Chapter Fourteen
It was Sunday, and Julia finished organizing the last of the chaperone folders and did one final check for each grade level’s permission slips. She leaned towards her filing cabinet as she tucked the permission slips back to their safe location in a worn brown folder.
Out of the corner of her window, she saw movement in the parking lot. A group of men in suits and women in long fitted dresses exited the building, shaking hands as they made their way to ridiculously expensive BMWs and Teslas. It was the board of education, and on the sidewalk waving goodbye was Erin.
Julia looked at her watch. It was just past seven at night, and they never even notified Julia of its occurrence. She suddenly felt sick to her stomach. Every worst-case scenario flooded her mind like the water that floated Noah’s Ark.
What if she wasn’t invited because the meeting was about her? What if Erin finally gave them the ammo they needed to push her out? Everything she feared, everything that forced her to tiptoe around Erin, was now hurtling towards her in full force.
“I thought I saw the light in your office.” Erin’s voice appeared out of thin air.
She stood with her hip leaning against the doorway, a white blouse peeking out past her gray pant suit. How long did she sit staring out that window, contemplating where to go next?
“Hey,” Julia softly said. Her smile was weak, barely there at all. She couldn’t put on the mask, couldn’t think past the idea that Erin could have it in her to betray her like that. “Did you have a good meeting?”
“Yes, a very productive one, actually.”
“That’s nice,” Julia said dryly, turning her attention towards the planner before her.
“Is something wrong?” Erin asked, angling her head just slightly.
Julia sighed, the frustration coming out in one long exhale. “What was the meeting about?” she asked, and then added in a softer tone, “if you don’t mind me asking.”
“Just a review of the latest curriculum score evaluations,” Erin explained, her voice nonchalant. “I noticed you weren’t there.”
“I wasn’t invited.” The words left her mouth with more bite than she intended.
“Oh,” she shook her head apologetically, “I didn’t know.”
“How did it go?” Julia asked quietly, hurt scrolling across her face in long brushstrokes.
“Surprisingly very well. They were impressed with our long-term plan so far,” she admitted. Her voice was steady, so full of honesty that Julia thought she lost her mind.
“Did they say anything else?” Julia asked, trying so hard to push the desperation in her tone down. “About me?”
Erin sighed as she allowed more of her weight to press against that door frame. “They asked for an impromptu evaluation on you.”
“And?”
“I gave them one.”
Julia squeezed her eyes closed. This would be it for her career. It was over. Everything she worked for? Poof! Gone.
“Oh,” she sighed, leaning forward over her desk.
“Will you stop that?” Erin’s voice was a demand, her hands rising to her hip.
Julia looked up at Erin, now standing before her, completely startled by the tone of her voice. She was the one who used that voice on others; it was never the other way around.
“Stop all that sulking. I gave them a glowing review of the work you do here.”
“You did what?”
“You’re really going to sit there and act surprised?” Erin pulled up a seat next to Julia’s desk, the familiarity of a shared space reassuring them both instantly. Julia’s expression didn’t change. “Jules, really?”
“I, I–” she stuttered, completely unable to form a complete thought in her head. Erin, as stubborn as she was, just waited. “I’m sorry,” she blurted out at last.
“A little credit would be nice,” Erin said, her voice weighed down with disappointment. Julia didn’t know what to say next. With a sigh, Erin stood. “I’m going to get some work done in my office, if you need me.”
“Thanks.” Julia nodded as Erin walked towards the door. Just as she was about to disappear around the corner, she added, “Erin?” Erin stopped without a second thought. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“And I am sorry,” she paused, watching Erin’s eyebrow arch, “for everything.”
Erin gave a brief soft smile and disappeared into the hallway, leaving Julia with an excruciatingly unproductive rest of the night.
She stared at her work as the clock ticked past another hour, but she couldn’t focus on anything with the knowledge that Erin was just a few doors down. She had so many things to accomplish with the field trip Monday, but every single sentence she read, she reread four times before fully understanding.
