by Celeste, B.
“The budget is already approved,” Superintendent Miller informs her in a cool tone. His face went red about two comments ago, but it was the last one that made the muscles in his neck flex. “We have plenty of money for new staff as well as programs that a lot of other schools have defunded. That’s that.”
Karen, thankfully, says nothing the rest of the day. During the free time they give us to eat or take mini breaks, I check my phone obsessively. Normally I keep it off when I’m here, but I don’t want to risk there being a problem and missing it.
“How’s Ainsley?” Erin asks softly beside me in the hall. She’s holding a bowl of soup she just heated in the teacher’s lounge.
“Good.” My voice is hoarse, so I clear it and give her a timid smile. “My roommate is watching her for the first time so I’m just a little nervous.” Waving my phone, I loosen a sigh and power off the screen.
She walks into the office beside me, following me back into the large conference room with her food. “I get it. The first time we left Aiden behind with a new sitter I nearly had a meltdown. But it’s always fine.”
I hum out a noncoherent reply.
“And school?” she prompts, cooling the yellow liquid that smells like my favorite cream of broccoli. My stomach rumbles since the only thing I’ve had is an apple I swiped from the breakfast spread they had this morning.
“My last semester starts next week.”
She beams. “I bet you’re excited.”
“And nervous.”
Her head tilts, blonde locks narrowly missing the soup in front of her.
I explain. “I’m short a couple credits, so I have to take a random class to fill it on top of my Seminar and Student Teaching. Though, the school is letting my experience here count for that, so it should take some pressure off.”
A sympathetic frown appears on her otherwise flawless face. I’ve always liked Erin. She’s a new English teacher for the middle school, so I see her occasionally if our classes are in the library at the same time. Otherwise, we’re in different wings of the building. “What class do you have to take?”
“History of Mythology.”
Interest brightens her eyes. “That sounds interesting. Weren’t you telling me you’re into Greek Mythology?”
“Yeah,” I relent, shrugging. “I read the syllabus online and it’s only covered in the last half of the course. We barely go over it for a week which is disappointing. Plus, the teacher isn’t even listed.”
She cringes. “That’s never good.”
Another reason I’m nervous. If they cancel the class because there’s been a change in faculty, that means I have to attempt to squeeze into another one. Most of the ones I saw for the term are already full.
“It’ll work out,” she insists.
I know it will. It always has before.
“Hey,” I stare at the knotted wood table, tracing the blemish with my finger. “What did you do for Sarah’s sixth birthday? I’m having trouble planning anything for Ainsley because of…”
Erin is one of the few people who knows about Ainsley’s select mutism. After Danny passed away from the car accident, she hasn’t spoken. The doctors said to give her time, but not once in the three years I’ve had her has she said a word. It makes me worry that the school will tell me I need to find a different district to fit her needs. I’ve already been talked to by the Kindergarten teacher who expressed her worry for future grades, as if because she doesn’t talk she’s somehow unable to understand.
Finding it hard to swallow, I suck in a shaky breath and try playing it off. “She likes princesses so I thought I could do a theme. But she hasn’t made any friends and I don’t think having a lot of people over would be a good idea. Any thoughts?”
Erin reaches over and pats my hand. “I know this woman who makes amazing cakes. She could do one with Ainsley’s favorite princess and you could do an intimate party with family. The stores always have themed plates, balloons, and other fun stuff for kids’ parties.”
I’m thankful she isn’t the type of person to press for a therapist intervention. I tried it last year because I’d gotten pressured into it by a doctor that I’d switched Ainsley to, but it only made her worse. Talking to strangers wasn’t going to happen when she wouldn’t even talk to family.
“I’ll do that,” I say, smiling.
When the rest of the day passes with no phone calls or SOS texts, I find the drive home from work to be calm. The dull sound of a pop mix channel on the radio ensures I don’t get trapped in my head.
Walking into the house, I stop in my tracks after locking the front door. My eyes focus on the sleeping Ainsley in a well-crafted pillow fort in the living room, her small body draped across couch cushions and tangled in blankets she took from all our rooms.
