Chapter 7 — Katherine
I wake up in Holt's bed and for three seconds I don't know where I am.
Then I remember.
Last night. Dinner at his house with Louis.
Tacos because it was Wednesday. Louis talking through the entire meal about a project at school.
Me helping with dishes while Holt got Louis ready for bed.
Sitting on the couch after Louis was asleep and Holt's hand on my thigh and his mouth on mine and the quiet question of whether I wanted to stay.
I said yes.
It's been a week since the warehouse burn. Seven days since everything accelerated into something I'm still trying to process. But lying here in Holt's bed on Thursday morning, it doesn't feel too fast. It feels inevitable.
The bed is empty beside me. I sit up and the t-shirt I borrowed from Holt falls to mid-thigh. My clothes are folded on the chair by the window where I left them before we had sex slowly and with Louis asleep down the hall.
I hear movement downstairs. The coffee maker starting, and cabinet doors opening and closing. I get up and use the bathroom and look at myself in the mirror. My hair is a disaster.
I have a mark on my neck from Holt's mouth. My lips are still swollen from kissing. I look like exactly what I am. A woman who spent the night in her boyfriend's bed.
Boyfriend feels like the wrong word for what Holt is but I don't have a better one yet.
I go downstairs barefoot in his t-shirt and nothing else and find him in the kitchen making coffee.
He's wearing jeans and nothing else. The bruise on his shoulder has faded to yellow-green. He turns when he hears me and his eyes move over me in a way that makes my stomach tighten.
"Morning," he says.
"Morning."
"Coffee?"
"Please."
He pours me a cup and hands it to me and I wrap both hands around it.
We stand in his kitchen drinking coffee and not talking and it feels more intimate than sex somehow. The ordinary domestic quiet of a Thursday morning.
"Louis is still asleep," he says. "Usually wakes up around seven on weekdays."
I check the clock on the microwave. Six-thirty. "Should I go before he wakes up?"
"No. I want him to see you here."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. He knows you stayed. I told him last night when I put him to bed. He asked if you were still here in the morning could he show you his rock collection."
My throat feels tight. "What did you tell him?"
"That you would be here and yes he could show you."
I take a sip of coffee to give myself something to do. "How did he react?"
"Said okay and went to sleep."
"That's it?"
"That's it. He's eight. His brain works different than ours. He likes you. You being here makes sense to him."
I'm still processing this when I hear footsteps on the stairs. Louis appears in the kitchen doorway in pajamas with cartoon dinosaurs on them. His hair is sticking up on one side. He sees me and his whole face lights up.
"You're still here!"
"I am."
"Dad said you might be. Can I show you my rocks now or do we have to have breakfast first?"
Holt sets his coffee down. "Breakfast first. You know the rules."
Louis climbs into his chair at the table. "What are we having?"
"What do you want?"
"Pancakes."
Holt looks at me. "You okay with pancakes?"
"I can help make them."
"You don't have to."
"I want to."
We make pancakes together in his small kitchen and it requires coordination because the space isn't big enough for two people to move freely.
His hand goes to my waist when he needs to reach past me for the flour. I touch his back when I need to get to the stove.
Louis watches us from the table and doesn't comment but I can feel him taking it all in.
We sit down and eat together. Louis talks about the rock collection he wants to show me and a boy at school named Marcus who said rocks are boring and Louis told him Marcus is boring.
Holt tells Louis that was rude. Louis says Marcus was rude first. Holt says that doesn't make it okay.
Louis thinks about this and says okay he won't call Marcus boring anymore but he doesn't have to be friends with him either. Holt says that's fair.
I mostly just listen and eat pancakes and try not to let my face show what I'm feeling because this is what I didn't know I wanted.
This easy domestic morning with a man and his son and the three of us fitting together like we've been doing this longer than a week.
After breakfast Louis drags me to his room to show me his rock collection which turns out to be very organized and labeled with careful handwriting.
He tells me about each rock and where he found it. I ask questions because I'm genuinely interested and also because the way his face lights up when he talks about things he cares about reminds me of his father.
When we come back downstairs Holt is cleaning up the kitchen. Louis goes to watch cartoons in the living room. I help Holt dry dishes and he says quietly, "You're good with him."
"He's easy to be good with."
