Free Unfinished Business by Karyn Langhorne Page B

so complicated?” he heard himself saying in a voice that registered on the border of obnoxious, even to his own ears. “I can explain it in two minutes and—”
    I’ve forgotten how to talk to a woman , he realized when the smile drained from her face. I’ve forgotten . And suddenly it mattered to him, mattered enough for him to send up a prayer: Help me remember, Katharine. Help me.
    â€œIf you just explain it, they will have learned nothing,” she finished, her dark eyes flashing. “I don’t understand you, Senator. Why are you on the Education Committee? Is it just a springboard to better things? If your expectations for the nation’s childrenare so low, just what kind of electorate are you going to have when it’s time for your presidential bid?”
    He blinked at her, realizing just how angry his arrogance had made her.
    â€œI didn’t mean—”
    She waved a slender brown hand at him, dismissing his denial. “I know, I know. I’ve heard. You’re not a candidate. Yet. But you’ll have your eye on it in—what—six more years, right?”
    Mark opened his mouth, but at the moment, he wasn’t entirely sure what his answer should be. He found himself on the fence between wanting to hash through the details of his political career with her—if only to hear what kind of outlandish, ultra-liberal, Left Wing debate she’d launch—and suddenly needing to apologize.
    She didn’t give him the opportunity to do either.
    â€œHere’s hoping you don’t get the chance,” she muttered under her breath, and then turned to the class. “Young people,” she began, silencing them with only her attention. Mark watched her profile as the tense little half smile he’d been getting melted into the softer smile of absolute approval. “Get to work. Show the senator how glorious you are. Show him what money spent on minds can do.”
    Two dozen heads bent to the task without question or complaint. Mark watched as children eagerly flipped through textbooks or rose to take a seat at the computer. The room seemed charged with a new energy. She was right to call it “discovery”: that’s exactly what it felt like.
    â€œYou can quiz them in a few minutes,” she told him and he didn’t have to look at her to see her pride. “Education isn’t just about school lunches or buildings, Senator. It’s about believing in someone. Believing in them more than they believe in themselves,and watching them blossom. I believe in these kids. All of us at Bramble Heights do. We’re here because we want to be, and no other reason. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for these kids, including fight with you and the whole damn Congress if necessary.”
    And she smiled again, a ray of something pure and good and wonderful. She stood there, beaming her pride and love for her students at him with a brightness that pierced some long-dormant corner of his heart. Unexpected emotions caught him by surprise, once again: The same strange feeling that had swept over him when their eyes met in the Senate hearing room coursed through him. The same thing he’d felt during the TV interview when her big brown eyes had locked on his and he’d held those slender fingers in his own. The same thing that had struck him dumb here in her classroom only moments ago.
    He hadn’t felt anything close to this since Katharine died. Mark swallowed, his mind racing, his heart thumping too hard and too fast in his chest.
    There was definitely unfinished business between them, and for the first time Mark realized it was deeper and more serious than getting the last word in a political debate. Because here he was, in front of God and two dozen fourth graders, gripping his cane tightly to keep from leaning over right there and capturing the woman’s smile with his lips and holding it for his very