6. Callum
6
CALLUM
“You can drop me off here.” Chloe started reaching for the handle of the passenger door while I was pulling up to the stop sign a few blocks away from the high school. She had the door open before I even came to a full and complete stop.
“I’ll pick you up at—” My words were cut off when she slammed the door. “—three,” I finished.
As I watched her disappear in the sea of other teens on the sidewalk, I wondered how today was going to go. This was her first day back since she’d lost her mom. Would she be okay? Were all of her teachers aware of what she’d been through? Did she have a close group of friends to support her?
Since she got home Friday morning after going MIA on NYE, I broached the subject several times. I asked her about school and her social life, but she’d given me short, one-word answers. I couldn’t blame her for not opening up to me. I was a complete stranger to her.
Over the weekend, she’d spent a lot of time out in the barn with Lady. I’d seen her have long conversations with Buzz. She’d played video games with Matty. This morning, she seemed happy to see my mom. But it was very clear she was not my biggest fan. I wasn’t sure how I was going to bridge the gap and form any sort of relationship with her. All of my attempts so far had ended in a crash and burn. The harder I tried, the more she pulled away.
I pulled up to the stop sign and signaled to make a left toward the elementary school when a car passed in front of me with a blonde in the driver’s seat. For a split second, I thought it was Nadia behind the wheel. The driver glanced to her left and I discovered it wasn’t. My entire body exhaled, and my heart started beating once again. It wasn’t her—this time. But the reality was, sooner or later, I was going to see her. We would be face-to-face. This town was too small to avoid her.
At some point, our paths would cross. In the years we’d been apart, I’d run through what that scenario would look like hundreds, maybe thousands of times. Would I catch a fleeting glimpse of her driving by in a car? Would I walk into a shop, she’d have her back to me, then she’d turn around in slow motion like in the movies? Would I walk around a street corner and bump into her, she’d look up at me, and our eyes would meet? In each one of these cinematic vignettes, time stood still, and romantic music swelled.
But those were just fantasies. Now that I was here, in town, and confronted with the inevitability of our reunion, I knew it was going to be anticlimactic at best, awkward at least, and agonizing at worst.
The truth was, I hadn’t kept tabs on Nadia during our time apart. I hadn’t even uttered her name since I left town a decade earlier. I had no idea who she was now.
I didn’t know what she looked like. If she had a boyfriend. If she had a husband. Or if she even lived here. I assumed she was still in town, but I could be wrong.
Over the years, a few of my friends had come to my fights and we’d hung out afterward. But none of my boys brought up my ex, and I hadn’t asked about her. It didn’t surprise me they didn’t mention her after the way we ended. Even though I never told a soul. I was sure everyone in town knew she hooked up with Jerry Clemons the day after my dad’s funeral. We weren’t technically together at the time, but that was just semantics. We’d broken up plenty of times and never been with anyone else.
Part of me wanted to rip off the Band-Aid and see her, but another part of me was scared of what would happen when/if I did. I wish I could say that I got over her—that the past was the past—and I moved on. But that wasn’t the case.
The last time we broke up—and I say last time because we broke up so much—was traumatic. It destroyed me. I never properly dealt with it. I just forced myself to stop feeling my emotions because they were too much. I numbed myself. I became a shell of what I used to be so that I could function. That was, I discovered, easier to do when everywhere I turned, everywhere I looked, there weren’t memories of her.
I pulled into the parking lot of the elementary school and once again pushed Nadia Carson from my mind. I’d had ten years of practice doing it, so I was pretty good at it. Thankfully, the elementary school was the one place that was safe. Nadia was a year younger than me, so we weren’t in any classes together in elementary. Plus, she was absent a lot because of her home life, before she was old enough to walk to school. So she wasn’t on my radar until she was twelve and I was thirteen. Firefly Elementary held zero memories of Nadia Carson.
As I reversed into a parking space and looked up at the steps leading up to the office of the two-story brick building with an arch and white columns at the entrance, I was struck by how different the building appeared. It looked so much smaller than I remembered. It used to seem so large and imposing; now it seemed quaint.
I glanced up in the rearview mirror. “Alright, little man. Are you ready for your first day at your new school?”
Matty nodded as he put on a brave face. Beneath his smile, I could see he was nervous. As shitty as I felt that I’d had to pull him out of his school back home, where he had a solid group of friends, I just didn’t think it was right to pull Chloe out of school halfway through her freshman year, not after losing her mom.
I got out and opened the back door. Matty climbed down from his booster seat, and we headed up the front steps to the office. He held my hand, and I squeezed his.
“I went to this school when I was your age.”
Matty’s head tilted up, and his big brown eyes stared up at mine in awe. “You did?”
“Yep. I did.”
“What was your teacher’s name?”
