the topic when a debate gets passionate. The look on a
student’s face when he or she gets something—really
gets it—for the first time. Come on,” she challenged
him. “You must have liked school, too, or you wouldn’t
have stayed in it so long.”
Again, the smile touched mainly his eyes. “You
wouldn’t believe me if I told you I stuck it out so I could
make lots and lots of money?”
“No, I wouldn’t.”
“Okay. I did like school. Most of the time. But I’m
not a teacher.”
“You found something else that excited you.” She
pretended not to see the flash of some intense emotion
that he quickly hid. “Me, I just like to get other people
excited about an intellectual idea.”
“You didn’t say what you teach.”
“U.S. History and Government.”
“Ahh.” He took a sip of coffee.
She eyed him with suspicion. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I said ‘ah.’ I acknowledged your answer.”
“No, you didn’t. You said, Ahh. ” She imbued the
sound with a thousand shades of meaning.
“Okay.” He set his coffee cup down. “I was thinking that I could see you getting fired up about justice and the wisdom of our founding fathers and the
balance of powers.”
“You sound so cynical,” she said, surprised. “Is that
because of Iraq?”
He looked back at her without expression. “Iraq?
What’s that have to do with anything?”
“Don’t do that,” Fiona exclaimed in exasperation.
His dark brows rose in what was becoming a typical
response. “Do what?”
“Go blank. Do you do that when you don’t want to
think about something?”
She’d actually caught him off guard. He looked
startled and perhaps perturbed. “I don’t know.”
“I wasn’t trying to get you to talk about Iraq. I mean,
not your experiences. I meant more in a political sense.
All the debate about Bush’s motives and whether the administration was honest…”
“I thought all Americans got cynical after Watergate.”
She flapped a hand. “Watergate wasn’t any worse
than the scandals during Ulysses Grant’s administration. We Americans are ultimately hopeful.”
“Are we.”
“You wouldn’t have joined the National Guard if
you hadn’t thought you could make a difference.”
“Maybe I just wanted the extra pay.”
“Did you?”
In the face of her challenge, he shook his head. “Our
decisions are rarely that simple, are they?”
“No, they aren’t.”
Coming into the kitchen right then, Dieter asked,
“What decisions? Do we have to start, like, rationing
food or something?”
Fiona laughed. “We’ve been here less than twenty-
four hours. I presume we haven’t yet eaten Mr. Fallon
out of house and home.”
“’Cuz I’m hungry,” the lanky sixteen-year-old confessed. “What’s for dinner?”
Fiona glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. “The
dinner we won’t be having for at least a couple of hours?”
He grinned unrepentently at her. “Yeah. That one.”
“Spaghetti,” John said.
“Really? Cool! Um—” he looked around “—can I
have an apple or something?”
John gestured toward the counter. “Help yourself.”
The boy grabbed one from the bowl that sat there.
“So what are you talking about?”
“I was telling him why I became a teacher.”
He took a bit crunch of apple. Around it, he said,
“Yeah? How come you did?”
“Because she liked the smell of chalk,” John supplied.
“Really?” Dieter looked from one of them to the
other. “You’re kidding. Aren’t you?”
“I became a teacher because I like to inspire young
minds.”
He hooted. “Right!”
Fiona only laughed. “So, who’s winning out there?”
“Me.” He flexed a skinny arm and near nonexistent
bicep. “I have ten hotels.”