Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Aubrey
As I was opening the door to my apartment, I heard Aunt Charlotte’s door across the hall open, and she followed me inside.
“How was reading time?” she asked.
“I really didn’t get much reading done.”
“Why not?”
“Someone was there I knew, and we ended up talking.”
“Do I know this someone?” she asked.
“No. I just met him last night at Penelope’s exhibition.”
“Him?”
“Yes. His name is Ethan Klein. Apparently, he wanted my phone number last night and asked Penelope for it. She wouldn’t give it to him but told him where I go on Saturday mornings.”
“I’m sorry. Did you say, Ethan Klein?” Her voice became serious.
“Yes. Do you know him?”
“Personally, no. I’ve heard of him. He’s a very ruthless businessman, Aubrey, and I think it’s best you stay away from him. He’s a womanizer on top of it and has a whole slew of women at his beck and call. I’ve heard the talk around the city.”
“You heard talk? Talk is talk, Aunt Charlotte. I’ll decide for myself if I should stay away from him. In fact, he’s coming over for dinner tonight.”
“What? Oh, Aubrey. Please, for the love of God, listen to me. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Aunt Charlotte.” I sighed. “I’m twenty-five years old. I’m not a child. I can see who I want.”
“I know that, dear, but I don’t want you getting hurt again.”
“I can protect myself. Don’t worry about me.”
“Well, I do. I can’t help it.” She walked over to me and grabbed my hand.
“I’ll be fine. I promise.” I smiled.
“What are you going to cook for dinner?” she asked.
“Breaded chicken, baked potatoes, fresh green beans, and salad.”
“Sounds good. Mind if I join you?”
“Yes. Actually, I do mind.” I laughed.
She kissed my forehead. “I’m going to go. If you need any help, call me.”
“Thank you. I will.”
I loved my Aunt Charlotte more than anyone in the world, but sometimes, she didn’t know how to stop treating me like a child.
After returning home from the market down the street, I set the two bags of groceries down on the kitchen counter. When I pressed the button on my watch, it told me it was five o’clock. I had enough time to jump in the shower and prepare for dinner.
I kept thinking about what my Aunt Charlotte said about Ethan—about him being a ruthless businessman and a womanizer. I could sense that, but there was something else I sensed. I sensed a side to him that he kept hidden away. A part of himself that he didn’t want anyone to know. That was why I agreed to go out with him.
After my shower, I went into the kitchen and started to prepare dinner. Once the chicken and potatoes were in the oven, I gathered all the ingredients for the salad. As I was cutting up the lettuce, there was a knock on the door. My belly did a little flip, knowing that he was on the other side.
“Hello, Ethan.” I smiled as I opened the door.
“Hello, Aubrey. Were you one hundred percent sure that it was me before opening the door? I didn’t hear you ask who it was.”
“My watch told me that it was six fifty-nine, and I told you to be here at seven. So, I was pretty confident it was you. Come on in.”
Ethan
She looked as beautiful as she did this morning in her long floral spaghetti-strap dress. The way her hair fell over her shoulders with soft curls aroused me.
“You look incredible, but I’m still concerned that you didn’t ask who was at the door.”
She let out a light laugh. “I knew it was you. Trust me. But to put your mind at ease, I always ask.”
“I hope so.”
Her apartment looked nice. Her living area had a light gray color on the walls, accented with a dark gray couch, matching chairs, and a glass coffee table and end tables. The kitchen was on the small side with dark cabinets, a black granite countertop, and all stainless-steel appliances. I was surprised at how nice it looked.
“It smells good in here,” I spoke as I followed her into the kitchen.
“I hope you like chicken.”
“I do.”
I stood there and watched as she cut up some cucumbers. I was getting overly nervous that she was going to cut herself.
“Can I help you with anything?” I asked. “Maybe I can cut those cucumbers for you.”
“Thanks, Ethan, but I got this. Am I making you nervous with this knife?”
“Just a bit.” I chuckled.
“Don’t worry. I cook all the time. I know what I’m doing. I was trained.”
“Trained?”
“After the accident, my aunt sent me to Lavelle Institute for the Blind. I learned to read Braille, and they taught me how to live independently. I’ve had many years of training. So don’t worry about me cutting up some cucumbers.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t?—”
“Don’t apologize. You have nothing to be sorry for. A long time ago, I accepted that I make people a little uncomfortable. That’s how the world works. People think they have to be careful around me, and they don’t. I’m just like everybody else. The only difference is I can’t see.”
“And you’re probably a hell of a lot smarter than most people,” I spoke.
“I don’t know about that.” She laughed.
She finished making the salad and took the bowl over to the table.
“Let me help with something.”
“No. Just go sit down and relax. I’ve got this.”
I sighed as I sat at the table and watched her pull the chicken from the oven. She inserted a thermometer in the middle, which read her the temperature.
“Perfect,” she spoke as she took down two plates from the cabinet and placed a piece of chicken on each with a baked potato and green beans.
She stood in front of the table, holding the plates. “Which seat are you sitting in? Twelve o’clock, three o’clock, six o’clock, or nine o’clock?”
“Umm.”
“Look at where I’m standing and pretend you’re a clock.”
“Twelve o’clock.” I smiled.
She walked over and set the plate perfectly in front of me while setting hers at three o’clock.
“Would you like some wine?” she asked.
“I’d love some.”
“Red or white?”
“Whatever you’re having.”
I sat there in amazement at how flawlessly she cooked and served dinner. She set my wine glass down in front of me and then took her seat.
“What do you do all day?” I asked as I cut into my chicken.
“I read and tutor kids online during the summer for extra income.”
“Tutor kids? Tutor them in what?”
“English.”
It was a good thing she couldn’t see the expression on my face because I was sure she’d be offended by it.
“I don’t understand.”
She gave me a small smile. “I’m a teacher. I teach English Lit over at Roosevelt High School.”
“In Brooklyn?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“I—”
“You don’t understand how a blind person could teach a class, right?”
“No. Yes. I mean?—”
“It’s okay, Ethan. I get that same reaction from everyone. I graduated from NYU and did my student teaching at Roosevelt. When I graduated, they offered me a job as a full-time teacher, teaching eleventh grade. Actually, I have to report to school on Monday to get things set up, and school starts on Tuesday.”
“How long have you been teaching?”
“This will be my second year.” She carefully picked up her wine and took a sip.
“Have you always wanted to be a teacher?”
“Ever since I was ten years old. I wanted to help others like I was helped. I was a child when I lost my sight, and it was the most difficult time of my life. Trying to adapt to a world of darkness was something I didn’t think I could do. But I did, and I owed it all to my teachers at Lavell and my aunt and uncle. I could sense the gratification they got when they taught me something, and I wanted to experience that.”
“Why English Literature?”
“I fell in love with it when I was first introduced to Shakespeare. For me, it was a new way of seeing the world, their world, and the time it was written. When I read someone like Jane Austen or Ernest Hemingway, even Shakespeare, I am so absorbed in their writing and stories that I get lost, and sometimes I forget I’m blind. If that makes sense.”
I stared at her as a small smile crossed my face.
“It does make sense. Roosevelt is a tough school. Not the school, but the kids. I’m really surprised you like teaching there.”
“Many students there come from broken homes, and some are just there because they have no choice. But when they walk into my classroom, they walk into another world. They feel my passion, and they become passionate about it after a while. If I can help one student follow their dreams, then every day of teaching is worth it.”
This woman was incredible as far as I was concerned, and the more we talked, the more intrigued I became about her. I desperately wanted to reach out and run my hand across her cheek because controlling myself in her presence was becoming difficult.