Chapter 1

Among the poor and unfortunate of any city – the homeless, the single mothers, the out of work – there lurks another underclass of citizenry who live below the poverty line. The college professor (excepting those with tenure, of course).

The one advantage the college professor has over the other part-time-job-seekers in a university town, is an abundance of middle-class parents seeking tutors for their struggling high-schoolers. Normally, this situation yields a satisfactory outcome all round: kid gets a passing grade, I make my next car payment, everyone walks away happy.

So, what made this gig so different?

One word: family.

When Sarah rang and told me Penny needed a tutor, my first thought was she was hitting me up for more money. I still had a few years of child support before Penny turned eighteen, but I knew Sarah’s braindead athlete husband (now her braindead athlete ex) had walked out, and to be honest, I’d been expecting it for a while.

Who would’ve imagined she wanted me for my brain?

Penny had been struggling with her Grade 9 math since fall, and now coming into spring it had become a case of prick up her grades or maybe repeat the year. I wish they hadn’t kept it from me so long. Lucky for her, she knew a math tutor who worked for hugs. I could never say no to my little Princess.

Which is how I found myself standing outside the gate of their neat Californian bungalow, five minutes early for Penny’s first tute, eyeing their edged lawns and clipped hedges, the garden beds full of perennials beginning to show their colorful faces at the beginning of spring. Clearly, any illusions I had of Sarah’s fiscal troubles were exactly that – illusions. It was hard not to be jealous. I had to double-check the street number to make sure I wasn’t lost.

I walked up the tidy path, reflecting that I’d never actually been to their house. I had Penny every second weekend (at least, I had when she was a minor), but she’d been making her own way to and from my apartment since middle-school, and before that, Sarah had always dropped her off.

It was hard not to see this as an invasion of Sarah’s privacy – the prodigal sperm-donor, invading her intimate inner sanctum. Again.

The doorbell chimed deep inside the house, and moments later I heard light footsteps and saw an approaching shadow behind the opaque glass set into the middle of the door. When it opened, I had a surreal moment of confusion, thinking Sarah was still the gorgeous undergrad I’d fallen into bed with fifteen years earlier. How long since I’d last seen her? At Penny’s middle-school graduation? But we hadn’t even talked. It’d been years since we’d stood this close, and she seemed like she’d hardly aged at all. All those old feelings of attraction came flooding back.

“Sarah. Hi.” My banter around beautiful women had not improved with age.

“Blake.” She favored me with a sunny smile. “Wow. You look great.”

“Thanks, I’ve...” What? Been exercising? Not true. “I dyed my hair,” I said, ruffling the greyest patch with my fingers. I hadn’t, of course. It was a bad joke about the distinguished salt-and-pepper that had crept into the dark brown above my ears. It suited me, I think she meant. Finally, at middle age, growing into my look.

Common courtesy dictated some sort of return compliment. “You look” – I nodded agreeably but aimlessly for a moment – “awesome.” Shit. There were good reasons I’d avoided her. How I ever mustered the charisma to chase her into bed all those years ago, remains a mystery I’ve not been able to reproduce.

She did, though. Look awesome, that is, and I used the ensuing awkward silence to take a closer look, thus proving my point. A little over five feet tall, she was petite, with a slim, girlish body, today wearing faded blue jeans and a soft pink open-knit sweater that draped over her small, possibly braless, teacup breasts. Her blond hair was tied up in a pony-tail, which along with her small, elfin features, contributed to the youthful fantasy I was trying not-so-desperately to shake.

“So,” I said, willing myself not to look at her breasts. “Math tutes, huh?”

“Math. Right.” She blinked rapidly, like she’d been thinking of something else. “I’ll get Penny.” Calling over her shoulder (and giving me an opportunity to confirm my suspicious about her bralessness), “Pen, your dad’s here.”

I heard more footsteps on the stairs. Then, from around the corner behind the front door, appeared an almost exact three-quarter scale replica of Sarah, right down to the tight blue jeans. I don’t think I’d realized until that moment how similar they were.

“Daddy!” She jumped into my arms and hugged me furiously.

While Sarah was petite, Penny was tiny – about four and a half feet. A late bloomer, I liked to joke. Of course I’d noticed some changes to her body the last couple of years – how could I not? Her hips were pleasingly curved, more due to her tiny waist, though, than a womanly shape, and her breasts made only the shallowest imprint beneath her tight, stripy T-shirt. I could barely feel their press against my chest.