Chapter 6 #3
We watched each other for a long moment. My instinct was to give comfort, to hug him or ask if he wanted to talk about it or if there was anything else I could do to help. But I’d promised myself I wouldn’t offer something that wasn’t wanted. I’d stop reaching for lifelines that had cut themselves.
Danny took a step back. “Well, I’ll let you get back to it. Thanks, Bon. I know it’ll really lift her spirits to see you.”
He left as suddenly as he’d arrived, work boots squeaking on the linoleum.
I didn’t know how long I stared at the doorway, forcing myself to breathe in and out.
Danny had touched down like a tornado, uprooting and leaving destruction in his wake.
Eventually, I finished grading and packed up my belongings. April had been sick most of the week with a stomach bug, so she wouldn’t be walking out with me. I’d packed up Cocoa on Wednesday and taken her over to April’s house along with some crackers, applesauce, and drinks with electrolytes.
The hallways were quiet. I’d stayed later than usual, and the custodian would be through in a little while to lock up.
The news of Diane’s health decline weighed heavily on me, slowing my steps. She’d been through so much already. A breast cancer diagnosis nearly a decade ago, followed by surgery and chemotherapy. I hated the thought of her battle ending this way.
My pace slowed outside of Angie Morris’s classroom, the night-light catching my attention through the window in the door. Little Oreo was alone again for the weekend, from the looks of it. I stepped closer and watched the bunny hop to the other side of the cage.
It was probably my heightened emotional state that made me impulsive. That was really the only explanation I had for why I tried the knob on Morris’s door and then quickly slipped inside when it opened.
I located Oreo’s carrier and supplies in the storage closet.
And twenty minutes later, I found myself struggling to exit the side door next to the cafeteria with a giant cage in my arms. Once I’d loaded it into my car, I glanced around to make sure no one had seen me. Then I collapsed into the driver’s seat and released a long breath.
“It’s just for the weekend,” I told the black-and-white rabbit in my passenger seat. “I’ll bring you back early on Monday, and no one will ever know you were gone.”
I could see Oreo’s nose twitching agreeably behind the mesh side of her carrier, and it felt a little like having a partner in crime.
Grinning, I started my car. “See, this would be an excellent time to nickname someone Clyde. Not when they’re puking in your bathroom.” I looked at Oreo seriously. “Don’t puke in my bathroom, okay?”
I got Oreo set up at home, keeping her mostly out of the bedrooms. I was scared I’d lose her under a bed or something. Plus, I thought it would be easier for her to get used to my house if she wasn’t overwhelmed at first.
Not that she needed to get used to anything. This was a one-time thing.
Probably.
I watched as she hopped and sniffed.
Then I dragged a hand across my mouth, fighting hysteria. I’d stolen a rabbit from a second-grade classroom. Good lord, was this rock bottom?
Oreo and I watched three episodes of a 2000s sitcom on my laptop in the living room. She sat with me and let me stroke her ears, and she made me laugh when she started nibbling my socks.
It was nice to have some company, especially tonight when my thoughts were mournful and tinged with heartache.
That night, as I lay in bed, I wondered what it would have been like to get the news of Diane’s prognosis if Danny and I were still married. I could have been a source of comfort for the Jensens. I would have made meals and stocked their fridge. Visited and called, taken Diane to her appointments.
I would have wrapped Danny in my love, and we could have faced the heartbreak of loss together. That was what you did with a partner. Except now, he didn’t have anyone to lean on, to help carry the weight or bear the burden.
But neither did I. And I didn’t even have the right to mourn Diane as my family anymore. That had been taken from me, too.
Shame had me roughly scrubbing the tears from my cheeks. I was being incredibly selfish.
So I was relieved by the distraction when my phone lit up on my nightstand just after midnight. And then I was shocked because right there on my screen was a text message from Jack Ellis.
Jack: You up?
Jack: Okay, I realize how that sounded. I meant, are you awake, having trouble sleeping?
I laughed, the tearstained skin tight around my eyes as it crinkled in sudden amusement. For one wistful moment, I thought about what it would be like to get a booty-call text from Jack.
