59. Nathan
fifty-nine
“…like to share any final thoughts?”
I blink at the meeting agenda in front of me. The lines are blurry. I have been in the stratosphere for most of this staff meeting, letting Don take the wheel. Ordinarily, I’d have prepared half the talking points, but when staff meetings happen before school, most teachers are okay with them ending early to get to their classrooms, anyway.
“Nate?”
I snap out of it at the sound of Don’s voice.
“Sorry, what was that?”
“We were just talking about the sub shortage.”
I hope that my heartbreak isn’t visible on my face.
I swallow the bowling ball sized knot, straighten my tie, and glance down at the agenda—where Don has listed the slew of absences we’ll have in the upcoming weeks.
“Unfortunately, if we can’t get subs to cover, we’ll probably have to pull Lucy from her case load,” Don continues.
“Why don’t you tell Harding to call that little blondie back? We could use her as a floating sub?—”
I am up and out of my seat, finally engaged in this meeting, because the straw has finally broken my back.
“I have had enough of your language about her, Joe. You were warned.”
My chair clatters behind me from the force with which I push it. I can feel the heat emanating from my face. Don looks shocked. Joe Petersen is a mix of nervous intrigue, much like he had been that time in my office.
“Why don’t we talk about this in private, Nate?—”
“Why don’t you ask him what he was doing in private with that sub, Don.”
I am a volcano, lava pouring off of me in a steaming mess. The library is deadly silent. Don dismisses the rest of the staff, save for myself and Joe. As soon as we are alone, my voice drops to a timbre that is equally as lethal.
“Ms. Benson and I were working on a behavior management system. Your deflection will not excuse the way you spoke about her in my office.”
My fists clench painfully at my sides, and Don, standing between us, looks from Joe to me and back.
“What’s this about, Joe?”
For a moment, Joe says nothing. Then he scoffs and runs a hand through his hair.
“Just talk, Don. Nothing to worry about.”
“Talk you were warned about. Don, I’m putting my foot down about this. He doesn’t get to disrespect her. Doesn’t get to disrespect others in this building due to his seniority.” It doesn’t have a place in this conversation, but I tack on, “Doesn’t get to continue disregarding the curriculum, either,” for good measure.
Don sighs, long and low, then runs a hand over the top of his head.
“Joe, we’ll uh… We’ll set up a meeting about this. You’d better get to class. Bell’s about to ring.”
Joe stomps off, crumpling his meeting agenda in his grasp as he goes. Don looks up at me, dumbfounded.
“You know I have to ask, Nate. Are you involved with her? She’s an employee.”
“Was an employee. And no. She wants nothing to do with me.”
I leave him there, steam billowing in my wake. I can’t even hang my head high after that, my victory lying at the feet of the truth that Claire is no longer mine to defend.
“Harding, bro. You’re not letting me win, are you?”
I blink the chess board back into focus. For a moment, my eyes had gone cross, shifting the black and white tiles into a three-dimensional pattern that lifted off the paperback board, making me dizzy.
“Sorry,” I say, shaking my head as my gaze meets Rocco Thatcher’s smirk.
We started chess club last week.
Right now, it’s the only activity keeping me from going insane.
I left her in my bed with a note of goodbye, and that was that.
She didn’t come find me, like I had half-expected and half-hoped for. Didn’t seek me out like she had the first time I’d tried to push her away. She simply finished out her time in eighth grade, and turned in her badge and key in the office without so much as a goodbye.
I’ve been hollow ever since.
I tried to convince myself that pushing her away was for the best, but in her absence, I’ve been letting my subconscious bully me.
You’re pushing her away because you’ve convinced yourself that you don’t deserve love, Nathan. You let her go because you’re afraid of life tearing her away. The only person you’re punishing is yourself.
For once in my life, I let those thoughts out of the cage I’ve trapped them in. For so long, I let myself believe that it was one’s present that defined them, when all along, I’ve been puppeteered by my past without even recognizing it.
Claire was right. I am afraid. I’m petrified of letting something bad happen to someone I love and then letting guilt anchor me once again to the ocean floor.
I do love her.
Claire.
I think I fell for her the moment she saw my scars and held onto me instead of pushing me away.
And what did I do in return?