Next to her is a pair of long jean-clad legs stretched out, one inked arm draped across his stomach as it rises and falls to a calming rhythm.
They’re both sleeping.
Biting back my smile, I pull out my phone and snap a picture. Sending it to Jenna, I quietly take off my boots and jacket before tip-toing into the kitchen, careful of the odds and ends scattered on the carpet.
When I open the fridge, I see a gallon of almond milk, one carton of eggs, and a piece of my favorite triple chocolate cake in a plastic container on the top shelf. There’s a yellow sticky note with a scratchy word sprawled on it.
Sorry.
Chapter Four
Blinking my eyes open when the bed dips beside me and the air swirls with the faintest scent of alcohol, I focus on the dark head of hair staring at the picture on my nightstand. His profile is blank, his lips pressed in a tight line and his eyes unblinking.
I sit up. “What are you doing?” Rubbing my eyes, I note that it’s after one in the morning. Knowing I need to be on campus tomorrow makes me groan. “I have to be up in like five hours, Easton. Go to bed.”
I’m tempted to bury myself under the blankets and ignore him until he leaves, but there’s distance on his face that makes me heft out a sigh instead. There’s something on his mind. I just hope it’s worth being woken up in the middle of the night over.
“We got robbed,” he murmurs.
Fully awake now, I reach out and touch his arm. “Are you okay? Jay?”
He just nods.
Blowing out a relieved breath, I sit all the way up and let the comforter fall to reveal my worn tee that has one too many holes and stains from over the years. “Did you file a police report? Did they catch the person responsible?”
“Yes. And no.”
“East.” I squeeze his arm. “I’m sorry.”
One of his shoulders lifts.
I clear my throat. “Are you drunk?”
“Stressed.”
I’d be a lot of things too if I’d gotten robbed, but I’m not sure I’d go out and drink. Then again, there’s Jay. The short time I’ve known him, I’ve figured out that Captain Morgan is one of his closest friends, next to Easton. I wouldn’t say he’s an alcoholic, but he’s probably going to become one soon if he keeps relying on a buzz when things get rough.
Not sure what to say, I offer the only half-ass advice that crosses my mind. “You should get some water and go to bed. Maybe take an Aspirin before you fall asleep.”
His jaw ticks, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, his eyes travel back to the picture frame of Danny smiling. To my surprise, he reaches over and picks it up. “Who’s watching her tomorrow?”
Her. Ainsley. “She goes back to school tomorrow. I’m picking her up after my last class and then we have plans to visit Grandma Mable.”
I’m about to explain who that is again because I doubt he remembers the short conversation we had about her not long after he moved in. We never really got to know each other from talking, just observing. Like how he has a set routine every day that he hates breaking or else he’s in a bad mood. Or how he likes cooking and cleaning whenever he has a lot on his mind. In fact, I’m surprised he’s not downs
tairs right now making another creation. A few months ago, I woke up to the smell of something sweet coming from the kitchen at three-thirty in the morning. He and Jay got into a fight about something at the shop and he came home and made peanut butter cookies.
“His grandmother,” he notes, gesturing toward the picture still grasped in his hands.
“Yeah.”
The only thing he knows from our old conversation about her is that his grandmother is the only family Danny had left. His father died from lung cancer caused by years of smoking, his mother from childbirth, and he was an only child. Grandma Mable was always doting on her son and granddaughter, spoiling them with baked goods, toys, and homemade crafts. Sitting on a shelf in Ainsley’s room is a raggedy teddy bear patched up hundreds of times over that Mable made for Danny when he was a kid.
“Why doesn’t she take care of Ainsley?”
It’s a question I saw coming from a mile away. East always gets more talkative when his defenses are down. Based on the harsh scent of bourbon radiating off him, I’d say his defenses are nonexistent right now.