“Ugh!” she grunted, leaning her head on her desk.
Trying any longer was futile–more of a waste of time than if she went home and watched a cheesy movie while binging on an entire bag of butter-drenched popcorn.
She packed up her things and then walked down the hall to Erin’s office.
“Hey,” Julia the corner and gave a little wave, “I’m going to head out. I just wanted to let you know.”
“Have a good night, Julia.”
“You too.”
She didn’t linger, didn’t want to make their encounters any more awkward than they quickly became earlier. After the day she had and how early she had to be up tomorrow, she was sure she’d feel the exhaustion as soon as she stepped into the house. But that was wishful thinking.
***
As she rinsed her coffee mug in the sink, her work bag already emptied and readied for the morning, she was wide awake with anticipation. She forced herself to crawl between the sheets with a book gripped in her hands. She read for maybe an hour before her eyes burned with exhaustion. The plot was on a downward spiral–a cowboy who was about to lose his farm fell in love with a big-time city realtor rethinking her life–and Julia lost interest two chapters ago.
She tried to close her eyes, tempted to see if she could fall into the soundlessness of night instead of the silence echoing in her ears. But she didn’t.
Sitting up, she pushed the blankets off in a frustrated heap. She envied people with narcolepsy, or even more so, people who could fall asleep anywhere. Those old-timers in nursing homes that pass out over their green Jello, heads dangling over lump bodies? That’s the goal.
Instead of lying there tossing and turning, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She let them dangle there for a moment, the cool air tickling her toes, mesmerized by the little blob of light over her driveway–small flying insects twirling in a never-ending tornado beneath its shine. Then her gaze fell to the corner of the room where a blank canvas leaned against the wall, dust coating its edges.
She had a painting room. One of the extra bedrooms in the house has a wall full of books, half of which she hasn’t read yet, and part of which she’ll never be able to get to before she dies. On the other side of that same room sat an easel. In the corner was a rocking chair adorned with a red shawl–Marin’s place to sit and read while Julia painted with wild, untamed wonder.
After Marin left, she couldn’t bring herself to step back into it. All she could think of was all the long nights they used to spend in there, completely independent while relying on the other’s presence. Every time she saw the pale cardinal on the walls, all she could think of was how the afternoon lights reflected off her ruby hair.
After a few months, she tried to paint again but couldn’t bear the scent of Marin embedded in the gypsum lining the walls. She got so frustrated at one point, she dragged her old rickety easel out of the room with the bare minimum of supplies she’d need, and she set up shop in the corner of her bedroom.
Even then, she lost count of how many times she sat on that stool and begged for anything to spew from her fingertips. Was it a dozen times before she gave up entirely? Instead of thinking about it anymore, she stood to her aching legs. It’d been such a long week and the weight of it pulled down her body.
She walked to the easel and took a seat on the cold wooden stool. Picking up one of the paintbrushes, she held it in her hand while the familiarness of its weight sunk back in. She dotted her pallet with various paint colors and then dipped the tip of the bristles into steel blue.
Her hand moved over the canvas in feather light strokes. She melded shades of indigo and apricot, crashing into cliffs of goldenrod and lilac, disappearing behind clouds of muted teals. She wasn’t sure what it would be yet; she just knew she had to get it out.
She glided with that motion. Her arm tired quickly, muscles and swift motions long forgotten. She dropped the paintbrush into a cup of water and rubbed her eyes. As she pulled her hands away, they were damp. The neckline of her shirt was drenched in salty tears. She didn’t even realize at what point tears began to fall from her eyes, dotting the paint pallet on her lap with tiny raindrops made entirely for her.
She took a deep breath–her hand pressed against her chest to remind herself there was still a heartbeat somewhere within there–and then closed her eyes. She squeezed the last of the falling droplets out and then wiped her eyelids dry. In a mountainous jumble, she fell onto the bed and buried her face into the pillow. Sleep would come eventually.