“My first-grade teacher’s name was Mrs. Cardoza.”
“Did you like her?”
“I did, yeah.” I nodded. “She was great!”
“Do you think she’ll be my teacher?” Matty asked as I pushed open the door and held it open for him.
“No. I don’t think so.” She died fifteen years ago, so teaching would seem pretty unlikely, at least without some really strong smelling salts.
“Callum Knight.”
I heard my name coming from a woman’s voice and lifted my head to see a vaguely familiar-looking face. I tried to place her, but without context, I was struggling. It had happened a few times since my return. Twice at the Piggly Wiggly and once when I was walking across the town square heading to the police station. People seemed to remember me, but I was not fairing as well.
“Leanne Lyons.” She placed her hand on her chest. “Mark’s little sister.”
“Oh, right. Leanne, hi.”
Mark Lyons and I played football from Pee Wee all the way up until senior year. He went on to play in the NFL. He was one of the few people I’d seen since leaving town. He, Harlan Mitchell, and Jack Dawson, the police chief’s son, had all come out to see my bout in Vegas five years ago when Mitchell was playing major league baseball. They watched me in my biggest fight to date with Louis “Mad Dog” Martinez. It was the last time I’d stepped into the cage. It ended in a split draw, which would typically mean an immediate rematch because both fighters would want the opportunity to settle the score. That hadn’t happened.
Martinez had a health scare the week after the fight and announced his retirement, and at the same time, I took a step back for personal reasons. Matty needed me. I had to focus all my energy into raising him as—for all intents and purposes—a single dad.
“Wow, it’s been a long time!” Her smile spread from ear to ear as her eyes scanned me from head to toe. “You look…great.”
“Thanks.” I caught myself before automatically replying, “ You too .” From the predatory gleam in Leanne’s eye, I didn’t want to do anything to encourage or give her the wrong idea.
Leanne was a couple of years younger than her brother. I seem to remember her always wanting to tag along after us and Mark not wanting her to, which I would assume was typical. I wouldn’t know since I didn’t have siblings.
Or, shit…I guess I did. Fuck.
That was another layer of shit to this crap onion. Besides putting Nadia out of sight and out of mind, I’d also packed away my father’s mistress and his love child into two large suitcases of emotional baggage and buried them out in the Denial Desert where feelings go to die.
The truth was, I’d always wanted to have brothers and sisters. I asked for them every year for Christmas until I was eight and found out Santa wasn’t real. I then transferred my request from the jolly, white-bearded man to another bearded one and prayed nightly until I was in my teens. I tried to bargain with God saying I would stop cursing, get straight As, and do my chores without complaining for a whole year, but my negotiations fell on deaf ears.
I wasn’t the only one who wanted to expand the family. There were so many nights I overheard my parents talking when they thought I was asleep. My mom begged my dad over and over, cried even, saying how badly she wanted another baby. But my dad always refused. He wouldn’t come right out and say no; that would have been a mercy. No, he kept dangling the carrot in front of my mom. There was always an excuse; either money was too tight, or it wasn’t the right time because of his mayoral race, or he wanted to be in better health before they tried again, whatever excuse he could think of to string her along. Which was why finding out he had a child with someone else, a family that he’d named in his will and left the bulk of his life insurance to, was more than a stab in the back; it was betrayal on a psychologically cruel level.
“When did you get back in town?” Leanne placed her hand on my forearm.
“A few days ago.” I gently moved my arm away and put it around Matty’s shoulders.
“Where are you living?”
“I’m staying out on the family farm.”
“Have you seen Mark? He didn’t tell me you were back in town.”
“No, but I’m gonna hit him up. I’ve just been getting settled.” I looked down at Matty.
She blinked and then glanced down as if it was the first time she’d even noticed my son. “Is he, is this…is he yours?!”
“Yeah, this is Matty. Matty, this is Miss Lyons.”
Leanne crouched down to Matty’s level. “Hi, Matty.”
“Nice to meet you, Miss Lyons.”
“Oh, isn’t he just the sweetest?”
“I’m in that classroom right there if you ever need anything.” Leanne pointed to the door with the huge whale cutout on the front of it before standing up and explaining, “I teach kindergarten.”
“Oh.” I nodded as a bell rang out.
“It was good seeing you.” She placed her hand on my other forearm and then slid her nails down, raking them over the top of my hand. “I hope we can catch up soon.”
Isn’t that what we just did? I thought as I smiled and walked past her toward the office.
“I’ll tell Mark you said hi.” She wiggled her fingers at me.
I lifted my chin in acknowledgment as I opened the door and held it so Matty could walk in front of me. As we walked into the office, I was once again struck by just how small the school was. I felt like a giant walking in a dollhouse—well, not that extreme, but it did feel like the place had shrunk.
