Chapter 23 #2
I pause on the stairs, watching him. I’m taken back to finals week in college, when he’d spread his papers across the living room floor and study until his eyes were glassy.
I used to doodle tiny hearts and stick figures in the margins of his notes, just to remind him he wasn’t alone.
It was intense to witness—the lack of sleep, poor nutrition, constant thrum of anxiety—but he always had this glimmer in his eyes: he loved what he was learning, who he was becoming.
That same glimmer is here now, shining, as he learns how Sawyer prefers his sandwiches to be cut and how Easton needs an even number of berries. He wants to know them. Steven wants to know his children. And this sends a tiny, vaguely familiar flutter blooming in my chest
“Mrs. Jones, you have to leave.” Cindy waves a tea towel toward the microwave clock.
Shoot. My shoes aren’t even on. I sprint upstairs, throw myself together, and skid back down thirty seconds later.
“You sure you’ll be okay?” I ask Steven, hopping on one foot to zip up my boot. “I’ll be back in three hours. I have the interview, and then I can grab lunch—”
I lose my balance, toppling toward the floor, but before I can hit the carpet, Steven’s thick arms are around me.
He lifts me easily, pulling me into his chest. My hands land against him, and suddenly I’m wrapped in heat and memory and the scent of coffee on his skin.
I’m momentarily lost in his eyes and the curve of his lip, the tilted smile that’s only for me.
I can feel his heart hammering into my chest, or maybe that’s my heart? The moisture on my tongue dries out as his hot breath caresses my lips. All breathing stops. We’re so close—closer than we’ve been in weeks.
His eyes drop to my mouth, and he swallows.
“Be careful,” he murmurs, voice low and rough in a way that makes my pulse trip over itself.
I clear my throat and step back, but the loss of him is sharp and unexpected, like I’ve lost an important appendage. I haven’t felt this way in years, this visceral pain that tugs on me when I’m apart from him.
These feelings scare me. What if they slip away when his memory returns? But they make my chest glow too. There’s something deeply romantic about rediscovering my husband, about the way love flickers back to life like a dimmed light surging to full glow.
“Are you sure you’ll—”
“Yes.” His smile is so easy that for one disarming second it erases everything we’ve been through. “I’m good here. Now go.”
He guides me toward the door with his hand firmly on my lower back.
The boys are already outside, their backpacks bouncing as they race to the car.
Steven hands me my purse then hesitates before deciding that giving me a side hug is safest. It’s an awkward interaction for all watching.
Even still, his fingers trail the waistband of my pants before he lets go.
It’s barely a brush but enough to jolt every nerve in my body.
And when I make it to the car… I’m breathless.
“You’re not supposed to be here.” I sidestep Malcolm, who is lingering in my office, and start my quick, yet slightly neurotic, morning routine. Bag under desk, computer on, coffee lid off, blinds open, and binders stacked.
“I just want to make sure she finds the right place.” Malcolm shifts on his feet as he glances out the window.
“We’re the only high school in a twenty-mile radius. I think she’ll be fine.”
“You can’t be too sure; she got lost in a gas station once.”
I arch a brow at him.
“She was six.”
“Exactly. Just go wait in your office, and I’ll call you when we’re done.” My shoo-ing is ineffective, so I physically turn him toward my door and shove him into the hall. “Please don’t make me fire you for a day.”
He scoffs out a laugh as he walks away. I grab the binder, my coffee and phone, then head to our conference room on the other side of the building.
On the way, I check the nanny cam. Even though it’s only been an hour, I can’t shake the nerves brimming under my skin.
But this time it has nothing to do with being away from Josie.
I can’t stop worrying about Steven.
One quick scan of the living room shows me they’re all there. Cindy on the couch, Josie on her playmat in the middle of the floor, and Steven…sitting right next to her. He’s hunched over, shaking a toy in front of her as she squirms, her head bobbing wildly.
They’re okay.
