“I hear the beaches are amazing too. We could check out the caves, then scuba dive?”
“We’d need classes for scuba.” She points at my black silk blouse. “You didn’t button it right.”
I look down at the pearl buttons. Dammit. I skipped one. I quickly fix it, brush down my slightly wrinkled red skirt, and then smile at her. “How do I look?”
“Sad. Messy. Kind of out of it.”
I make a fist and pump it. “Just the look I was going for.”
“Funny. I’m going to find Toby.” She pauses. “If you need me, you know where my classes are. Pull me out, and we can talk or go home. We can hang out, and I’ll sing ‘Little Sparrow’ for you.”
My heart swells. “Go find him. I’m great. Or I will be. It just takes a minute to recalibrate.”
She nods, and I head to the lounge. I don’t see anyone I want to talk to, so I grab my coffee and leave.
“Morning, Ms. Morgan,” comes from a few students who’ve come early, and I wave as I walk to my desk. I get ready, pulling my canvas off the wall and propping it on an easel so the kids can see it. It’s a blurred landscape painted in shades of gray, brown, and green. In the center is a lone unisex figure, standing at the fork of two narrow roads. A forest of sparse pine trees lines the paths. I wince. It’s kind of dark for me.
“I like it,” Caleb says. “It makes you think.”
“Thanks! What did you pick for the assignment?”
“I compared Emily Dickinson’s ‘Because I could not stop for Death’ to Green Day’s ‘Wake Me Up When September Ends.’ It’s a lot of death and stuff, but . . .” He waves a typed paper at me. “I liked it. Pretty cool. You’re not a terrible teacher at all.” He blushes. “Um, I don’t think that came out right.”
“It’s fine,” I say with a smile, then pause. “Hey, I was wondering if you and your grandmother wanted to come over for Thanksgiving. Toby and his mom are coming, and we’d love to have you guys too.” It goes unsaid that I know how hard this first holiday will be for him.
“Ah, yeah, I’ll check with her.” He turns to leave but turns back. “Um, thanks, you know, for everything . . .” He trails off, and I think I know what he means. Just for showing up at his house. Everyone needs to know that someone cares.
“Just no Dairy Queen, right?” I give him a thumbs-up.
“Yeah.” He laughs as he takes his seat.
By the time my classes are over and lunch rolls around, I’m less fuzzy but tired from pretending. I said the right things in class. I took up homework and gave assignments.
I’m on autopilot. Maybe the kids know. I noticed the questioning, almost careful looks they sent me.
I try to shake it off as I walk to the vaping closet, but Sonia and Skeeter stand in the back, fingers laced together as they kiss.
I exit quickly, then pass the lounge, my silver stilettos clicking.
I do not want to see Melinda’s “I told you so” face.
Remembering that my satchel is in the field house, I focus on getting there. That’s it. It will be nice and quiet, and I can gather myself before Skeeter and the players show up.
With hands that slightly shake, I put the key in the lock and open his door. The phone is eerily silent. I glance around for my satchel but don’t see it. Frowning, I ease into the closet.
Once there, oh fuck, I’m lost.
The entire space smells like him.
I touch his dress shirts, sliding my fingers over the fabric, then move to the practice polos. I go back through them, picking my favorites, taking shirts off the hangers, and then tossing them on the floor. I find the maroon shirt he wore Friday night on the table. I rub it through my hands as I picture him running down the sideline, yelling for his team.
He is magnificent. A king.
A beast.
A sexy, beautiful lover.
Generous. Funny. Crazy smart.
I want him to be happy. I do, I do, but . . .
My chest hurts, and I wonder if it’s possible for a heart to break for real. A pained sound comes from my throat, and I plop down to the floor among his shirts. I lie back on top of them, arms spread, my vision blurring with wetness.
The fog in my head, the exhaustion. Depression. That’s what this is. It’s okay. Totally fine. I’ll get over it. Right?
I pick up his pale-blue dress shirt, the one that matches his eyes, and push my face into it, inhaling a deep breath. God. I’ve lost it. This level of hurt can’t be normal—
The office door creaks open, and I jerk up to sitting, swiping my face as I wonder who’s here.