And as she tucked her sleeping daughter into bed half an hour later, Jamie knew she'd accomplished nothing. In trying to protect the innocence and sweetness of Ashley's life, the security, she'd done nothing to alleviate the child's doubts about herself. About the man who'd fathered her and then disappeared. She'd given Ashley nothing to take to school with her, nothing to help her face a world full of curiosity and nastiness and children with cruel tongues.
Because, when it came to Ashley's father, Jamie had absolutely nothing to give her daughter. Except the truth. And that would hurt Ashley far worse than all the accusations the Nathans of this world could ever conjure up.
Jamie sent Ashley to school with a note for Miss Peters the next morning. She thanked the teacher for her kind offer to help with Ashley's problem, but added that she and Ashley had talked and she'd decided just to let things lie for a while. She ended the note with a request that Miss Peters call her imme-
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diately if she became aware of any further altercations on the subject of Ashley's father.
Small moments. Not big pictures.
And the next small moment was getting Kyle Radcliff out of her life. Her fascination with him didn't matter. The fact that he seemed able to reach something in her that nobody else could—that didn't matter. The money mattered. All she had to remember was the wad of bills he'd left her five years before. And get rid of him.
"Brad, can I see you a second?" Kyle called out after dismissing class five minutes late on Friday afternoon.
' 'Sure, Professor Radcliff, wha''s up?'' The bulky linebacker lumbered up to Kyle's lectern.
Kyle waited until all the other students had vacated the classroom. "Coach Lippert tells me it's really important that you pass this course."
"Yessir, it is."
"We're almost four weeks into the semester and I'm rather concerned about your chances of doing that."
Brad shuffled his feet, looking like a little boy in spite of his imposing size. "Me, too, sir."
"So what do you think's the problem?"
"I don't know, sir." The young man shrugged, his face contorted in a serious frown. "I just don't get this stuff. A boy breaking rules, an old black slave running from the law. Just don't seem like no heroes to me. And the rest, I don't see it at all. You
HER SECRET, HIS CHILD
say it's got undercurrents, that it means stuff, but it ain't like no politics or religion talk I ever heard."
So the boy was listening. Kyle just wasn't reaching him.
"Okay," Kyle said, straightening his notes and placing them in the open folder on the lectern. "That's fair."
Brad grinned, looking immensely relieved.
"But I still can't pass you," Kyle added. "Not unless we find a way for you to learn about American literature."
"But I'm never going to use this stuff!" Brad said, his voice raised. He tossed h
is book bag on the desk behind him. "I just want to play football! Why do I need to know stories about fake people written by dead guys to do that?"
Kyle removed his glasses and set them down on top of his folder on the lectern. ' 'A college degree stands for something," he replied slowly. "It's the assurance to anyone who asks that the person holding the degree has been given a well-rounded body of knowledge. That this person can think logically about a problem or situation and come to an informed conclusion. That he or she can join in various conversations and actually have something to contribute."
The frown was back on Brad's face. But the momentary anger had abated.
"Let's say you're at a party sometime," Kyle continued. "Let's say some franchise owner's daughter's there."
"What she look like?"
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"She's a beaut. Great legs. Terrific body."
"Big breasts?"