by K Carothers
“You know I never learned how to swim, Jen. If I launch myself on any wave, you’ll be giving me CPR on the beach.”
Jenna threw her head back and laughed. “I’m not too confident in my CPR skills, so I think we need to teach you how to swim.”
“Hah! That will never happen.”
Jenna shrugged with a playful, slightly enigmatic smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. “Never almost never lasts forever, and forever tends to run out of time. So who knows?” Then she glanced at her watch, and her expression sobered. “But speaking of time, we don’t have much left if we’re going to make it to school before the kids get out. I hate to have us rush off when you just got here, but will you still take me?”
“Of course!” Erin said. “I can’t wait to see your classroom.”
They headed down the porch steps after Jenna grabbed her cane, and Erin discovered what a precarious venture it was for her friend. “We need to have a ramp built so you can avoid these stairs,” she said, taking hold of Jenna’s arm.
“I know. They’re a pain—literally. But Luke already took care of it. He made arrangements for a mutual friend of ours to come over bright and early Monday morning to start building one.”
At the mention of Luke’s name Erin felt all those warm, fluttery sensations return. “I saw him today. That’s why I’m late.”
“Luke?” Jenna looked up in surprise. “He better not have given you a speeding ticket.”
“No. Still no speeding tickets on my record,” Erin said with a laugh. And as they walked to the car she told Jenna about the duel.
Her friend’s eyes widened in shock. “Did you find out the names of the boys?”
“Yes. Connor Murdock and Jesse Torres.”
“Oh no! I taught both of them. They were always such great kids, and so good at sports too. I went to all their football games last season.”
“Connor was pretty shaken up afterward,” Erin said, remembering the look on the boy’s face. “I really don’t think he’d meant for things to go that far.”
Jenna slowly shook her head. “I still can’t believe they shot each other. And you had to stick a needle into Jesse’s chest? How awful! I hope it wasn’t a very big one, at least.”
“Just about as big as they come.”
“Well, my hip doesn’t hurt so much anymore,” Jenna said, coming to a stop by the car. “Now my chest does.”
Erin’s lips quirked up into a half-smile as she opened the passenger door. “Luke probably felt the same way when he watched it go in. I don’t think he ever wants to see anything like that again.” Then she glanced inside the car and her half-smile gave way to a full-fledged grimace. “I guess I need to make some room for you in here or we won’t be going anywhere.”
Jenna chuckled. “It looks like you brought your whole apartment with you.”
“Pretty much.” Erin leaned in and started shoving bags into the back. “Luke said he’d come over tomorrow and help unload everything. He might be sorry when he sees the trunkload of books I have, though.” She always brought a medical book or a journal with her wherever she went. And now that she would be in New Dublin for a while, she’d had a hard time parting with any of them.
She finished clearing off the seat and helped Jenna into the car, then walked around to the driver’s side and slid in, fastening her seatbelt. “Are you ready?” she asked, noticing that Jenna hadn’t yet buckled herself in.
Her friend said nothing, looking deep in thought.
“What’s wrong, Jen?”
“Would Jesse have died if you hadn’t been there?”
Erin hesitated, though she knew the answer. “Yes, I suppose he might have,” she finally admitted. “The paramedics hadn’t realized he’d developed a tension pneumothorax, and by the time I got there he was in pretty bad shape. If the air hadn’t been released right away he probably would have gone into cardiac arrest before the helicopter even landed. And it would have been hard to resuscitate him in the field after that.” She frowned at the speculative look on Jenna’s face. “I hope you’re not thinking it’s a good thing you got sick, so that I would be there today to help that boy.”
Jenna shook her head with a rueful smile. “I’m not a saint, Erin.” Then she fastened her seatbelt and quietly said, “I was just thinking that whenever my back, or hip, or anything else hurts, I’ll think of him and remember he’s okay, and it won’t feel quite so bad, that’s all. I have you to thank for that—along with so many other things.”
Erin reached over and squeezed her hand. “I wish I could take more of the pain away for you.”
“There’s an old Swedish proverb that goes, ‘Friendship doubles our joy and divides our grief.’ You take some of the pain away just by being my friend.”
Erin swallowed a painful lump in her throat and gave Jenna’s hand one last squeeze before starting the car.
She briefly glanced to her left as she backed out of the driveway. Thick woods blocked the view, so she couldn’t see her grandparents’ old farmhouse. And she was glad for that. It was something she would rather face another day.
* * *
They made it just in time. The kids had finished packing up everything they’d accumulated over the course of the school year and were sitting with their bulging bags around them as the substitute teacher said a few last words of farewell, her tone touched with sadness.
But her face instantly broke into a smile when Jenna walked through the door in the back of the room, and the farewells were forgotten. “Class, look who’s here!”
The kids turned around and chaos ensued. “Miss Godfrey! Miss Godfrey!”
Erin watched from the doorway as her friend was quickly surrounded by a sea of enthusiastic fourth-graders, all wanting to talk to her and give her a hug. Then the bell rang and students from other classes poured into the hallway. Word spread that Jenna was there, and before long a mass of kids wanted to come in as well.