Playing with the edge of the comforter to avoid his curious gaze, I inhale slowly. “Mable was put into a nursing home right before the accident. She has early onset dementia, so she’s not fit to care for her.”
Once again, he remains silent.
“Plus,” I add audibly quiet, “Danny made me her guardian in his will. I try making sure Ainsley still sees her great grandma as much as possible. It makes Mable happy.”
He hums while nodding slowly.
“East?” He looks at me. “You should go.”
His lips part, then close.
Nibbling my bottom lip, I ask, “Want me to go get you some water and medicine? I think you’ll need it to survive tomorrow. I’m sure you and Jay have a lot to go over at the shop.”
I can tell I’m right by the way his light eyes darken. So, I slide out of bed and pat his shoulder before walking to the bathroom and digging some medicine from the cabinet next to the sink. When I come back with a glass of water and two pills in my hand, he’s passed out on my side of the bed.
My shoulders drop at the sight. Setting the stuff down on my nightstand, I debate on waking him up. The way his breath comes out heavily makes me think that may not be the best idea. Clicking my tongue, I take off his typical black boots that look like they’re falling apart and pull the blanket over him.
Glancing at the empty space next to him, I weigh my options. Truth is, I’m tired and have no interest falling asleep on the lumpy couch downstairs or wedged into Ainsley’s twin bed in her room. And sleeping in Easton’s room, somewhere I’ve never been before, makes the decision to crawl in behind him easier.
He lets out soft snore.
I fall asleep quickly to the sound.
A small finger pokes my cheek, rousing me from a deep slumber I haven’t had in ages. When my eyes crack open, I see big round brown ones staring back at me. Groggily, I sit up and yawn, stretching my limbs and glancing at the alarm clock.
Except there’s no alarm clock on the nightstand, or picture frame I’m accustomed to seeing every morning when I wake up. Suddenly, last night’s events came crashing back. Eyes widening as I look over my shoulder at something that captured Ainsley’s eyes, my heart all but stops at the sight of a passed-out Easton beside me. One of his legs hangs out from under the covers I tucked around him, while one of his arms is bent over his face.
In this moment, I’m glad that Ainsley doesn’t speak enough to question why our roommate is currently sleeping in my bed. But as soon as the thought crosses my mind, guilt takes over for even thinking something so horrible. I’d rather Ainsley ask me what he’s doing here than stare at him, blink at me, and say nothing. I don’t even remember what her voice sounds like.
Throat clogging with oncoming emotion that I’ll beat myself up with all day, I climb out of bed and pick her up before making our way quietly out of the room. When my eyes catch the time on the clock, a gasp escapes my lips.
“Oh my God.” Rushing into her room, I quickly pull out a pair of black leggings and long sleeve pink shirt from her closet and then pass her a pair of underwear and socks from her dresser. It’s past seven-thirty. School starts in fifteen minutes and there’s no way I’m getting her there on time for it.
I know I set an alarm last night and even triple checked it. Between Ainsley’s first day back to school and mine, I knew our schedule would be tight. I couldn’t afford either of us to be late, which was a nightmare coming true. I could only assume that my drunken bed buddy turned the alarm off when it sounded because I never heard it.
Cursing to myself as I help Ainsley dress, I pass her the hairbrush from the bathroom and instruct her to get her long strands untangled while I change into the first outfit I can get my hands on in my room. In my hurry, not once does Easton move. I want to throw something at him and yell, but I don’t even have time for that.
Shaking my head at the loose pair of jeans and sweatshirt I’m in, I slide on a pair of mismatched socks and grab Ainsley’s hand to go downstairs. From the kitchen, I grab a banana for her, an apple and yogurt for me, and the lunchbox with peanut butter and jelly, a small bag of chips, and a cheese stick I’m glad I prepared for her last night. Holding my keys in my mouth while I get her into her jacket and boots, I pass her the bright pink lunch pail and nudge her out the door.