Above the dark oak counter of the front desk were the unmissable pink curly locks of Mrs. Marybeth Parker. Mrs. Parker had to be in her late sixties by now. She was the school secretary when I went to school and when my father did as well.
I’d spoken to her on the phone about getting Matty enrolled after I decided that I would be relocating here at least for the next six months and filled out all of the paperwork for his transfer.
“Callum Knight!” Mrs. Parker’s face lit up like the Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center as she stood up and reached over the counter to give me a bear hug. At just five foot, her arms barely fit around my neck even with me bending over.
I leaned into her embrace. The scent of soft baby powder, sharp disinfectant, and crisp citrus wafted through the air, bringing me back to a simpler time. I soaked up the feeling of nostalgia, absorbing it like a sponge.
When she released her hold, she placed her hands on my cheeks and beamed up at me. “I bet your mama is so happy that you’re back!”
“She is.” I nodded and then looked down at Matty.
Mrs. Parker peered over the countertop. “Oh, and this must be your son, Matthew.”
“Yes, it is. Matty, this is Mrs. Parker.”
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Parker.”
“You, too, Matty.”
The phone rang, and Mrs. Parker sat down in her chair.
“Go ahead and take a seat, and someone will show Matty to his class,” Mrs. Parker instructed before removing her clip-on earring to answer it. “Firefly Elementary. Yes. Okay.”
Before we had a chance to sit, I heard, “Callum Knight.”
I looked to my left and saw a man I didn’t recognize standing beside me. He wore bespoke dress pants and a button-down shirt. Italian leather shoes and a watch that cost more than most people’s monthly mortgage payments finished off his ensemble. His dark brown hair was styled to look like he’d just run his hand through it and left, but I knew that that haircut was a car payment at least. His olive skin, square jaw, green eyes, and perfectly symmetrical face did not read elementary school teacher. It just proved you shouldn’t judge a book by the cover, because his cover was saying elite, privileged asshole.
“Principal Lewis,” he introduced himself.
“Hi.” I shook his hand. “Callum Knight,” I introduced myself a second before realizing he’d already said it.
“I just wanted to be the first to welcome you and Matty,” he motioned down to Matty, “to Firefly Elementary. Why don’t I show you both around before taking you to meet your teacher?”
“Sounds good.”
Matty reached up and took my hand as Principal Lewis led the way through the cafeteria, bathrooms, music room, and library. We were headed to Matty’s class when Principal Lewis got a phone call.
“I’m so sorry, I need to take this. It’s my wife, and she’s eight months pregnant.”
“No worries.”
Principal Lewis walked down the hall to take the call when I heard my name. I turned around and saw another familiar face standing in an empty classroom. I recognized this face immediately.
“Mr. Hendrix?” I walked inside the room, happy to see he was still rocking sweater vests. “Why aren’t you at the high school?”
Mr. Hendrix was my English teacher junior year.
“Oh no, no, no, no. Teenagers these days are not for me. I cannot compete with Snapchat, Instagram, or TikTok.” He shook his head.
“Where are your students?” I looked around at the empty desks.
“Raptured,” he stated with a straight face before grinning. “No, they have P.E. this period so it’s my prep.” He shook his head. “Callum Knight, you are a sight for sore eyes.”
“You have sore eyes?” Matty asked with concern.
“No, that’s just a figure of speech,” I explained.
“Oh.” Matty’s head tilted to the side.
I was sure I’d be explaining what figure of speech meant later.
“Matty, this was my favorite teacher, Mr. Hendrix.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Hendrix.”
“Nice to meet you, too, Matty.”
“Can you be my teacher?”
Mr. Hendrix smiled, then glanced at me and back at Matty. “Not this year, but I know, if you’re anything like your daddy, then you will love your teacher.”
I was about to ask who Matty’s teacher was when Matty asked, “Why do you have ears and eyes and hands and glasses and pencils on the wall?” Matty pointed to the four walls where the large posters were hung. One wall had ears, one had eyes, one had hands, and one had glasses and pencils.
Mr. Hendrix looked up at me, then back down at Matty. “I know it’s your first day, but do you think we should give your dad a test?”
Matty’s eyes lit up, and he smiled as he nodded.
“Okay, Callum, do you remember what the signs on the walls represent?”
I grinned. “I do.”
Of course I did. Those represented the reason why I had enjoyed his class. Mr. Hendrix didn’t teach information to be memorized and spewed back in tests. He taught critical thinking before it was trendy to do so. He empowered students by educating them about their learning styles, which were either visual, auditory, kinesthetic, or read/write. On the first day, we took a test and then were split up into groups. Each lesson he gave had different tasks, sheets, projects, and homework depending on your group. It was the most fun I ever had in school, before or since.
