Chapter 19
CHAPTER 19
E MILY
I glance down at my watch and note that I have twenty minutes of my lunch break left. It’s just enough time to get the last few chapters of this book read for my book club.
Christine, one of the second-grade teachers and a fellow Spicy Girl, is sitting in the chair next to me reading the same book, chuckling. What the hell she’s laughing at, I have no idea. We read steamy romance in the book club, but this book—Christine’s pick—is dark as hell.
“Hey ladies, do you mind if I join you?”
I glance up from my book to find that the deep male voice belongs to Martin, the new fifth-grade teacher at our school.
“Sure,” I smile up at him, then return to my book. Christine just grunts.
He’s quiet for a minute or two but then asks, “So, what did you think of the assembly this morning?”
The assembly was nothing out of the ordinary, and I get the hint that Martin is trying to make conversation. He’s new here so I get that.
I close the cover on my e-reader and place it on the table.
I smile at him. “It was fine. The kids enjoyed it.” I glance over at Christine, who has made no move to put her book down and socialize.
“How are you finding living in Elladine? It can be an adjustment if you’re used to a bigger city.”
Martin takes a sip of his soda before answering. He chuckles, then says, “Yes, moving from Dayton to here has definitely taken some getting used to. But I like it.”
I smile at him and reach for my sandwich, taking another bite.
“I’ve done some biking in the park system, which is amazing, and I’m joining a rowing team when the season starts, to meet some new people. Do you like outdoor activities? You should join.”
I can’t help but laugh. “I do love outdoor activities but more like walking and leisurely biking. Rowing sounds like torture. I’m more of a take a stroll or do yoga type of girl.”
“Oh, okay.” He pauses and glances over at Christine, who is still ignoring us in favor of reading her book. When he looks back at me, his pupils are dilated and he’s fiddling with his hands.
“So, um, I haven’t had much chance to explore the culinary scene. Are there any good restaurants in the area that are a must to try?”
“There’s a couple I really love but if you like Italian food, you have to go to Giuseppe’s.”
His face lights up. “I love Italian.” I catch him glance down at my left hand then quickly look back up to my face. “Would you be interested in checking it out with me this weekend?”
My stomach clenches and my heart bounds in my chest. Christine sets her book on the table and watches at me.
“Oh, um…” I’m overwhelmed with a need to get out of here. I dart my eyes around, as if I might find an exit nearer than the door across the room.
Martin misreads my actions, probably assuming it’s simple nerves.
“C’mon, it’ll be fun.”
I leap out of my seat. “Excuse me. I-I have to go.” I bolt from the room, not even grabbing my lunch bag or e-reader, but I’m already in the hall when I realize it and there’s no way I’m going back. I’ll get them later.
I rush to my classroom and look for a private place where no one will bother me for the last seven minutes of my break. The only area I can think of is the bathroom off our coatroom. I decide it’s my best option and hurry there, breathing a sigh of relief when I lock the door on the single stall room.
The bathroom was built for kindergarteners, so the toilet is quite low to the ground and smaller than an adult toilet. I’d probably fall off if I tried to sit on it. But I’m a little dizzy from the mini-panic attack I just had, so I give up and plant myself on the floor, leaning against a wall.
This is a new low for me. Hiding in a children’s toilet stall, sitting on the floor, near tears. My hands are shaking, and I feel nauseated. It’s been a little over six months since Teddy died and I’ve made a lot of progress in my grief journey with the help of my friends and my therapist. But Martin totally caught me off guard, and so did my reaction. I mean, Jesus, two weeks ago I just donated a thousand dollars for a dinner and dancing with Charlie, yet some guy I barely know asks me out and I lose it.
Charlie. It hits me I need my resource team that Annette taught me about right now. I mean, the ocean visualization has been a great help, but I haven’t used the resource team visualization yet. I guess now’s as good a time as any to try.
