thanked me for applying and suggested we meet to discuss things at my hotel room if that would be most convenient for me. 

***

When I opened the door, I was startled to see Adrian. 

“Claire!” he said. “I didn’t know it was you… Isn’t your last name Arden?”

“Brooks is my maiden name,” I said, blushing slightly for no reason.

“I see,” he said.

I looked into his calm, intelligent eyes. Yes, he saw how things were, very well. 

He stepped forward. “May I come in?” he asked. “You probably shouldn’t be standing for long.” 

I nodded and let him in.

He helped me to the couch, careful not to jostle my leg. The warmth of his hand lingered on my arm long after he let go.

“I never got to thank you,” I said. “You saved us, Emma and me. If you hadn’t been there…” I closed my eyes, unable to continue.  

“You don’t have to,” he said gently. “Anyone would’ve done the same.”

“Not anyone,” I said. “Derek didn’t.” The words slipped out before I could stop them. 

Adrian looked at me. Again I saw understanding in his eyes, along with a warm compassion that made my throat ache with unshed tears.

After a moment, he smiled. “Then maybe you can thank me by teaching my son. He could use someone like you.”

His expression grew serious. “Ethan is eight,” he said. “Since his mother died three years ago, he hasn’t spoken at all. He uses sign language, mostly with me and his therapist, but he struggles with other people. I thought it would help if I enrolled him in school, but well…” He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. “You saw how it went.” 

I could hear the pain in his voice and my heart ached for him. “I’m sorry,” I said. “That must be difficult.” 

He nodded. “That’s why I decided to hire a homeschool teacher. Someone who understands children like him, someone patient.”

I had a flash of insight. “Does he blame himself?” I asked softly.

Adrian looked at me, surprised, then thoughtful. “Sometimes I wonder,” he replied. “He was there when the accident happened. It wasn’t his fault in any way, but I think he carries it.” 

I understood that kind of silence. “I’d like to help,” I said. “Once my leg heals, we can start. We can begin with short sessions, to build trust, and move on from there.”

He smiled. “That sounds perfect,” he said.

We talked for a while longer, discussing schedules, teaching materials, Ethan’s likes and dislikes. For the first time in years I felt comfortable and relaxed, just happy being myself and talking to a man.

When he finally stood up to leave, I felt a pang of reluctance.

“Let me walk you out,” I said, pushing myself up on my crutch.

“Are you sure?” he said. “Your leg…” 

But I was already moving. “Nonsense,” I said. “In fact, I still feel like I owe you. At least let me treat you to a meal. I’ve been told I’m a good cook.”

“After your leg heals,” he said with a teasing lightness that caught me off guard. “Consider it a date.”

“Well…” I blushed, not sure how to answer.

The carpet near the entryway was scattered with Emma’s toys. Her Legos, a storybook. A little toy car I didn’t see until my crutch came down on it and rolled out from under me. 

I gasped as my weight hit my bad leg and I started to topple over.

The next second Adrian’s arm was around my waist. 

I could feel his strength as he held me up, and I could smell his scent. A faint whiff of verbena and cedar over something uniquely male and uniquely his. 

Our faces were close together, too close. For an instant the world narrowed down to the warmth of his touch and the pounding of my heart.

Then a voice cut through the moment. It was very familiar, and full of rage.

“What the hell is this?” 

I turned and saw Derek standing in the hallway, his face red with fury. He was holding up a crumpled envelope—the divorce papers I had sent him yesterday.