Chapter 7 #2
Mr. Curtis sighed. “Anne, I appreciate your enthusiasm. But you’re young. Inexperienced. At your age, it’s easy to identify a little too closely with your students.”
My ears rang. I felt a wave of vertigo, as if I stood on the edge of a cliff, staring into the abyss.
“Parents who send their children to Ravenscrest expect us to adhere to certain standards,” Jim Curtis was saying. “We need to respect their rights as parents to have a say in the kinds of materials their children are exposed to.”
“What about the students’ rights?”
“The students don’t pay your salary.” A pause, as heavy as a threat. “I want you to apologize to Mr. and Mrs. Quinn.”
“Apologize for what? Doing my job?”
“Your job is to teach English. Not to make parents uncomfortable.”
My heart pounded, huge and hot in my chest. I twisted my fingers together. “Stories that make you uncomfortable are the stories that make you think. Isn’t that what schools are supposed to do?”
“All I’m asking is that you stick to the approved curriculum. And assure the Quinns that this…lapse of judgment won’t happen again.”
“I can’t promise that. Kids want books. They need books to understand the world. To understand themselves. I’m simply making those books available.”
“Not at this school.”
The cliff edge crumbled. “Are you…firing me?”
“According to Sarah Thompson, you’ve had excellent assessments,” Curtis said. “It would be a shame if you couldn’t finish out what remains of the school year.”
It was a lifeline, of sorts. I grasped it. “So I still have a job.”
“Miss Gallagher. Anne. I like to think of the Ravens—parents, teachers, administrators—as a team. As long as you agree to play by the rules…”
I stared at him, my mind buzzing.
He met my gaze, his eyes implacable. “I suggest that over the summer you give some serious thought as to whether Ravenscrest is the right fit for you.”
—
“He basically said that if a book isn’t on the end-of-year exam, it doesn’t belong in my classroom,” I told Chris.
We were sitting at his massive marble island, eating a Giordano’s pizza.
The overhead lights illuminated the kitchen like an operating theater.
His mother—or her decorator—had coordinated everything in clean whites and cool grays: white walls and cabinets, gray floors and furniture, a massive steel hood over an unused stovetop.
There was very little sign of Chris in his apartment—some medical texts, his bicycle on the wall, a framed photo of the two of us I’d given him for Valentine’s Day.
Chris helped himself to a second slice of pizza. “At least he didn’t fire you.”
Acid swirled in my stomach. “He threatened to.”
“Did you talk about it with your adviser? Susan?”
“Sarah. I couldn’t find her. She’d already gone home for the day.
” I pulled out my phone. She hadn’t answered my text, either.
I took another gulp of red wine, since the only beer in Chris’s refrigerator was an imperial stout aged in bourbon barrels or something and I had not, after all, gone to the grocery store.
“It’s probably okay. I mean, she’s always had my back before.
Besides, the school year’s almost over. Hiring my replacement is more hassle than it’s worth. ”
Chris chewed deliberately. Swallowed. “You know, my residency’s over at the end of June.”
But for once, I couldn’t be distracted. I didn’t want to talk about his job right now. Tonight, I was the one with the interesting work story.
“The thing is, the principal is supposed to support me. Not interfere with the way I run my classroom.”
“He’s your supervisor,” Chris said in a reasonable tone. “It’s his job to advise you. To keep you from making mistakes.”
“I didn’t make a mistake!”
He gave me a pitying look.
“What?”
“You just got back from your father’s funeral.”
“Yes?”
“Sometimes grief expresses itself as anger,” he said.
As if I were a patient in his psych rotation. I suddenly wanted to stab something. Him. Which…maybe proved his point?
Chris nudged the pizza box toward me. “Here. You’ll feel better after you eat.”
Placating the cranky toddler with a cookie. I scolded myself for the thought. What kind of girlfriend got upset with her partner for trying to take care of her? I took a slice of pizza. “He wants me to apologize to the parents.”
“That makes sense. This boy—”
“His name is Colin.”
“He’s, what, sixteen? A minor. His parents have the right to make decisions for him. When you’re treating a child, you always have to get the family on board.”
“His parents are part of the problem,” I said passionately.
“Colin is trying to find himself. Sometimes books are the only safe place kids have to explore who they are and how they feel. To understand they’re not alone.
” How would I have navigated my own life without Meg Murry and Anne Shirley, Jo March and Jane Eyre, to offer a road map and point the way?
“I know you’re trying to help. But what your students read for pleasure is hardly a matter of life or death.”
Had I noticed it before, that slightly condescending tone? Or was I too sensitive tonight? “Sometimes grief expresses itself as anger…” “Just because I’m not treating cancer doesn’t mean what I do isn’t important.”
Chris sighed. “I didn’t mean to belittle your work, honey. But don’t you think you’re being a little too idealistic? Maybe you need to—”
“Grow up?” I snapped.
“Adjust your expectations. You can’t save every student. Any more than I can save every patient.”
I put the pizza down, untasted. “You know, I could use some support from my boyfriend right now. I’ve had a bad day.”
“You haven’t asked about mine.”
Because that was our pattern. I always asked about his day.
“Okay,” I said, following our script. “How was your day, dear?”
“My Ewing sarcoma patient died.”
“Oh God.” My resentment melted. “The little boy? I’m so sorry.”
“We can’t control every outcome. You have to accept that.”
I felt immediately guilty, instantly at a disadvantage. “Of course. I only—”
“So you can see why I can’t do high school drama right now.”
I did see. But “high school drama”?
Chris got up to put our plates in the dishwasher, everything clean and in order.
