The Brain and The Beauty. Betsy Eliot

      When not running his camp in the summer, Danforth, the town’s golden boy, was a three-sport coach at the local high school and the area’s most eligible bachelor. And he’d taken one look at Abby Melrose and discovered a last-minute opening at one of the most exclusive day camps in the area? What a coincidence!

      Abby was beginning to look panicked at the thought of leaving her son someplace that wasn’t safe.

      “There’s nothing wrong with the camp,” Jeremy acknowledged and she sighed with relief. He didn’t bother to explain that there would be a much greater danger from himself if he were to help her. He wasn’t going to get involved. No matter how persuasive she tried to be.

      They reached the kitchen, where the project he’d been working on before he was interrupted covered the wide expanse of counter. He’d opened the windows, but an odd, pungent odor still hung in the air. At least there was ample room; the kitchen had been designed to allow lavish parties. Jeremy could recall when the school had been open and everyone’s responsibilities had included pitching in to prepare the meals. Occasionally the behavior of some of the smartest young people in the world could have been mistaken for frat house antics.

      Ruthlessly he banished the image from his mind.

      “Sit over there,” he commanded, pointing to an empty chair halfway across the room. “This substance is caustic if it touches the skin or is inhaled.”

      Her eyes widened with alarm and curiosity as she did as he asked. After protecting his own eyes with the oversize goggles and replacing the rubber gloves, he picked up a thermometer hooked on the side of an enamel pot on the stove and checked the temperature of the steaming liquid inside.

      Although he didn’t look at her, he knew she watched his every move.

      As he took a long, plastic spoon and began to stir the mixture, it occurred to him that he should have used a metal spoon so that he could watch her eyes when it disintegrated. Next, he approached a second container on the counter, this one an ordinary pitcher that might have been used to serve lemonade. The poisonous contents of the scalding liquid were also being monitored. In order for a successful mix of the solutions, the timing had to be exact.

      “Where’s Robbie’s father?” Even as he asked the question, Jeremy realized he’d asked it for himself. She hadn’t mentioned a husband in her letters and he didn’t think the omission was accidental, but whether or not Abby had a man in the picture was irrelevant.

      Again the chin tipped up. “We’re divorced. He left us when Robbie was little. He couldn’t handle…”

      Revealing more than she’d intended to, she stopped herself, but not before Jeremy filled in the blanks. The boy’s father hadn’t been able to deal with the freakish nature of his own son. What a fool.

      “Doesn’t he have anything to say about Robbie’s future?” he asked. He would have preferred trying to reason with someone who didn’t stare at him with those remarkable eyes.

      “He had opinions about everything, as a matter of fact,” she said, “and as luck would have it, they were always right. I’m sure he’d be the first to agree with you that I’m making a mistake, but he hasn’t been involved with Robbie since the day he left. I’m all Robbie has. There is nobody else.”

      As far as he could see, the boy could do worse than having her as a supporter. He was certain that after he disabused her of the notion of gaining his cooperation, she’d soon find a better candidate to help her. Someone who wouldn’t end up hurting her son instead of helping him.

      “You see, Dr. Waters, that’s why I need you.”

      Jeremy dropped the spoon into the mixture where it hissed and sizzled. “Stop calling me Dr. Waters,” he snapped. “You make me sound like I’m about to operate on you without anesthesia.” Even as he said the words, he wondered why he had removed that barrier. He should be building up walls, not tearing them down.

      “The thought occurred to me,” she responded dryly.

      Jeremy’s lips twitched, and he turned his back on her. “All right. You’re here. Now tell me what you want so you can leave.”

      “Well, at least you’re keeping an open mind,” she mumbled. Taking a deep breath, she continued, “You’ve met Robbie. He’s an exceptional child.”

      He brought the pitcher to the stove and poured the contents into the enamel pot. The mixture gurgled satisfactorily. “So what’s the problem, Mrs. Melrose?”

      “Abby. You can call me Abby if I’m going to call you…Jeremy?”

      Though she attempted a smile, his name sounded awkward on her lips, as if he shouldn’t have such a normal name. He shrugged. It wasn’t going to matter what they called each other.

      “If Robbie is such a great kid, what’s wrong?” he prompted, knowing the answer.

      This time, rather than describing her son according to his test scores, she began to give accounts of Robbie’s childhood. She described the problems he had with other kids, making friends, fitting in. Jeremy rubbed absently at the scar on his chin, the result of a very juvenile disagreement about the gravity of the moon. He knew how the little guy felt. It wasn’t easy being different.

      “Because he’s so smart,” she explained, “he tends to want to be around adults, but he doesn’t fit in with them, either.”

      Jeremy could have told her that age didn’t help the misfit phenomenon, but he didn’t think it was what she wanted to hear.

      As she continued to describe the problems Robbie had faced in his young life, Jeremy’s anger grew. Yes, there were issues that other children didn’t face but there could be joys, too, in seeing things other people missed, in finding the solutions to complex problems. Like most people, all she saw were the differences.

      There was no doubt that her son was remarkable. From the information she’d sent him, he knew Robbie had a mind that came along once in a lifetime. There was a time when Jeremy might have wondered what it would be like to help him explore his potential, to aid in his discovery of a universe most people never got to experience. That time had passed.

      He looked up to find her watching him intently. He was used to being stared at but there was something about the way she examined him as if she could see into his mind. Then the look vanished and she edged closer to watch him as he measured a combination of herbs and oils and added it to the mixture.

      “I’m sure you understand what I’m talking about,” she continued, in a different, almost conversational voice. “What was your childhood like? Was it difficult to be different from everybody else?”

      The personal question startled him so much he sloshed the liquid he was stirring. It spattered with a sizzle onto the newspaper-covered counter. Her eyes widened and she stepped back.

      Jeremy grinned, pleased with her reaction. “I told you to stay away.”

      “I don’t take orders very well.”

      “No kidding?” He didn’t have to be a genius to figure that out.

      It was unusual for anyone to have the nerve—or the interest—to ask him such personal questions. Usually people saw what they wanted to see. “I don’t think my childhood is any of your business.”

      “It is if you’re thinking about helping me with Robbie.”

      “I’m not thinking about helping you with Robbie,” he pointed out.

      She ignored his point, and continued with her own. “I read an article about when you were eight years old. You had just won a ‘War of the Brains’ competition against people twice your age.”

      He remembered the day well. The reporters, the doubting professors, all wanting a look at the freak of nature.

      She shook her head. “I couldn’t even understand the question they asked you.”

      “Physics