by Olivia Dade
Distance. Keep your distance.
“Students should be arriving shortly, and I have a few more things to do before first period. Did you need anything else, Mr. Krause?”
Unlike almost every other man she’d known, Martin got hints. After a final, awkward half-bow, he left and partially shut the door behind him.
But once he was gone, she didn’t check her lesson plans for the umpteenth time or straighten the student desks by a micron or two. Instead, she thought about Martin. Took the observation she’d just made about him and spun it out.
Martin got hints. Martin was watchful. Martin could read and interpret body language.
Most well-off, cishet white men couldn’t do either. Didn’t need to do either, unlike the people in their orbit, because they held the power. They created the weather, while others languished in the rain or cringed away from the lightning.
Maybe he’d grown up poor, like her. Maybe he’d learned empathy and watchfulness from his years of teaching. But the way he’d stepped back from a simple glare…she’d seen that kind of reaction before. In some of the neighbor kids at the trailer park. In the wife of one of Barton’s colleagues. In some of her students, the ones she watched for bruises.
And she wondered. About his childhood. About his marriage.
It was foolish. She barely knew the man. She could be entirely wrong in every way.
Still, what she was wondering burned in her chest like coals. The sudden, shocking anger didn’t leave her until the first student arrived at the door, slouching and feigning casual disinterest to the best of his young abilities.
Then she became Ms. Owens, not Rose.
Right now, Martin didn’t matter. Couldn’t matter.
She stood. Smiled at her student. Told him where to find the class schedule, the syllabus, and his seat. Swung the door wide and waited for the next arrivals.
Her hands weren’t shaking anymore.
The new school year had begun, and she was ready to kick some pedagogical ass.
Four
Martin encountered Rose several more times throughout the day, as one would expect, but only for brief instants as they entered or exited her classroom or passed in the hall. He had no idea whether they shared the same lunch block, since he’d brought his food and hurriedly eaten it inside the social studies office next to the other department floater, a twenty-something woman named Dakota Brown.
Dakota was eager and chipper and damned young. She’d arrived in the office right after he’d left Rose’s classroom that morning, and the vast gulf between the two women had disoriented him for a minute. If Dakota were confetti ice cream, sweet, cheerful, and straightforward, Rose would be bittersweet chocolate gelato. Dense. Complexly, intensely flavored. Not to everyone’s taste.
The grocery store closest to his house carried pints of gelato. Maybe he and Bea could do a taste test of those someday and pretend they were classier than they really were.
But Dakota was good company for lunch, and the students were…well, students. Not too different from the kids at his previous school. Some chatty, some quiet. Some awkward, some posturing. They’d relax and become more themselves once they learned the routine and trusted him.
By the end of the year, if all went as planned, each class would become sort of an extended, temporary family. An evolving but unitary organism, working toward the same purposes: factual knowledge, greater ease with critical thinking and writing, increased ability to make connections between different ideas, different time periods, and different subjects, and—above all—comfort in the educational environment.
He couldn’t always make his students happy to be in his class. But he could make them feel safe while they were there, and he knew all too well the importance of safe spaces.
When the last bell rang, and his seventh-period students rushed toward the door clutching backpacks and fistfuls of forms to complete, he dropped down into one of their chairs for a moment. Just a moment. Just until the adrenaline crash inevitable at the end of a long, important, stressful day subsided.
Rose strode through the door, and then came to a sudden halt upon spotting him.
She opened her mouth. Closed it. Gave her head an impatient little shake, but somehow it seemed more self-directed than an indication of displeasure with him. “Are you ill, Mr. Krause?”
He wondered idly if the school administered coffee in IV form at the nurse’s office. “Not sick, just tired. Sorry. I’ll move momentarily.”
“Take your time.” She swept toward the desk, her heels clicking with each long stride. “But as a reminder, we have a faculty meeting in the cafeteria in ten minutes.”
And he needed to talk to Bea before then, to confirm their dinner plans. He rose to his feet with a groan, which Rose didn’t acknowledge.
But as he reached her doorway, her voice stopped him. “The beginning of the year is exhausting enough, even if this weren’t a new school for you. Be sure not to run yourself into the ground.”
A quick glance backward revealed an impassive face, angled down toward her papers.
“I won’t.” He sighed. “I mean, I will.”
When she didn’t say anything more, he left and shut the door behind him. Because she deserved at least a couple minutes of privacy after a long day, even if she hadn’t asked for them.
During the faculty meeting, he saw her across the cafeteria. Spine straight, not a strand of her hair out of place. Sitting next to other faculty members, but entirely removed from them. There were no whispers or furtive laughs. No idle conversations between speakers. No smiles, much less adorable snorts.
He didn’t get it. At all.
He’d have said she considered herself above the rest of them, but that didn’t ring true. Not given her friendliness with Bea, and the brief glimpses he’d garnered of how she interacted with students. With them, she was all lively, charismatic warmth, rather than the chill of an empress. And even with him, all her coldness didn’t negate her generosity.