I close my eyes and imagine Trina here, squatting in front of me, holding onto my knees and making me feel protected and grounded. I breathe in through my nose for the count of four and exhale out through my mouth for the count of seven. Next, I imagine Shayna sitting next to me on the ground, my head resting on her shoulder. She’d tell me it’s okay that I freaked out in front of everyone in the lunchroom and that I’m here on the ground.
I chuckle, my tears slowing as I imagine her saying “Who gives a fuck what people think about you sitting on the bathroom floor. If anyone wants to give you shit about it, they’ll have to come through me first.” Shayna’s language gets increasingly foul when she’s angry or upset on behalf of someone she loves.
I continue my breath work, the dizziness and nausea subsiding. But I keep my eyes closed, still not ready to leave the stall. I imagine Charlie standing like a sentry at the door, knowing he’d never let anyone get by him to hurt me.
Between these three—my sister, my best friend, and my… my Charlie—I feel loved, safe, and protected. And not crazy for sitting on the bathroom floor.
I take three more focused breaths, then stand, and dust off the back of my pants. God only knows what is on these floors. After I step out of the stall, I wash my hands at the tiny sink just outside the room, and splash water on my face.
When I return to my desk, I find my lunch bag and my e-reader there, along with a note that reads:
Let me know if you need anything. Don’t worry, Martin won’t come down here to talk to you. Christine.
“Aw, she may act crass and rough around the edges, but she cares,” I mutter to myself.
Then, the bell rings and I take one more deep breath, preparing myself to smile when the lunch aide brings the twenty-four rambunctious five and six-year-olds back to my classroom.
* * *
CHARLIE
“I gotta hand it to you, when you suggested ‘the faintest lilac’ for one of the guest bedrooms, I thought I’d hate it. But I don’t.” I step back and look at the sample color painted on the wall. “I don’t hate it at all.”
“I knew it. Told you so.” Emily pokes me in the chest as if to prove her point. “And then we’ll use the dark gray for an accent wall in each guest bedroom to tie them together thematically, and they’ll both match the bathroom. Follow me and I’ll show you my idea for the Jack-n-Jill bath.” Emily’s excitement is palpable and I’m glad I asked for her input on the paint and bathroom colors for my upstairs.
When we’re in the bathroom, she explains how she thinks I should do white subway tiles with dark gray grout on the shower walls and then do the main bathroom flooring in dark gray tile. She suggests I paint the walls a light gray, with a charcoal gray or black vanity.
“But this wall here,” she spreads her arms over the large wall the vanity will go against, “this wall we’ll do in white shiplap. It’ll be gorgeous—rustic chic.” Her grin is bright and her eyes shine with excitement.
“Wow, you can really visualize this stuff, huh?”
She shrugs and tilts her head toward one shoulder. “Yeah, I guess so. It’s fun, imagining it all coming together. It’ll be much more fun than doing my house.”
I furrow my brow. “Why’s that?”
“I’m just fixing mine up to sell it. I’ll get to come back here and visit my masterpiece sometimes.” She winks at me. “Now come on, let’s go heat our Chinese food and eat before you get hangry.”
“Hilarious. Everyone who’s ever met you knows you’re the one with anger issues if you don’t stay well fed. Me—I just like to eat. I don’t turn into an ogre if I miss a meal, unlike someone else in this room.” It’s clear from my tone that I’m teasing her, and I’m happy we can have this light banter.
I make my way out to the hall, Emily following behind me and laughing.
Ten minutes later, we’re nestled on the couch in front of the fire, eating our dinner. We sit quietly for several minutes until Emily speaks.
“So, something happened at work the other day.” Emily’s voice trembles a bit.
Though I suspect she’s trying to sound casual, I know her well enough to pick up on the minor change.
I glance over at her and she’s looking down at her food. Not wanting her to feel pressure to look at me while we talk, I look away. That slight quiver in her voice tells me she’s at least a little uncomfortable with what she’s going to tell me.
“Yeah? What’s that?”
“A new teacher at school asked me on a date.”
Now I’m the one uncomfortable. I knew from accidentally overhearing about it the other day through our friends, but I guess I didn’t expect her to bring it up.