I felt a flash of longing for my apartment, drunken piles of books and drifts of scribbled notes everywhere. The mismatched chairs from the flea market I swore I’d get around to painting one day. The dying plants obscuring my view of the fire escape.
“Sorry, but that sounds awfully dismissive,” I said.
Chris rubbed his face with one hand. “I’m sorry, too. I was hoping we could talk about something else tonight, that’s all. I’m exhausted. You have no idea what it’s like, having the responsibility for a child’s life in your hands.”
I flicked a glance at him to see if the irony was intentional. Nope.
“When?” I asked.
“What?”
“When can you talk about…” Me. “Us?”
“Actually, that’s what I was trying to do.”
I eyed him uncertainly. Was that what he was doing?
“Now that I’m going to be a fellow, I think we should live together,” Chris said.
My mouth fell open. “Seriously?”
He sat back, obviously satisfied with my reaction. “While you were gone, I looked at apartment listings.”
He wanted us to move in together! My heart expanded.
It’s not that I was in a rush to get married.
I’d barely even looked at wedding dresses recently (bingeing Say Yes to the Dress didn’t count).
But moving in together felt like a milestone accomplishment, like buying a house or having an actual career path or publishing a book, a sign that at least part of my life was following a preordained path. See? I could say. Someone loves me.
My mind darted in a thousand directions like a dog let loose on a flock of seagulls, picturing bright paint and bold prints and real bookshelves…
“We could get a dog.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Chris said.
I leashed my wandering thoughts and beamed at him. “I’m just saying we’ll have the space.” For all his things and mine.
“But not the time. My schedule—”
“I’d take care of it,” I said eagerly. “The dog. I could walk it after work.”
“When you remembered.”
I breathed through an unexpected pulse of irritation.
He was coping with the loss of a patient.
A child. Now was not the time to argue about my occasional absentmindedness.
“We could get a cat,” I offered. I was gone all day, too, during the school year.
And I liked cats. I wondered where the nearest shelter was.
Should we choose a kitten or an adult? Would he want to come with me to pick it out?
“Aren’t you going to ask where we’re going?” Chris asked.
“I don’t care.” What mattered was that he was choosing us. Choosing me.
He smiled. “The Decatur neighborhood is supposed to be nice. It’s close to the hospital, about six miles from downtown Atlanta.”
My brain stuttered. There was a Decatur Street, wasn’t there? A town, Decatur, in downstate Illinois. But…“Atlanta, Georgia?”
He nodded. “That’s where I was matched. Egleston Children’s Hospital in Atlanta. It’s part of the Emory University system.”
My lips were numb. My mind spun like the Blue Circle of Death on a computer screen. Application processing…
Don’t overreact, warned a voice in my head. My mother’s voice. “I thought you requested the University of Chicago for your fellowship,” I said carefully.
“I did. The University of Chicago, Northwestern, and Emory.”
“So, what happened?” That edge in my voice…That was my mother, too.
“Fellows are matched with hospitals based on rankings and preference. Emory was the higher-ranked match.”
“Based on their preference? Or yours?”
“Both, I suppose. It’s a great opportunity,” he said.
I stared. “For you.”
“For us.” He smiled. “You’ll love Atlanta.”
My leg was jiggling up and down. I made a conscious effort to still it. “When were you going to tell me?”
“I wanted to tell you right away. But then this thing happened with your father…”
“He died.”
“Yes. I didn’t want to bother you.” His voice was so warm, his gaze so clear, I felt myself relenting. “I thought you needed to focus on yourself. On your family.”
He was doing the same thing he did during the pandemic—making decisions from his superior knowledge and with the best possible intentions and expecting me to go along. The way he did at the hospital, guiding anxious parents through life-and-death choices for their child.
Except I wasn’t a child, dang it. I didn’t need a doctor. I needed a partner.
“You can’t make a decision like this for both of us.”
He looked wounded. “I thought you’d be happy. This is what you wanted, for us to move in together—to take the next step in our relationship. And now that your work situation is so unsettled…”
I felt as though we were skating over ice, playing crack the whip. I held on desperately, whipsawing on the end of the line. “But…Atlanta. It’s so far away. My job is here. My mom.”
“Your mother lives seven hours away. Besides, you could be looking for a new job, anyway. This is really for the best, timing-wise.”
I didn’t know what to say. “We still need to talk about it.”
“Now?” My expression must have changed, because he added hastily, “Of course. I don’t know what you want me to say, though.
The matches have already been made. There’s nothing I can do about that.
” He rubbed his face with one hand, his weariness evident.
“I was hoping on your first night home…But naturally, if you want to talk, I’ll listen. ”
His reasonableness made me feel guilty. Defensive. Did we really need to go into all this now? Yes, I wanted to shout. But I wasn’t sure.
I could hear my mother in my head. “It’s time for you to grow up.”
And another voice, deep and mocking. “Pest.”
My chest felt hot. “It’s only…It’s a big decision.”
“Which is why it should wait until we’re both less tired.” Chris met my gaze, his hazel eyes clear and entreating. A smile crooked the corner of his mouth. “Please?”
It was the please that did me in.
He wasn’t taking my choice away. Not on purpose, at least. It was in my power to give him this. To do what he wanted. To be who he needed.
I swallowed. “I guess we can talk later.”
But later didn’t come.
Five days after the funeral—four days after lugging my suitcase through O’Hare Airport, three days after my confrontation with Principal Curtis—I was brushing my teeth in the bathroom, getting ready for bed, when I coughed.
“It’s just a cold,” I told Chris when the cough persisted the next morning. Chris, with a superabundance of caution, insisted I get tested.
Two years into the pandemic, I had finally caught Covid.