Defensives settling, she asked, “Then what do you suggest I do?”
“For daily grades, I would assign a paragraph response to an open-ended question, or even just two to three sentences. I admire your desire for them to flesh out a thorough response, but one, it’s too much work for a daily grade; two, they need help understanding the basic mechanics of sentences before they can compose properly; and three, your comments are not meaningful, because it takes too long to give them the feedback. Save assignments like this one for test grades.”
She sipped her coffee, soaking in his advice and looking at the stack in front of her. It was true she found herself writing the same basic comments over and over, the only difference being that she personalized them by writing their name or a clever remark tailored to their interest.
“You mean well, Deli. If you channel your energy better, you will give them more of you in class. This is where you can spark their love for learning.”
“Your students love you, Jack,” she acquiesced.
“We have a relationship. They know my assignments are relevant.”
“Food for thought,” she said, scooping another nacho. “You know, I bet they won’t have nachos like these at Georgetown.”
“SO HOW DID YOU GET your name?” Jack asked as they lay in his bed eating pizza a few weeks later.
“St. Delphina. She took vows of poverty and chastity.”
Jack’s hearty burst of laughter caused him to choke momentarily on a pepperoni. He reached for his water to clear his throat before continuing his roar.
“Well, at least you’re still committed to the poverty vow as a teacher!”
Delphina joined his laughter, not realizing the irony of her response until he reacted. The illuminated 11:18 on his nightstand clock reminded her it was time to head home. Noticing her gaze move toward her jeans at the foot of the bed, he darted in front of her to grab them first.
“Stay with me tonight,” he teased, holding them out of reach.
“We need to teach tomorrow morning,” she said, grabbing them back.
“So you’ll stay next time if it’s not a school night?” he said, winking at the last two words.
“We’ll see,” she said, slipping on her jeans and throwing on her top. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The drive back to The Heights was a short jaunt, but it was one Delphina came to appreciate as a means of transitioning back to her own world. Jack had been to her place a few times, but going to his place meant she could leave when she was ready, and this made all the difference when deciding to take the relationship further. She was secretly relieved the holidays would soon herald him to Connecticut, the growing intimacy lending its usual path to discomfort.
Without a car in sight at that hour, she barely touched the gas, allowing the darkness of the trees lining The Boulevard to envelop her in their slumber. She admired the houses, extending a moment’s more attention to The Doyle House, regretting that she never made it inside the day she fell ill. She saw a light in the side bay window that faced the garden, and for a moment, she fancied knocking on the door to see if they would mind if she took a peek. She figured she would start walking on that side of the street when she walked to and from school in the hopes of catching a resident outside getting the paper or mail.
Delphina let herself in the courtyard gate of her apartment building to see the moon reflecting in the pond. Taking a seat on the patio chair, she gave thanks for her progress. The thought of spending a full night with Jack gave her room for pause, but she was starting to open to it as a possibility.
MR. HARRIS PROVED TO BE a professional godsend, as she started mirroring the long hours he put in after school, planning and tutoring students on campus. She could not make a heavy dent in the grading with her visitors, but the refined assignments made grading easier when they left for Andy’s or one of their respective apartments. Although this took a sizeable chunk of time, her presence and consistency earned her credibility.
She remembered storming from school at the three o’clock bell when she had been a student, crowds forming waves rippling from the doors. Many of her students, however, did not want to go home. They did not want to be in class, either, but they preferred to spend idle time roaming the halls rather than returning to no air conditioning and babysitting.
Students began visiting; one by one they peeked their heads through the open door, first looking for food and then for company and eventually for help with English. She baked cookies for the students to eat after hours, and when the cookies proved insufficient, she brought snacks from the grocery store to fill her teacher cabinet.
Aurelio visited, as did others, and as they bonded over apples and chips, with Cheeto-stained fingers on many a rough draft, she finally came to terms with the fact that she had so much more growing up than many of her students did. Her marginalization centered on her anxiety, the part of her that lived in fear that something bad was on the horizon. Her conversations with the students after school helped her see the benefit of the unknown, the benefit of free will as a force for good, as a means to enact positive change in your life. And she was doing something very good with her life: She was trying to make a difference.
She surmised it also helped that Mr. Harris was her boyfriend, her coolness developing through osmosis. He put in an occasional appearance after school to grab a bag of chips before heading to his own room, the students teasing, “Here to see your girlfriend, Mister?” She felt her defenses rise when a student corrected, “Yeah, but last year it was Ms. Young.” Her face blushed with embarrassment over the insinuation of a reputation. With her growing attachment to Jack came uneasiness, a worry broader than infidelity. She was scared something terrible would interfere with her happiness.
In late January, he began talking about a spring break trip to Mexico, a much-needed vacation, even more so because of his impending departure in June. Delphina paced the courtyard that evening, her desire to take the trip dampened by the fact that she had yet to spend a full night alone with him. Last week, he enjoyed a drunken weekend with a few college buddies in town for a visit. He finally picked up Sunday morning on her eleventh call, asking why in the hell she had called so many times now that he had gotten a good look at his caller ID. She impressed herself with the quick lie that her phone line had been acting up, disconnecting calls. She thought they were not going through to his line.