It isn’t until I drop her off, get reprimanded by the elementary principal who barely knows me, and get to campus thirty minutes late when I realize I forgot my backpack full of all my class materials and am wearing two different shoes. It’s my third class in when somebody notices the unfortunate fashion choice on my feet, giving me a judging brow.
“Fuck my life,” I groan, sinking into the back seat of the lecture hall that my History of Mythology class is being held in. Thankfully, nobody else pays me any attention as they talk amongst themselves waiting for class to begin.
At least I got to my second and third classes early. There’s nothing worse than walking into a class late and having everyone stare at you as the professor gives you a dirty look. Worse than that is when they lock the doors so everyone who’s tardy can’t get in. Been there, done that.
I start pulling out a scrap piece of paper I scrounge from the bottom of my purse along with a pen when quiet murmurs from the front of the room dull down. My eyes cast upward to see a tall man with dark hair walking in from the side door at the front of the classroom over to the table and podium in the center of the room. The brown leather messenger bag over his shoulder is peeled off and set on the table with his back to us.
There’s no question that the quiet is from every straight woman and gay man busying themselves with a close analysis of muscles clearly showcased in the tight blue button down wrapped around the mountainous man. Granted, most men are taller than my short five-two stature. He just has the added bonus of being well built on top of his impressive height.
Shaking my head, I begin writing the date in the top righthand corner of my paper when a husky voice cuts through my concentration. “I would like anyone sitting in the back to move forward so the seats in the front are filled first. Thank you.”
There aren’t many of us in the last few rows, but I notice a few girls move from where they are in middle up to the second row for a closer look at the professor.
Stifling my laugh, I collect my things and move. When a boy cuts me off by shouldering past me to take the last seat in the row I was clearly moving to, I hold back the death glare I want to give him and straighten my spine to examine the next available spot.
“There’s one right here in the front,” the same gravelly voice calls out. Looking around, I realize I’m the only one standing. Ignoring the faint heat that’s settled into the back of my neck, I walk down the wide steps until I’m in the seat directly across from the podium.
Papers get patted against the wood table in front of me before a stack appears in my line of vision. Sitting back, I l
ook up to see the professor holding out the syllabus. When we lock eyes, I notice a familiarity in the sharp, aged features staring back at me.
Is that…?
“Take one, pass it down,” he instructs, moving the papers closer like I’m a moron for not knowing what he expects.
Clearly he isn’t who I think, even though the dark espresso tone of his almond shaped eyes is one I swear I’ve seen in the past. This man looks like the fine wine Mom always talks about with her favorite actors from the 80’s.
Some men get better with age, Piper.
If this man is who I think, then I can’t argue with her. Though I wouldn’t call him a silver fox, he certainly will be in another few years or so. Tall, built, yet lean in all the ways that count, he’s dressed professionally with a plain button down tucked into the tapered waist of his pressed black slacks. His muscles are on display which I’m sure he hadn’t meant to extenuate by wearing what he is, and I’m certainly not the only one who’s noticed his long legs and stocky figure.
It isn’t like I haven’t seen plenty of men like him, just not so closely. Not to mention the fair skin wrapped around a square jaw, envious cheekbones, and full lips make him look wholesome in a way that’s familiar to me. Familiar in an eerie I know you but don’t want to say I know you sort of way.
The blast from the past I’m thinking of would be at least thirty-nine, maybe forty by now. I haven’t seen him in a long time. If it’s really him, I have a lot of reasons to be weary. Like the fact that he didn’t show up to Danny’s funeral despite them being friends. When was the last time I would have seen Carter Ford? He grew up a few houses down from both Danny and me and was also good friends with my older half-brother Jesse. The three of them constantly got into trouble together but you couldn’t control them even if you tried.
This man … he couldn’t be Carter. Even if their ages and features match, that would mean that he’s been around this whole time. It’d give him no excuse as to why he missed saying goodbye to his friend, other than being insensitive. Even Jesse showed up despite his hatred for funerals, something he had to deal with too many times between his biological mother’s overdose that sent him to live with us and his younger sister’s suicide some years later. Still, he came.