As if she can read my mind—or maybe the red viewing dot gave me away—Cindy looks at the camera and gives a thumbs up. Then she waves me off, mouthing go to work. I laugh and click off my phone. I need to give that woman a raise.
Inside the conference room is a large U-shaped table with a podium standing in the center. I shift some furniture around, making it more interview appropriate, then set out résumé copies. Daniels, Benny, and Ellie trickle in shortly after.
Benny is scanning the résumé like he’s preparing for a test, Ellie pulls out her sticky notepad, and Daniels sits at the edge of the table, closest to the door, like he’s already planning an early escape.
“Everyone ready?” I ask, even though we all know this is a formality. Experienced teachers are hard to come by, especially in the creative arts department. And with her being Malcolm’s sister, we’re all well aware of the subconscious obligation to give her a chance.
Ellie hums. “Bring in the new girl.”
A few minutes later, the door opens, and Mackenzie steps in. She’s about my age, maybe a little younger, wearing a navy blouse and a smile that’s polite but careful. Her long, blonde hair is pulled back in a loose ponytail at the nape of her neck.
We go through the basics at first: her experience, her certifications, her teaching philosophy. It’s all solid, thoughtful. But there’s a pause when Benny leans forward with his elbows on the table.
“So,” he says gently, but I know that curious undertone of his, “why apply for a new job in the middle of the school year? It won’t be an easy transition.”
Mackenzie’s crystal-blue eyes flick down to her hands folded neatly in her lap. “No,” she says softly, “it won’t be.”
She lets out a nervous laugh, and I feel the urge to kick Benny under the table. Ellie must beat me to it because Benny winces and reaches for his knee.
“I’m sorry,” he grunts out, “I’m not trying to make this difficult. I just want to be forthcoming.”
“That’s alright,” Mackenzie says. Then she sits up straighter, loosening her tight-gripped hands, and takes a readying breath. “Well, as some of you know…” Her eyes linger on Daniels for a beat before shifting to me. “I’m a widow.”
I knew this. Malcolm shared this with all of us. But it doesn’t make the words hurt any less.
“And not to be crass, Mr. Divata, but if I can survive that, I think I can survive a curriculum adjustment.”
We all let out a laugh, quiet but definitely amused. Benny beams at her spryness and relaxes back into his chair, the tell-tale sign that she has this in the bag in his mind.
“You know,” she continues, clearing her throat, “for the longest time, I was having a hard time coping. Every day felt like something to survive. But then I realized…it’s a beautiful thing to have something to miss.
” She gives a small, almost apologetic smile.
“It means I had something worth missing.”
The room goes quiet now, taking this in. Benny smiles at her, and Ellie gives her an encouraging nod. Daniels seems distracted but masks it by scribbling something on his paper.
But me? I can’t stop thinking about Steven. About the mornings where we argued over nothing, about the days I was wishing for quiet, wishing for space. I used to think love was supposed to get easier with time, that the hard days meant something wasn’t working. We weren’t working.
“I think the hard parts are a reminder that it was real. That part of my life was so real, and I’m grateful for that.
” Mackenzie’s eyes glimmer with tears as she forces a smile.
Whether it’s happy or sad, I don’t pry. I let her words ping back and forth in my brain, hitting all the soft spots. The vulnerable spots.
Is she right? Do the hard parts make it real? The anger, the exhaustion, the noise. They mean I’m still feeling something. Feelings that might be complicated, sure, but they’re feelings, nonetheless.
It’s a beautiful thing to have something that makes me angry and anxious and human. As messy as it is, it’s a part of my life, whether I want to acknowledge it or not. And I’ve been so afraid to feel anything.
Anything that could be a burden to someone, a challenge, a disruption, I’ve run from it. I’ve shut myself down, even considering tearing apart my family because I don’t want to face them. I don’t want to fight. But feeling anything at all means life is still here.
Steven is still here.
I am still here.