Well. She isn’t here with me now, is she? She’s not waiting for me to get off work so that I can repaint her chipped manicure and make her herbal tea while we can wind down from our days together. I have no idea when she’s starting classes, or where her internship is. She won’t be bringing her textbooks over to study in front of my fireplace, wrapped in her blanket cocoon. I don’t have the privilege of her life inside or outside of River Valley anymore and there is a gaping hole in my chest to prove it.
The visions I’d once had of us sharing morning tea on my front porch during the summer have been swept away by the loneliness I’ve caged myself in, and my heart aches every time I remind myself that I’m the one who did this.
I didn’t kill my parents. But I did kill whatever I had with Claire.
“I seem to be off my game today, Mr. Thatcher,” I say as he comes out victorious for the first time. “Congratulations.”
His fist-pump is more reserved than the agitated, defiant boy whom I’d met at the beginning of the year.
“What’s her name?” he asks, pumping his brows beneath the backwards brim of his snapback hat. It is the same question that my brother had asked me several weeks ago, and my chest tightens.
“I’m sorry?”
“You’re clearly distracted, bro. It’s gotta be a lady—being a principal ain’t that hard.”
I scoff, lifting a brow at him as my head dips. His cheeks redden, and I chuckle.
“If you’re having lady troubles, I can give you advice.”
“Oh really?” I ask, tilting back in my chair and spreading my thighs beneath the table.
“No cap, I’m seriously good with the ladies in seventh grade.” Rocco leans forward, elbows propped on the table, and steeples his fingers together. “What do you want to know?”
I huff a laugh, smirking in amusement.
“I uh… I’m not going to air my dirty laundry with you, Mr. Thatcher.”
“Well then, I guess I’ll have to guess. You fumbled, didn’t you?”
“Excuse me?”
“Whatever happened, it’s your fault.”
I scoff, leaning forward.
“What makes you think?—”
“Because.” He shrugs. “Dudes don’t like to admit they’re wrong. You’ve been pouting this whole game. If it was on your lady? You would have already talked. You’re just afraid to tell her you’re sorry.”
He leans back in his chair, arms crossed, smirking with his second victory of the day.
I swallow. Made by a middle school boy with a rap sheet longer than the bills currently hanging over my head. Thankfully, this little interrogation is interrupted when Aaron and Sam come barreling into the library.
“Harding! My guy!” Aaron says, clapping his hand over my shoulder. “Just the man we were looking for.”
Rocco pushes away from the table, stealing a plastic pawn from the board and pocketing it as a trophy.
“My mom’s probably here anyway.”
As he leaves, I turn to Aaron and Sam.
“What can I do for you, gentlemen?”
“Join us for a drink,” Sam smiles.
“Basically, our women are having a girls’ night, and we figured we’d gossip on our own.”
My heart thuds at the sound of the ladies’ plans. I’ll bet Claire is going with them.
The protector in my heart wants to send her a text, to make sure she’s safe. The angel/devil combo sitting on my shoulder sticks a wet finger in my ear to remind me that I don’t get to worry about her anymore.
Knowing that Aaron and Sam probably have insider information is the next best thing.
“I’ll get my coat.”
“We’re going to be in so much trouble for this,” Sam says.
“I will be grounded for life if Lucy finds out,” Aaron nods.
“I swear, I won’t tell a soul. Just help me.”
Anthony looks incredibly distressed. He folds the bill of his hat in his hands. The last time I saw him, he’d been doused in sixteen ounces of water. Now, he looks like he’d prefer that over the pain of whatever has been wailing on him.
“How do I say I’m sorry when I’ve fucked things up this badly?”
Oh. I lean in, elbows on the table, fingers steepled, needing to get in on this particular conversation.
“Have you tried talking to her?” Sam asks.
“She blocked my number, and stomps away anytime I get close.”
He shakes his head.
“Can I ask what happened between the two of you?” I chime in. “I only know what Claire told me.”
“Oh my God. While we’re here!” Aaron exclaims, his hand in the air. “You’re next! I’m supposed to, and I quote, ‘Go all Papa Bear on his ass.’ For my woman.”
“Granted, you did enough of the Papa Bear-ing during today’s staff meeting. Holy shit, dude.” Sam lifts his hand for a high five, but takes it away when my brows pinch together. “Is everything okay with Don?”
I sigh, scrubbing my hands over my head.
“Joe never caught Claire and I doing anything. It’s all hearsay. He did, however, own up to the comments he made. He’ll have to go through sensitivity training with HR.”