“Oh. And… um, what did you say?” I’m trying to keep my voice normal, but even to my ears, it sounds unusually quiet.
A sarcastic laugh erupts from Emily, and I glance back over at her. She places her food down on the coffee table and turns to look at me. “I didn’t answer him. In fact, I panicked and ran out of the lunchroom, then hid on the floor in the kindergarten bathroom, crying.”
I set my food down as well and give her my full attention. Even hearing her say something made her cry upsets me.
“You were crying?”
Now Emily releases a throaty laugh. “I tell you I hid on the floor in a miniature-sized bathroom and you’re most worried that I was crying?”
“Uh, yeah. Of course that’s what I’m worried about. I don’t care that you were on the floor, sunshine. I care you were upset. I don’t ever want you to be sad. The thought of you crying makes me want to crush something.”
The few feet between us suddenly seems too far, so I move closer to her. She glances down at her hands, which are clasped together on her lap. Without thinking, I reach over and tuck a stray strand of her hair behind her ear, and she looks up, smiling sweetly. Her smile is so devastatingly beautiful.
“Do you want to tell me about it?”
She wiggles herself into place even nearer to me and rests her head on my shoulder. I’m guessing it’s so she doesn’t have to look at me while she talks about it, but I’m not complaining.
“So, it happened on our lunch break. And logic would say I got upset because I’m not ready to date again yet. But that wasn’t what upset me. It’s because, right before he asked, he glanced down at my left ring finger. When he did, the fact that he wouldn’t find anything there slapped me in the face with my reality—I’m a widow at twenty-seven years old. And even if Teddy hadn’t died, my marriage would have still ended. What a shitshow my love life turned out to be. Maybe that’s because something is wrong with me.”
She quiets, and I wait patiently, sensing she has more to say. It’s killing me, though, not to tell her immediately that there’s not a damn thing wrong with her.
“I spiraled. I think it was a panic attack. There was dizziness, nausea, and I was so shaky. It felt like my heart was going to beat right out of my chest.”
I reach down and squeeze her hand. When I move to release it, she wraps her delicate fingers around mine, not letting me go.
“How’d you get it to stop?” I ask.
“I used my resource team.” She’s so matter of fact about it, I assume that is some sort of intervention team at the school.
“Wow. That’s pretty cool that the school has one of those. Are they volunteers, or paid staff?”
Emily lifts her head off my shoulder and leans away from me. When I glance at her, she’s smirking.
“Oh, they totally work for free.” She has that gleam in her eye she gets when she’s messing with me. She pulls her legs onto the couch cross-legged and positions herself, so her body is turned toward me. I relax further into the back of the couch and turn my head to her.
“What am I missing here?”
She giggles. “They work for free, because they are Trina, Shayna, and you. It’s part of my trauma therapy.”
I can feel my eyebrows squish together in confusion, and Emily grins then takes her index finger and aggressively uses it to smooth the area between my brows.
“A resource team is a group of people who make someone feel… positive things. They help someone deal with trauma triggers when they occur.”
“A-and I’m on your t-team?” I hate that my stutter returns, but it’s been a long time since I felt this nervous asking a question. What could I possibly offer a woman like Emily to warrant me a spot on her resource team?
Emily takes a few seconds and looks down at the couch cushion, picking at an imaginary piece of lint. Her cheeks fill with a rosy hue. When she looks up at me again, all playfulness is gone and her eyes are soft, her eye contact with me steady.
“Charlie, of course you’re on my team. You make me feel safe and protected. You always have. And, no matter what I do, you always see the best in me. I feel like I’m my best self, my brightest self, when I’m around you. I-I like who I am when I’m with you.”
We stare at each other for a moment, and I lean forward. Placing a hand on each of her cheeks, I kiss her forehead.
Not removing my lips from her forehead, I whisper, “First of all, going back to what you said earlier, there is nothing wrong with you. Not a damn thing. And, what’s not to like, Em? You’re the sun shining into a world that can be pretty fucking dark and gloomy sometimes. I’m just glad you’re starting to see yourself like I’ve always seen you.”