"Not everyone thinks so. My ex-wife's boyfriend used to tell her Louis talked too much."
My hands still on the dish I'm drying. "He doesn't talk too much."
"I know that. She knows that now too. But it took her a while."
We finish the dishes in silence and then Holt says, "Cain texted this morning. Marrow's still quiet. Too quiet."
Something in his tone makes me look up. "What does that mean?"
"Means Crane's planning something. Usually when he gets hit he retaliates within forty-eight hours. It's been a week."
"What does that mean for us?"
"Means we stay alert. The club's watching the house and the school. Nothing's changed. I just want you aware."
"I'm already aware. I've been aware since last Wednesday in that parking lot."
"I know. Just making sure."
He pulls me against him and I rest my head on his chest and listen to his heartbeat. Strong and steady and certain. His hand runs through my hair and we stand in his kitchen holding each other while cartoons play in the other room and Louis laughs at something on screen.
"I need to take you home so you can change before school," he says finally.
"Okay."
He drives me and we don't talk much but his hand finds mine and holds it the whole way. At my door he kisses me long and slow and says, "I'll see you at school."
"You're coming to school?"
"Louis has a dentist appointment at three. I'm picking him up early."
"Okay."
He kisses me once more and leaves. I go inside and shower and change and try to process the fact that I just spent the night at Holt's house and had breakfast with him and Louis and it felt completely natural.
My life has changed completely in a week.
I'm still processing this when I realize I need to leave for school in ten minutes. I grab my bag and drive to the elementary school and spend the day teaching on autopilot while my brain replays breakfast at Holt's kitchen table.
Louis is in my Tuesday-Thursday rotation but today is Thursday so he's in my eleven o'clock class.
He comes in with the rest of the students and waves at me like he always does, completely himself, and I smile back and try not to think about the fact that his father's hands were on my body last night and I woke up in his house this morning.
We work on rhythm patterns. Louis is precise and focused and good at this. I help a girl named Emma who keeps getting confused. I keep the class moving and on task and I do not think about Holt.
Except I do think about Holt. The whole time.
Lunch is at noon. I eat in my classroom and try to focus on grading but my mind keeps wandering to this morning. To Louis's face when he saw me. To Holt's hand on my waist in the kitchen. To the three of us sitting at the table like a family.
After school I have a parent conference scheduled. Mrs. Patterson. Her son Tyler is in fourth grade and struggling in music class because he refuses to participate. I've called this meeting to discuss strategies.
Mrs. Patterson arrives at three-fifteen. She's wearing a business suit and an expression that says she's already decided this is my fault.
"Ms. Hayes." She doesn't sit down yet. "I got your note about Tyler's participation."
"Yes. Thank you for coming. Please sit."
She sits on the edge of the chair like she's ready to leave at any moment. I have Tyler's folder open in front of me with my notes and his grades.
"Tyler is struggling in music class," I begin.
"Not because he can't do the work but because he's refusing to participate.
When I ask students to clap rhythm patterns, he sits silently.
When I ask them to sing, he mouths the words but doesn't make sound.
When I ask them to choose an instrument, he says they're all boring. "
Mrs. Patterson's mouth gets tight. "Tyler doesn't like music. I don't see why that's a problem."
"He doesn't have to like music but he does have to participate. It's a required class."
"Maybe if you made it more interesting he would participate."
I take a breath and keep my voice level.
"I've tried multiple approaches with Tyler. I've let him choose his own instruments. I've given him alternative assignments. I've paired him with students who are more engaged. Nothing has worked because Tyler has decided he doesn't want to participate and he's not going to."
"So you're saying my son is the problem."
"I'm saying Tyler is choosing not to engage and I'd like to work with you to figure out why."
"Maybe he's not engaged because the class is boring. Have you considered that?"
My face feels hot but I keep my voice steady.
"I teach two hundred students across six grades. Most of them are engaged. When one student consistently refuses to participate while everyone else does, that tells me something else is going on."
"Are you saying there's something wrong with my son?"
"I'm saying I'd like to understand what's happening so I can help him succeed."
"He doesn't need help. He needs a teacher who can make music interesting."
We go back and forth like this for another ten minutes.
She's accusatory. I'm defensive. We're getting nowhere. By three-thirty I'm exhausted and frustrated and she's clearly decided I'm incompetent.