“I’m afraid she already hates to read,” Crista said. “And my mother refuses to believe that anything is wrong. ‘She’s a child! Let her play! She’s perfect!’ It’s driven a wedge between Anthony and my mother, which is…”
“Not nice for you, I’d imagine.”
She grunted. “You have no idea.”
“No, I don’t, but I absolutely promise you she’ll figure it out,” Tessa assured her. “But second grade is this weird time when the good readers and the not-so-great readers really get separated and that kind of stigmatizes and categorizes them for the rest of elementary school.”
“Yes!” Her eyes flashed. “You know that?”
Tessa rolled her eyes. “My twin sister was a miniature Mensa candidate, and I could hardly see Spot run. Yeah, I know.”
“It’s downright discriminatory!” Crista exclaimed. “And I might have to hold Nolie back and have her repeat second grade.”
Tessa winced. “That’s tough. But it might be best for her, I don’t know. What does your husband want to do?”
“Summer school. Private tutors. Timed reading exercises. Whatever it takes to get that child into third grade in the fall. Certainly no play time, no summer dance classes, no fun camps. And no lollygagging in the garden with her grandmother, who says the tests are wrong and Nolie is purely perfect.”
Tessa inched back, mostly from the vehemence as Crista blew out her personal storm.
“With all due respect, Crista,you’reher mother. Maggie’s the grandmother, and, well, does she really get an opinion on… No. Never mind. I remember the woman.”
“Maggie doesn’t just get an opinion, she rules the roost.” She muttered the words, but Tessa heard.
“Yourroost?” Tessa lifted a brow.
Crista looked like she regretted the comment, covering with a sip of tea.
“Whatever,” she said after setting the mug down and turning the handle to a precise forty-five degrees. “I need to get Nolie help, and figure out what to do this summer.”
“Maybe I can help you,” Tessa said, the words out before she really had time to think about whether or not that was a great idea.
“How?”
Tessa shrugged, carried back years to another dining room table, another little girl who went to war with words.
And Artie Wylie had dropped in like an angel to help her.
Wouldn’t her father want her to pay that forward, no matter what Nolie’s grandmother had said about him? Wasn’t that the ethical and right thing to do?
“I could, um, teach her some things I’ve learned over the years—changing the font on a computer, using different backgrounds, memorizing certain words by their first letter, and even using colored highlighters. I know dozens of writing and reading tricks. Give me three weeks with the kid and I’ll have her working at grade level. Or close.”
Crista’s whole face lit up, then instantly fell, like she’d thrown a wet rag at the wall which slid down to the floor. “I…I…I don’t know about that.”
“Right.” Tessa smiled. “We forgot I’m Public Enemy Number One.”
Her expression softened. “It’s a complicated situation.”
“Clearly. And if Maggie got wind of it? Yikes.”
Crista closed her eyes and stood slowly, sliding the chair behind her. “I’m going to take a walk before I get back in the car and drive to Atlanta.”
Tessa nodded, then leaned forward to add, “I’m not your only option, of course. I’m sure there are tons of specialists and tutors who could help you at home.”
“There are,” she said, taking her cup into the kitchen and rinsing it, using that folded paper towel to dry the edges of the sink. “I just haven’t found the right one yet.”
She walked back to the stairs, pausing at the bottom before she turned and looked at Tessa.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “For the offer to help and the encouragement. It’s nice to know you’ve conquered the situation.”
