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She rested gentle hands on his shoulders, and if he’d been a few years younger, he might simply have launched himself into her arms. “Oh, honey—what happened?” she murmured. “You’ve never been in a fight before.”
At the approach of other footsteps, Josh looked over her shoulder and found Sara standing just inside the door with Timmy on her hip. “Hi, Josh. Your mom needed a ride over.” She glanced at the principal. “Should I wait outside?”
“No, please stay,” Mom said quickly. “I want you to.”
Mr. Weatherfield strode in a second later, his face twisted into a dark scowl. “What’s going on here, Swenson? I had to leave a zoom meeting with clients from Chicago for this.”
“Have a chair.” Mr. Swenson waved to the empty chairs arranged in a semicircle in front of his desk. “Today, there was an attack in front of three teachers and most of the student body. I want you to know that this kind of thing is going to stop. We need to talk about suitable punishment and how to make sure it never happens again.”
Mr. Weatherfield glowered at Josh. “This kid here? What has he done?”
Josh sunk lower into his chair, wishing he could disappear. Even Mom’s hands on his shoulders and Sara’s sympathetic smile didn’t help.
“It’s your kids, Weatherfield. I’ve just learned that they have been almost merciless toward this boy for some time.”
“Boys roughhouse,” Mr. Weatherfield snapped. “Anyone knows that.”
“This afternoon they tripped Josh at the school entrance and pushed him in front of witnesses. He fell down several cement stairs, chipped a front tooth and bloodied his mouth. Your boys could face legal charges if the Shuellers choose to pursue it.” Mr. Swenson’s voice hardened. “Dottie? Send in Ricky and Thad.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
BY THE TIME Nathan arrived at seven on Saturday evening, nerves had tied Sara’s stomach into a knot and she’d bitten two nails to the quick. How long had it been since she’d been out on a real date? Not since Tony’s death.
Nathan stood at her front door looking assured and impossibly handsome in crisp khaki slacks and a forest-green sweater.
I’m so overdressed. In her short black dress, a string of pearls, and three-inch heels, she’d hoped she would blend in at whatever restaurant he’d chosen. Now she would stand out like a moose in Manhattan.
“I’d better change.”
“You look absolutely beautiful,” Nathan murmured, lifting a hand and threading it through her hair. “And this feels like silk.”
He drove to the Seasons, a beautiful little 1940s-style restaurant on Cormorant Lake, where they ordered fresh walleye and coconut shrimp. Lit only by the candles on each table, the restaurant seemed to be theirs alone, the compelling intimacy broken only by the waiter.
“What are your plans for Thanksgiving?” Nathan asked as the waiter delivered crystal dessert cups filled with rich chocolate mousse. “Will you be traveling?”
“No, there’s just my mom and me. And Kyle, if he shows up, though he rarely does.”