“Why don’t we hang out at my place Friday night?” she whispered as they made their way down the hall early in the week. “I have a killer crepe recipe for breakfast.”
His raised brows and smile reflected his approval, and as she turned right to take the stairs to the second floor, she realized there was no going back. She could not leave her own apartment.
DELPHINA MADE HER WAY DOWN The Boulevard, cursing herself for not leaving school sooner. She extended her vulnerability to include an enchilada dinner, something she regretted suggesting a second after it had escaped her lips when she remembered the preparation required for the sauce, something that should be done hours in advance.
She kept her eyes downcast, walking down the uneven sidewalk, tree roots angling the concrete slabs as much as forty-five degrees.
Nature finds a way, she thought to herself in an attempt to soothe her nerves, moving her gaze up the majestic tree trunks responsible for the disarray.
A Metro bus barreled past her, the vibrations from its force snagging her attention. Her stare landed on The Doyle House across the esplanade and the silver-haired gentleman meandering through the grounds. Despite the sizeable time she had spent in The Heights, it was the first time she had seen who lived there. Distinguished in his bow tie and suit, she wondered if she would ever enjoy a life so lovely, unwinding on a Friday without a care in the world. She imagined that this well-put-together gentleman’s wife would undoubtedly soon join him, and Delphina was on her way to drink tequila.
While she enjoyed cooking, her real motive was using the drinks as a way to kill time
in the evening. After her advanced preparations, the plan was to roll tortillas together as the clock ticked. Adding a boozy pitcher of margaritas into the mix would hopefully result in an early, deep sleep for the both of them. Her sleep, of course, would be helped even more so with a side dose of antidepressant.
Jack arrived a little after seven, Don Julio in tow, while Delphina squeezed fresh limes. They stuffed and rolled as they sipped margaritas, Jack convincing her at one point to try a shot. Although the intended effect proved appealing, she could not bear to make it two.
They ate by the moonlight, candles lit around the courtyard pond illuminating the buds, a symbol of the spring to come. He laughed at the seasonal marker, his declaration that he would be wearing a sweater this time next year on the East Coast pricking her heart. Taking another salty sip, she tilted her head back to examine the night sky with the realization that she did not love him. She was attached and cared for him, which made her worry, but it was not love. It was a token for which she was thankful. She thought about the silver-haired man. In a house of that stature, surely he had someone to love.
A stack of books fell to the ground when she stumbled to her nightstand, the haze from the tequila putting her in slow motion. She saw Jack from the corner of her eye, smiling as he unbuttoned his shirt. As she knelt down to collect the books, she prayed for her mind and heart to still.
She gathered the books methodically, adjusting the book jackets to buy time to reset her thoughts. She had enough wits about her to know he would not last long given that the bottle of Don Julio housed barely a shot or two. As she gave the stack a final straightening on the carpet, she noticed a pecan peeking from the bed skirt, the one from her October walk home when her teaching career had seemed so bleak.
Thank you, she thought, grateful for the reminder from the universe that everything would be fine. She stacked the books on the nightstand, resting the pecan on top. Smiling, she turned to Jack; it was almost over.
He pulled her back toward him after the first time, nuzzling his face in her wavy brown hair.
“Again?” he kissed, which she accepted with the hope that another time after the tequila would put them both to sleep.
He held her afterward, full of love and care, telling her how much he already missed her and perhaps she could visit him Labor Day weekend, so many months away. She fought the urge to jerk away as he guided her temple to his chest. His heartbeat, the only sound in the room, echoed the irrevocable truth of life’s impermanence. She rolled to the other side of the bed as soon as he passed out, weeping into the blanket while she waited for the sun to rise.
Dawn peered through the bedroom blinds, and with it came her recoil at his stroke to her back. He thought she was not fully awake, giving allowance that her action was mere reflex over intention. Exhausted from lack of sleep and temples throbbing from the tequila, she was spent from her restless night.
“What’s wrong, Delphina?”
“Ummm … a hangover, Jack. What do you think it is?”
“Let me help you,” he said, heading to the bathroom for aspirin and water. “I’ll make the crepes,” he called out.
“No. I’ll throw up. I think I just need to sleep.”
“Okay, well, they’ll be there if you change your mind.”
“You’re not getting it,” Delphina said, annoyed. “I need to be alone, Jack.”
“You want me to leave?” he asked, coming back into the room with an aspirin bottle in hand and a baffled look in his eyes.
“Bingo!” she responded, pulling on her robe as he watched her, confused. “Quit looking at me like that!”
“Did I do something wrong?”
“Yes. You won’t leave,” she barked, throwing his clothes at him as she burst into tears.
“Wow. Was I wrong about you,” he replied, shaking his head as he dressed and then headed out the door.