Erin got out of the way, skirting around the growing crowd to the front corner of the classroom, and observed the melee from there.
Jenna’s face beamed as she talked with the children, and for a moment she almost appeared like the Jenna of old. Erin pulled her cell phone out and snapped a few pictures, then took several more of the classroom. It was bright and cheerful, a perfect reflection of her friend. And above the blackboard at the front of the room, in large block letters, were the words:
“IT IS THE SUPREME ART OF THE TEACHER
TO AWAKEN JOY IN CREATIVE EXPRESSION AND KNOWLEDGE.”
—Albert Einstein
“Are you Miss Godfrey’s nurse?”
Erin looked down in surprise. A little girl of about eight or nine stared up at her with big blue eyes. “No, I’m Miss Godfrey’s friend,” she said, slipping the phone back into her purse.
“Mrs. Thompson said she’s very sick and won’t be coming back again. But I want her to get better. She’s my favorite teacher and she writes good poems.”
Erin searched for the right words to respond to that, not sure there were any. “Miss Godfrey is very sick,” she finally answered truthfully. “She won’t be able to come back, but her heart will always be here in this school. I’m sure of that.”
The little girl nodded, pointing to a large framed poem on the wall near them. “Miss Godfrey likes to write about hearts.”
Erin went over to take a closer look at it. The poem was superimposed on a heart made up of small, variously colored squares that were patterned in a beautiful mosaic style, painted in watercolor. And the poem read:
If You Break a Heart
The heart was made to beat strong,
And for a lifetime to last,
Yet another can easily break it,
Like the most fragile kind of glass.
There are only so many pieces,
Only so many breaks,
That in a single lifetime,
Even the strongest heart can take.
So if you’re going to break it,
Think hard before you do,
Because the pieces can’t be put back
With stitches, tape, or glue.
The heart will lose more pieces
At times along the way,
So it might be needed tomorrow,
That piece you’ll take today.
—Jenna Godfrey
Erin’s eyes moistened. She was getting used to that.
“Jen—Miss Godfrey—made this?” she asked the girl, who’d come to stand beside her.
“No. Miss Godfrey wrote the poem, but Mr. Bidwell made the painting. He’s our art teacher. They like each other a lot, but Mr. Bidwell got married to someone else.”
Erin blinked in surprise at the statement. Jenna had never mentioned a Mr. Bidwell. But before she could ask more about him, the girl said, “My mom’s here, so I have to go. It was nice to meet you, Miss Godfrey’s friend.”
“You too.” Erin smiled as she watched the child walk away. Then she turned to inspect the watercolor again. A lot of time and effort had clearly been spent in composing the heart, and the elegant lettering of the poem must have taken almost as long to finish. It hadn’t been painted for just anyone.
She eventually made her way back over to Jenna, who was talking to several teachers by the door. None of them turned out to be the mysterious Mr. Bidwell, though.
Everyone gradually trickled out, and Jenna had a happy, but tired smile on her face afterward. “I don’t know about you, Erin, but I need to sit down and have some lunch.”
“Jenna.”
They both turned back to the door. A man stood there gazing at her friend, and Erin saw affection, sadness, and something more that she didn’t want to guess at in his light brown eyes. He was pleasantly attractive, tall and lanky, with dark blond hair that was somewhat haphazardly styled. He had that air of an artist about him. This had to be Mr. Bidwell.
“Adam,” Jenna whispered with just as much emotion in her voice. She took a hesitant step toward him, and he closed the rest of the distance between them, gathering her into his arms.
“I think I’ll, ah, go for a walk,” Erin said awkwardly after a moment.
Jenna withdrew from Adam’s embrace. “No, I want to introduce you. This is Adam Bidwell. He’s our art teacher. Adam, this is Erin.”
He shook her hand warmly. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Erin couldn’t say the same, but that was definitely going to change later. “I saw your artwork,” she said, glancing over at the watercolor on the wall. “It’s very good. And that’s a beautiful poem, Jenna.”
Her friend looked over at it and smiled. “We had an anti-bullying campaign back a few years ago. That’s why I wrote it. Adam read it and surprised me with the painting one day.”
“I always knew you liked to write,” Erin said. “But I had no idea you were such a poet.”
Jenna laughed. “I’m no Shakespeare or Yeats, that’s for sure. I just like to write simple poems.”
“You don’t give yourself enough credit, Jenna,” Adam said, taking her hand. “You’ve written some beautiful poems. Ones I’ll never forget.”
“And you’ve made some lovely paintings,” Jenna softly returned. “Ones that I’ll never forget either.”
For a moment they stood there and silently held hands, gazing into each other’s eyes. Erin could see there was a lot being spoken in that silence.
“I—suppose I’d better get going,” Adam finally said. “I just wanted to say…goodbye. It’s—been great working with you, Jenna. I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll miss you too, Adam.” Jenna’s voice broke at the end, and Adam took her into his arms again.
Wanting to give them some privacy, Erin walked across the room and grabbed a few tissues, tucking them into her purse. Then she studied some of the children’s artwork that Jenna had put up on the wall. And the sweet innocence of their imagination brought a smile to her lips.