She’d given him her time and guidance during the summer. She’d given him a substantial portion of her classroom storage. She’d put up posters for his students. She’d even reminded him to take care of himself, albeit in an affectless way.
As Churchill might have said, Rose Owens was a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside a really soft-looking black blouse.
After the meeting, he lingered to introduce himself to a few of Bea’s teachers. By the time he left the cafeteria, Rose was long gone. But along the way to the department office, he glanced into her closed door’s little window.
He couldn’t see her. The placement of her desk meant she wasn’t visible from the door, which he imagined was not accidental. But there, on the floor beside her desk, he could just see a pair of breathtakingly high black heels, tumbled onto their sides. And over the back of a nearby student chair, a black velvet blazer lay carefully folded in half.
She was in there barefoot, in that silky confection of a shirt.
For her, he guessed that was basically one step from naked.
He stumbled over his own feet. Then made himself keep moving down the hall.
But three hours later, as shadows crept into the corners of the department office, and he couldn’t seem to focus his eyes anymore, he couldn’t help himself. He had to know. So he slipped his school-issued laptop inside his briefcase and slung the strap over his shoulder, gathered a stack of freshly-copied papers, and headed toward her classroom.
Nothing had changed. Shoes on the floor, jacket on the chair.
He knocked softly.
“Just a moment,” she called out.
Then, from the window, he watched a long-fingered, capable hand gather those shoes. After a moment, a black-clad arm reached for her jacket. Another few moments, and the tap of her heels came toward him.
He shouldn’t be disappointed. He really shouldn’t.
She opened the door and seemed unsurprised at the sight of him.
“Come in, Mr. Krause.” She
clicked back to her desk with all due speed, but her descent into her desk chair lacked a soupçon of her usual grace. It was a revealing hitch, although it didn’t tell him anything her enormous trough of coffee that morning hadn’t.
“Just dropping off handouts for tomorrow.” He entered the room, leaving the door cracked behind him. “You’re tired too, huh?”
She’d placed an intricately pierced ceramic lamp, like one he might choose for his nightstand, on the corner of her desk. The light, warmer than the fluorescents overhead, gilded the smooth curve of her hair and cast a glowing, dappled circle on the floor. Her long fingers sorted through student papers one by one, each motion precise and beautiful.
He could have watched her forever.
“Not especially,” she murmured.
Such a liar. A good one. No tells that he could ascertain.
For some reason, he didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He just followed her movements as she sorted, then typed, then jotted a few notes to herself on a sticky pad. When she finally lifted her eyes to him again, he blinked like a man awakened from a trance.
Her lips, now pale and dry, thinned. “You need sleep. Go home and go to bed.”
She was right, but he didn’t move. Couldn’t move.
“How did your classes go today?” he asked.
“They were fine.” She closed her eyes for a brief moment, her lashes a sweep of darkness. “If you’re not going to get home to your daughter and rest, at least sit down, Mr. Krause. Before you collapse.”
The same student chair as earlier was calling his name, so he dropped into it with a sigh. “I know you’re teaching all U.S. history this year, including AP, but I don’t know how many of each prep.”
He looked down at himself, listening to his own words—emerging, somehow, from his own mouth—with mingled awe and horror.
Had he truly just sat down in her classroom again? While she was trying to work? And he really just inquired about her schedule? Him, Mute Boy?
She wanted him gone. He didn’t make idle conversation, especially with people who wanted him gone. So what the hell was Old Sobersides doing? Did he crave another of her smiles that badly?
She rested her elbows on her desk. “I’m teaching two periods of Regular U.S. History and three periods of AP U.S. History.”
He leaned forward, astonished. “Three periods? How many students are in each class?”
“Right now, around thirty. But that number will drop a bit, as some of the kids flee from all the homework.” She lifted a hand toward her forehead, then dropped it back to the desk. “Which might be for the best, since we don’t have enough textbooks for everyone.”
He had no explanation for those numbers. None.
“But how is that possible? I only have two periods of AP World, and those classes aren’t even completely full.” His mouth was open and fish-like, but he couldn’t help it. “How in the world did you attract that many kids to your AP classes?”
She met his gaze directly, those dark-amber eyes solemn but not bitter. “Until recently, I taught two periods of Honors World History every year.”
Now his own eyes closed for a moment, as everything coalesced in his beleaguered brain.
“And those kids followed you to AP,” he finished for her. “Shit. Shit, Rose. I’m sorry.”
He wasn’t just fucking with her schedule this year. His presence would change what and whom she taught next year, and possibly for years to come.
She lifted a shoulder in a fluid shrug. “It’s fine.”
Oh, God, that meeting of AP teachers last week. “The funding for AP programs will drop if our numbers drop. Which they will, since you’re not attracting the Honors World History kids to AP U.S.”
She didn’t deny it. “Only if they drop too much. I’m brainstorming different ways to recruit those kids to my AP classes.”
“That’s not solely your responsibility. I’m part of the AP program too, and it’s my arrival that caused this whole problem.” He dropped his chin to his chest, distress shortening his breath. “When my brain is functioning more effectively, I’ll come up with some strategies to fix this and run them past you. Rose, I’m so sorry. But I’ll come up with something good. I promise.”