“Dude had it coming,” Aaron says, shaking his head. “He’s a headache and a half.”
“He needs to retire already,” Sam agrees.
“You could take over as the Big Dog!” Aaron says, enthusiastically slapping his palm to the table.
I wish I could hide my grimace.
“Not up your alley?” Anthony asks.
I clear my throat. Shake my head. Own the secrets I’ve only ever spoken aloud to Claire and then some.
“After being an administrator these past two years, it is more than clear to me that my heart is in the classroom. Not to say I won’t do my job to the greatest of my abilities, but if given the choice, I’d go back in a heartbeat.”
They each nod in understanding.
“For what it’s worth, we’re lucky to have you in the AP role,” Sam says. It is incredibly heartfelt.
“Absolutely. We needed someone like you,” Aaron agrees.
I thank them, and guide the attention back onto Anthony, who cuts back in, sharing his side of the story of what happened between him and Penelope.
“And she won’t give you the opportunity to explain?” I ask at its conclusion.
“No.” He shakes his head defeatedly, folding the bill of his hat in his hands. “No, she doesn’t want to hear it. And I completely understand. I did exactly what all of the men in her life have done. I’m not exactly sure I deserve another shot.”
Alarm races across his eyes at that thought, and I’m blown back to two weeks ago, when Claire tried to prove to me that I did deserve her.
“I don’t think that’s true,” I say, picking the worst moment to take her advice. But it might as well be put to some use. “You sound like you’re genuinely sorry, and that you want to make things right. You may have messed up, but that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve the shot to fix it, if she really means that much to you.”
“She does.” The pain in his aqua eyes is genuine. He runs a hand through his long, sandy hair, and exhales, falling back in his chair.
“Hey, uh, Nate?” Aaron interjects. “Might wanna take your own advice, my man.”
I blink several times, and mirror Anthony. Falling back in my chair. Bogged down by the weight of all that has transpired.
“I just…”
I am at a loss. I can dole out advice that sounds a lot like what I should be taking, but putting it into practice is a whole other story.
“What’s holding you back?” Sam asks.
“Aside from my own pride?” I laugh humorlessly, shaking my head. “Actually, can we table the discussion on my romantic life? I’m in a bit of a financial predicament, and I don’t know how to get myself out.”
The men nod. And for the first time in my life, I open up. Fully.
Aside from Claire, I’ve never unearthed all of these anxieties onto anyone. How my dad’s life insurance won’t cover property taxes forever on a house I’m keeping as a memorial. How I took on the role of assistant principal just to give myself a little more cushion, and how my own inheritance is sitting untouched due to the weight of my own guilt.
“Shit,” Sam says, lifting his own River Valley baseball hat off his head to comb his fingers through it. “That’s heavy, man. I’m sorry about your parents. I know how that feels. If you ever need to talk about it, I’d be down.”
He shared about the death of his own parents, and something in my soul flickered. Like maybe Claire was right. Dealing with this on my own for so long has been too harrowing. Maybe it’s about time I started to let others in—because after unearthing all of my baggage onto my subordinates—friends, maybe—I feel lighter.
I nod, and turn to Aaron as he says, “I can’t tell you exactly what to do with your money, but man, if that house is too much, don’t hold onto it.”
It’s a thought I’ve had one too many times. I can picture Claire all cozied up in front of the fireplace, and pinch my eyes closed to keep it there. Maybe it isn’t the place that creates the memories, but the people within them.
“Dude, I thought I had it heavy,” Anthony interjects, tipping back his beer bottle. “At least I can put all of my pain into manual labor.”
“I thought you were done with the garage?” Aaron asks.
“We are,” he nods. “Dad and I finished it up a couple of weeks ago. I’m starting on my dream house next.”
“Don’t you teach at Meadow Ridge?” I question.
Anthony nods. “I do. Always wanted to work in education. But my dad owns a construction company. He’s close to retirement, and my brother—who was going to take over this summer until he fell and shattered his shoulder—is out of commission, so I’ve been stepping in to help when I can. You can take the boy out of the toolbox, but you can’t take the tools out of his hands, I guess.”
A thought begins to formulate in my brain. Several, actually, swimming in slow laps with my untapped future in the center. As conversation switches over, I wonder if I really can have everything I’ve ever wanted without using my freedom as a payment.