But her expression sobered when she glanced back at Jenna a few minutes later and saw that she was now standing by the door alone, hastily brushing tears from her cheeks.
“Oh, Jen.” Erin rushed over to give her a hug, feeling her own heart squeeze painfully in her chest at the look of sadness on her friend’s face.
“That was the second hardest thing I needed to do,” Jenna whispered against her shoulder.
Erin eased away after a moment, handing her a tissue. “Jen—” she started to say, but stopped herself. This wasn’t the time or place to ask the questions she wanted to.
“It’s a long story,” Jenna said, dabbing at her eyes. “Let’s get some lunch first.”
“Do you need to bring anything home?” Erin asked.
Jenna shook her head and turned to leave. “No, I already have everything.”
“What about your painting?”
“I told Mrs. Thompson I would leave it here.”
Erin hesitated, contemplating the big heart hanging on the wall, painted in a hundred pieces. Then she followed her friend out the door.
Chapter
5
“You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”
Jenna didn’t immediately answer. She’d been unusually quiet the rest of the afternoon. Her smile was still there, at the ready, when Erin tried to lighten her mood. But a faraway look had settled into her eyes after she’d parted ways with Adam, and nothing Erin said could dispel it.
They’d eaten lunch at the Shamrock Inn & Restaurant downtown. It had an Irish theme, like a lot of places in New Dublin. Afterward, they’d stopped to run a few errands, and everywhere they went someone knew Jenna. Erin hadn’t said much during those encounters, though. She’d always been reluctant to socialize with people she didn’t know in New Dublin, mostly out of fear that they would ask questions about her family or would recognize her because of her mother. She knew that aside from her green eyes they looked exactly alike. Her grandmother had reminded her of that all too often—along with a list of her mother’s less redeeming qualities. And it still bothered Erin that someone else might remind her too.
Jenna had prepared one of the upstairs bedrooms for her at the house, and when they’d returned later that afternoon Erin brought in a few things she would need for the night. She was glad the master bedroom that Jenna used was on the first floor, as it meant fewer steps for her friend to worry about. But the house was still going to need some modifications, particularly the downstairs bathroom. Jenna made light of the issue, but Erin knew it couldn’t be easy for her to get on and off the toilet or to use the shower anymore. So in the morning she planned to run back into town to pick up a few things that would help, including a raised toilet seat with side arms on it, a transfer bench for the tub, and a handheld shower sprayer. The bathroom would also be a lot safer then. Erin didn’t want to contemplate how devastating it would be if Jenna fell and broke one of her fragile bones.
But the chaotic day was now drawing to a close, and the two of them sat together on a wooden swing in the backyard, facing an expansive green lawn that led out to a spring-fed pond in the distance. Jenna had loved swimming in that pond when they were kids. Erin had never gone in with her, though. She’d always been too afraid. She still was.
To the right of the lawn was a field full of wild flowers that Shannon had especially adored. Erin didn’t know the names of most of the flowers, but the field was dominated by bright yellow—a common theme in the Godfrey household. Dense forest provided a backdrop to the scene all around, and the late afternoon sky was the same vivid blue as it had been earlier in the day.
“Adam started working at our school three years ago, and I think I fell in love with him the first time we met,” Jenna finally said. “He was trying to turn a class full
of kindergartners into little Picassos with finger paints. It was the most adorable thing I’d ever seen.” A distant smile crossed her face. “I realized I’d never truly been in love before, not really, until him.”
“What happened?”
Jenna turned to her, and the faraway look was gone. “Nothing. I never let anything happen. He asked me out eventually, but I said no. I think I gave him some lame excuse about not wanting to get involved with another teacher, and he respected that. We still became friends, but never anything more. And after a while he found the woman he’s married to now.”
“But why did you say no in the first place, Jenna? It doesn’t make any sense. You love him, and he obviously feels the same way about you.”
“That’s exactly why I said no. I could tell right away that he felt what I felt, and I refused to break his heart. I knew if I said yes there would be no going back. And then one day he’d have to watch me die.”
Erin looked at her in shock. “How could you possibly have known that back then?”
“Because it was written in my family history,” Jenna quietly answered. “I found that out when I did some research years ago. I’d always wondered about my mom’s side of the family. She would never talk about any of them. In fact, not even my dad had known she’d lost her parents so young until the day she told you.” Jenna’s expression softened. “You and my mom were a lot alike, you know. And neither of you did much talking. But then, I probably did enough for all of us.”
Erin squeezed her hand. “I loved listening to your happy chatter when we were kids. It was very soothing.”
Jenna laughed. “But not anymore?”
“Always.” Fighting back the tears stinging her eyes, Erin gazed out at the pond as two trumpeter swans glided onto the surface of the water, the distinct, trumpet-like sound of their calls echoing through the air. They were a breathtaking sight, and it dawned on Erin how little she’d appreciated the beauty of this place before. Her mind had always been too caught up in leaving. Time couldn’t go by fast enough then. Now all she wanted was to hold it back.