God, she had to hate him. She must be furious.
But when he forced himself to look up, to face her anger, she didn’t look angry at all. Instead, she was holding up a hand, palm forward.
“Martin.” Her voice was low. Soothing. “It’s okay. None of this is your fault. You didn’t choose your preps. And no matter what happens, everything will be fine.”
Her gaze was as soft and warm as a quilt fresh from the dryer. The kind he’d once swaddled Bea with when she was sick, or when she’d been outside too long in the snow. Back when Bea needed him.
But for Christ’s sake, why was Rose comforting him?
Pansy, he could hear his father spit. Boy’s got no spine. Look at him snivel.
No. He wouldn’t listen.
He’d spent too many years erasing that voice with better, kinder, more truthful ones. The voice of his therapist. His daughter. His oldest friends. His students, as they hugged him after graduation and thanked him for caring. His ex-wife, once upon a time.
He breathed as he’d been taught, and his father abruptly went silent.
But he still had no idea how Rose, a woman and colleague he barely knew, could bring back that old panic. That old fear that he’d disappointed and angered someone powerful in his life. Someone important. Someone he—
He needed to go. Now.
When he stood abruptly, her hand fell to her desk.
“Sorry again.” With an effort, he kept his voice steady. “I’ll make this right somehow. But for now, I’d better get home to Bea, just like you said.”
He left her sitting there in her classroom, a halo of golden light surrounding her like a nimbus as she wordlessly watched him go. Then he hustled to the parking lot as fast as he could, the dogs of his past growling and lunging for his heels with every step.
Five
When Rose entered the department office, Martin didn’t turn her way. Instead, he kept speaking into the clunky office phone, his voice hoarse but impassioned.
“Kevin, I know you have a lot of things going on right now. But I promise you, dropping out now won’t help you get where you want to—” Martin paused and rubbed his eyes with his free hand. “I’m so sorry she’s sick. Why don’t we discuss your options with the guidance counselor? If Marysburg High doesn’t work for you, there are alternative sch—”
This time, he went silent for a while as he listened to the agitated voice on the phone.
Rose closed the door quietly behind herself, so quietly she wasn’t sure he even heard her.
He was hunched over the counter, elbows resting on the laminate surface, eyes closed. For once, his age had inscribed itself over his features, creasing his brow and bracketing his mouth.
The supply cabinet adjoined the small desk area he’d been given, and she tried not to disturb him as she searched for a ream of colored paper. But he must have heard her heels on the tiles underfoot, because he opened his eyes and gave her a tired little wave.
Waves and passing wishes for a good day were about the extent of the interactions they’d had that week, to her surprise. After his conversational overtures the first day of school, she’d half-expected him to drop by her room more often. First thing in the morning. After the final bell. For a casual chat, or to discuss the AP program, or…
Something. Anything.
She shouldn’t be disappointed. She wasn’t disappointed. She was merely…nonplussed.
His features relaxed a fraction. “I’ll talk to the counselor and have her call you about setting up an appointment. If you want me there, I can attend the meeting too. And remember, you can contact me anytime. Now, next year, whenever. I’ll help you the best I can.” Another pause. “I’ll be thinking of her and wishing her the best. Same for you and your younger brothers
and sisters.”
She caught his eye, and he didn’t look away.
“Take care, Kevin. Remember what I said. I’m here. Just make sure you get to that appointment.” His lips curved in a brief, sad smile. “You’re more than welcome. Bye.”
He hung up the office phone, that blue gaze still holding hers, and she waited.
When he spoke, his voice was quiet. Gravelly with weariness and frustration. “He showed up to class the first couple of days, but not the rest of the week. No note. No phone call. Turns out, his mom is sick. Dying. And someone needs to hold the family together. He was thinking maybe he could do that and still go to school, but now he doesn’t think he can.”
She nodded, a silent encouragement for him to continue.
His pen bounced when he threw it onto the counter. “He’s a kid, Rose. Sixteen. He shouldn’t have to watch his mother die. He shouldn’t have to take care of his siblings. He shouldn’t feel like he has to quit school to do all that.”
“You’re one hundred percent right,” she told him. “It’s not fair.”
“I’m going to talk to the guidance counselor to set up an appointment and see if there’s something else to be done. Some type of help Kevin doesn’t know about.” He jotted himself a note. “I’m not familiar with all the resources available in this state and this county. But whatever they are, they’re probably not enough. I may not be able to fix this.”
When her own mother was dying, she’d have sacrificed anything for a figure like Martin in her life. For unselfish concern and an unconditional offer of support. She’d been older than his student at the time, but still rudderless. Still desperate. Still alone, in every essential way.
He was a good man. A good, good man, and he was expecting too much of himself.
“Martin.” After a moment, he raised his head. “That kid knows you’re waiting to help him. Whatever happens, whatever the guidance counselor says, however the meeting goes, you did the best you could. You’re doing the best you can.”
He exhaled slowly through his nose, his shoulders visibly relaxing.