Lauren Victorie Lafaille

I did not speak of any of this until six months later when I was chaperoning the annual school play, and a woman approached me.

“Mister Rich?” she asked. “How may I help you?” I confidently responded. “Mister Rich, I am Kimberly Jane’s stepmother, and every night at dinner she tells us about what she is reading, what she is writing, and all about what you do in English class,” Mrs. Tanner gushed. “She was really anxious about starting high school at the first of the year, but you made all of that go away.” “Did you know she almost killed me?” I replied, and then I watched her face go white after I took her aside and told her the story much as I have just done here. “Oh no.” Kimberly-Jane’s mother muttered. “I think I know what happened. My husband was very careful when he ordered the desserts, but he got one for you and then two with nuts for Kimberly-Jane and her mother. It’s their favorite. I think the tags on the boxes must have gotten switched. Does Kimberly Jane know about any of this?” she quickly whispered. “Of course not,” I said. “Well, we can never tell her. She would be crushed,” she demurred. “But, you know my husband and I own a restaurant. Come by anytime and your meal will be on us.” “Mrs. Tanner,” I interjected, “I could never accept a free meal from a parent of a student. That would set a bad precedent.” “We have the best barbecue in the county,” she countered, “and some people say we have the best ribs in the state.” "Well, in that case, a man has to eat. Thank Kimberly Jane in advance for the free meal."

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