“Those are the ways people learn. Some people learn by seeing, some by hearing, some by touching things, and some by reading and writing.” As I described each learning style, I pointed to the eyes, ears, hands, and glasses and pencils.
“Cool.” Matty did a three-sixty circle as he stared up at the posters.
“There you are.” Principal Lewis stuck his head in the room. “I thought I lost you.”
We said our goodbyes to Mr. Hendrix, with him asking me to promise not to be a stranger, which I happily did.
On our way to Matty’s class, Principal Lewis lowered his voice, saying, “I just wanted to say, it’s a good thing, what you’re doing for Chloe. She deserves a break.”
I wasn’t sure if he was just saying that because of her situation or if he knew her personally. I hoped it was the latter. I might be grasping at straws, but anyone who could give me some insight into her would be helpful.
“Do you know Chloe well?”
“I was the vice principal of the middle school last year. She was in my office a lot .” He grinned. “She’s really smart and gifted. She’s a good kid despite her best efforts not to be. She’s not as tough as she wants you to think she is.”
I nodded. I could see that he genuinely cared about Chloe. It was the most information I had regarding my sister. I wish I had more to go on. I still felt totally lost as to why Danielle had named me her guardian.
“Here we are.” When Principal Lewis opened the door, I was lost in my thoughts.
“Matty, this is your new teacher, Miss Carson.”
Carson. I blinked when I heard Nadia’s last name. When I opened my eyes, I couldn’t believe what I saw. It was Nadia. Everything around me disappeared, and time stood perfectly still. I forgot where I was, who I was, and what I was doing. My mind went blank.
I stood there, my feet cemented in place, staring into eyes I’d seen thousands—tens of thousands of times before. Eyes that I had to actively try not to see every time I closed my eyes. Eyes that showed up in my dreams. Eyes that I got lost in. Eyes that healed me. Eyes that saved me.
They were the same eyes I’d seen on the pier twenty years ago. The same eyes I’d looked into the final time we’d broken up ten years ago. The same eyes I could easily drown in now. They held a power over me still. They were magnetic. Round and framed with thick, dark lashes, the bluest eyes I’d ever seen—an iridescent turquoise in the center surrounded by a navy ring—that held me captive.
“Mr. Knight. Mr. Knight.”
Principal Lewis’s voice barely registered as my heartbeat thudded wildly in my chest. In all the scenarios I’d imagined, Nadia being Matty’s teacher had never been one. The last thing I’d heard was that she’d left school early and moved home to Firefly. I didn’t think she’d finished her degree.
“Mr. Knight, is everything okay?” Principal Lewis asked.
“Yes.” I blinked. “Sorry, I just…zoned out.”
I glanced over at the principal, and then my eyes darted back to Nadia, as if to make sure she was still there. It was like my brain thought she was going to disappear if I looked away from her for even a moment.
She lifted her arm stiffly, in the awkward, cute way she always did when she was nervous or uncomfortable. “Hi.”
Hearing her voice allowed me to exhale a breath I hadn’t known I’d been holding. When I did, I felt myself get a little dizzy. Which meant I must have been staring at her silently for much longer than would be appropriate.
“Hi.” I replied back, not sure if I should disclose that we knew each other.
Was that some sort of conflict of interest?
No. What the fuck? Of course it wasn’t. This wasn’t a court case, or a police investigation, or a surgeon operating on someone. This was a small town. Nadia had to know most of these kids’ parents.
“Okay, well. We should probably let Miss Carson get back to her lesson.”
“Right. Yeah.” I looked down and saw that Matty was sitting at a desk with three other students and wondered how long I’d been standing there like a zombie. “See you after school.”
Matty’s lips were in a flat line, and his eyes were twice their normal size. He was being brave, which I was proud of, but it still broke my heart walking away from him. As I left the classroom, I couldn’t help but look over my shoulder once more. When I did, I saw Nadia crouched down beside Matty speaking to him. She was explaining where his desk was and where he could put his backpack.
Two things struck me. One, she looked exactly the same and totally different at the same time. It was inexplicable. She still had all the same features, but they’d somehow become even sexier, even cuter, even more beautiful. Her lips were fuller. Her eyes were larger. Her cheekbones were a little more defined. Her cute button nose somehow fit her face even better. She’d become a woman, and it looked good on her.
The other emotion I felt was more complex to describe. As I watched her speaking to my son, there was a tightness in my chest that was difficult to explain. It was like I was seeing a glimpse into an alternate timeline where Matty would have been ours.
After saying goodbye to Principal Lewis, I walked down the steps of the school and even in the fresh air found it difficult to catch my breath. I got into my truck and sat in silence, staring at the steering wheel. The Band-Aid had been ripped off. I’d seen her, and I had a few answers.
Nadia Carson was in town.
She was a teacher.
And she had no ring on her finger.
Which shouldn’t matter to me, but it did.
.