She knew her over-the-top reaction befuddled him, the tears that streamed down her face becoming more than a pretense. They were tears born from some inexplicable place within that left her doubting her ultimate sanity. The jilting came as a relief, as if a weight had been lifted. She expedited the inevitable hurt that would surface again had she let life’s confluences take their own course.
As she slipped into a bath later that morning, she placed a hot hand towel over her head, counting the months she had to deal with having an ex-boyfriend at work. Delphina knew she was a fragile being, one who hoped to meet a man who would understand her fragility and ride out her tempestuousness, one who would embrace the thoughtfulness that accompanied it. But she had a lot of work ahead of her for that to ever become a possibility.
CADMUS
Autumn 1997
“SHE IS SO GODDAMN CALLOW.”
“Ah, Mr. Phillips, two points of response. First, what does callow mean?” asked Cadmus.
“Foolish, immature.”
“Not quite. It means immature, but that particular word is used to describe a youth. Our character must be around forty, given what we know.”
Mr. Phillips nodded, his face blushing.
“Now, try again,” Cadmus gestured, hands in pocket and gaze downcast as he began a stroll around the room. “Don’t worry about the adjective just yet. What do you think of her?”
“I think she’s immature to turn her back on her family.”
“She has a family, a husband and four children of her own. They seem quite content.”
“Yes, but she also has her own family, the one that raised her.”
“And she’s turning her back?” Cadmus asked.
Mr. Phillips nodded.
“Then what is a better word than callow?”
“Self-absorbed, selfish,” Mr. Phillips responded with a truer confidence.
“Better,” Cadmus smiled before looking to the whole room. “Now this announcement is for everyone! Work on using precise language. You can fancy it up later, but make sure you know the words you are using.”
“Hey, Dr. Doyle?”
“Yes, sir?”
“You had two points. The second?”
“Ah, yes. The preceding profanity,” Cadmus said in a playful tone.
“Dr. Doyle, come on,” Mr. Phillips replied. “It’s a compliment … a reflection of how much we can be ourselves in your class.”
“Interesting point, and flattery affords forgiveness,” Cadmus conceded. “And I do understand the need for colorful language from time to time, as a dear friend of mine shares your disposition.”
“Who agrees with Mr. Phillips that she’s so goddamn selfish?” Cadmus asked the group, causing a ripple of laughter from around the room.
“I disagree,” came a voice from the back.
“Yes, Ms. Jackson. Please, tell us why.”
“Her family verbally abused her for years,” Ms. Jackson replied. “She’s distancing herself for a good reason.”
“But she knows they can’t help it. She has a better sense of self and should be able to put it in perspective,” Mr. Phillips countered.
“You mean she must continue to take it?” Ms. Jackson questioned.
Mr. Phillips paused, scanning all eyes on him as he doubled down. “Yes. Family is family. Dr. Doyle, you know what I mean.”
“So the family you are born into is the one that deserves the most loyalty … regardless of what they do to you?” Cadmus asked with the usual cryptic smile he donned in class. “Think about it. And on that note, I will see you all on Thursday.”
As Cadmus left the lecture hall, he overheard a student tell Mr. Phillips, “You do not know what you are talking about. You must come from a good family. Mine is absolutely nuts.”
Cadmus laughed to himself, knowing that he and Robert’s stories of familial dysfunction could rival them all. No one would ever guess it by looking at either of them, as educated and successful as they were.
He returned to his office to find a message from Agatha, an ominous sign. He surmised it was regarding her mother, considering she was
eighty-eight and in poor health. He found it odd that tragedy often instigated contact. When severe illness or death was at the door, his family called, but only when it was too late to do anything other than an offer a last-minute apology or a prayer for the repose of the soul. He understood the need for resolution, but this was not it. It was a form of closure, but a real attempt to bridge the chasm should be made without the threat of death.
“Hello, Agatha. It’s Cadmus.”
“Hello, Cadmus. I’m sorry to bother you, but I thought you should know my mother died last night.”
“I am so very sorry,” he replied, surprised by the emotions that the news stirred, images of his mother and Arianna flitting through his mind.
“Thank you. She lived a very full life, so I know I shouldn’t be too upset.”
“Well, Arianna is your mother, and regardless of how old you are, it does feel melancholy to think you are an orphan in the world,” he regretted his words, knowing after they escaped his mouth that he should have kept it simple.
“Yes, you know what it’s like, cousin.”
“Is there anything I can do?” Cadmus asked.
“No, we are planning the service. I’ll let you know when the details are finalized in the event you want to come.”
Cadmus noted her inflection. Robert was still not welcome, just as he was not at her father’s funeral years back. Arianna’s face had filled with horror the moment he and Robert entered the church. It had never occurred to her that Cadmus would have brought him to a family event even though Robert was his family.
“You are in my thoughts, as is Christos.”
“Thank you. I’ll pass your thoughts to my brother.”
Cadmus made a mental note to compose a letter of sympathy to both of his cousins later that evening at home, and he would order a flower arrangement for the service. He looked out his office window and offered a prayer to Arianna, which he marked as the extent of his participation in her funeral.
DELPHINA
Drops of Cerulean: A Novel Page 29