I braced for panic, for the sinking sensation of betrayal, to feel like I was cheating on my husband. But it never came. All I felt was the lightness of possibility, the flip in my belly that was attraction and giddy disbelief. A warmth settling low in my middle.
My mind went to places covered in tattoos.
The dark scruff on his jaw. Little round glasses perched on a masculine face.
I tried to imagine him in this bed. Knocking quietly on my door and sliding under the covers.
His face was a solemn, stoic mask. Calm and cool and unaffected.
I wondered what it would take to get that mask to slip.
Then I shook off the daydream with a regretful laugh and started typing, begging myself not to make it weird.
Me: I’m up.
Favorite movie theater snacks, he texted immediately, like he’d been waiting all day to ask.
I smiled, allowing myself the little fantasy. What was one more in the secret quiet of my bedroom?
Me: Popcorn with an obscene amount of butter, Cookie Dough Bites, and a fountain Coke. I will not be entertaining any other offers or taking questions at this time.
A pause before the bouncing dots appeared.
I let myself have another little daydream, one where I imagined that little pause meant he was laughing on the other end of our conversation.
Jack did that sometimes—waited for a beat or two before he started typing.
Just for tonight, I’d believe it was because Jack found me amusing.
He was, of course, too cool to use an emoji to convey his delight over my obvious charm. Obviously. And a GIF? Unheard of.
But Jack, leaning against his headboard, glasses on and smiling down at the screen of his phone. That, I could believe.
At least for tonight.
Jack: Another acceptable answer could be . . . Dr Pepper and popcorn with butter and Reese’s Pieces mixed in.
Me: I will consider it.
Another pause. I rolled onto my side, grinning.
Jack: Three favorite alcoholic beverages.
Me: Low blow, Ellis. I’m still abstaining.
The longest pause yet. Then, How could I be so inconsiderate? Three favorite holidays?
I considered the question for a moment.
Me: Halloween, Christmas Day . . .
Me: And my favorite is Christmas Eve.
Jack: There’s a difference between Christmas Day and Christmas Eve celebrations?
Me: Christmas Day was smaller, but still good.
That had been my time with Danny and his family. Diane and I used to put together a delicious brunch for the Jensens. My memories were shadowed with sadness now for a variety of reasons.
Me: But Christmas Eve night is our big party out at the farm.
And when I was a kid, it was a really big deal.
I liked the food, of course, and being with my cousins and aunt and uncles, but there was just something magical about Christmas Eve.
Cold, clear nights, twinkle lights, and so much possibility.
I remember all the excitement we had about Santa coming.
My dad and uncles took it seriously. They’d stomp around on the roof after we went to sleep.
Then leave tracks in the yard for the sled and reindeer.
Me: It’s just always seemed like there was so much hope. So, it’s always been my favorite. Even as an adult, with the magic gone, the possibility is still there, you know. Like anything could happen on Christmas Eve.
I’d typed a lot, and Jack had gone suspiciously quiet. I wanted to kick myself for making a big deal about family and holidays. It had never been a secret that Jack’s homelife was different than mine.
So, I attempted to change the subject and sent Favorite ice cream?
The three little dots appeared, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
Jack: Rocky road, cookie dough, and vanilla
Jack: How about office supplies? I know you have at least three favorites of those.
I smiled drowsily. Sleep was catching up to me, chasing me down against my will for once. But I was grateful Jack had reached out tonight. I didn’t know what it meant, if anything. But it went beyond feeding my juvenile crush with more of his time and attention.
He didn’t know—couldn’t know—but he’d given me comfort when I’d needed it. A soft place to rest my head for just a moment, long enough to gather myself before anything else broke apart.
Me: I know you’re teasing me, but I actually do have favorite office supplies. Let’s do three favorite pets instead.
Jack: Can I answer dog for all three?
Me: I suppose, if you’re breaking the rules.
Jack: Sort of my MO, but since I know you’re such a stickler, I’ll add cat and . . . turtle to the list. Why, what are yours?
After a slow blink, my eyes drifted to the cage in the corner of my bedroom. I could hear Oreo drinking from her water dispenser.
Me: I don’t know. I’ve heard rabbits make great pets.