Chapter 26 – Hannah
Chapter Twenty-Six
HANNAH
“ H ow many students are there again?” I ask, embarrassed to have forgotten.
But Maya isn’t fazed at all. “Fourteen.”
“Right.” I nod and finish arranging the chairs in her classroom. It’s the first crafting class at the elementary school since I turned Michael away from my door, and to say I’m nervous is an understatement.
Does Katie know about what happened between her dad and me? Even if he didn’t tell her anything, she’s such a perceptive kid that she probably knew something was off the moment he walked through the door. Plus, I’ve been over my flare for a few days, and I haven’t been around. That alone speaks volumes.
My stomach in knots, I pull out the kids’ projects, which Maya keeps in baskets on the shelves. Even though my energy is back, I feel worse than I have in years. All I can think about is Michael’s crushed face when I told him I needed space.
And right after he said he wanted to move in together, which is the real kicker.
I could have told him that I want the same thing, that waking up next to him every morning and driving Katie to school would be a dream come true. But that would be salt in both our wounds.
It was such a huge step for him to even mention moving in together, and I’m afraid that I ruined things between us by asking for space. Maybe I should have kept my mouth shut and been more optimistic.
But I know I couldn’t have done that. The fear wouldn’t dissipate; it would just be stuffed down to come up another day. I know my limits, and it’s only smart to question whether I can handle another serious relationship. Especially one with a person whose job carries so much risk.
And yet, I’m aching to talk to him. It feels like a chemical withdrawal, like one little text from him could bring me back from the edge.
The universe must hear my prayers, because my phone beeps. Desperate to see if it’s Michael, I claw at my jeans pocket.
It’s an email, though—which makes my heart sink. Except… Wait…
I click on the notification, my pulse picking up. Could this be…?
I quickly scan the email.
“What?” Maya asks.
“My grant application was accepted.” I look up from the screen. “I’m getting the funding for the store. I can hire another employee now.”
“That’s great!”
Yeah. It is.
So why don’t I feel happier?
I open my texts, about to tell Michael the good news, then stop. What am I doing? I told him I needed a few days to think. It’s not appropriate in any way for me to text him updates about my life.
“I’ll take you out for a drink tonight to celebrate,” Maya is saying as she finishes setting up the classroom.
I nod and put on a smile, but inside, I feel hollow. I spent months working toward this success, but it doesn’t feel the same without Michael to share it with.
By not having him in my life, I’m avoiding some potential pain…but I’m also missing out on some joy too. So then, is being without him really worth it?
There’s no time to think about it, because the kids are spilling into the classroom. I hastily put my phone away and get started teaching the knitters a moss stitch and the crocheters a shell stitch. The whole while, I can feel Katie’s eyes on me. Aside from a smile and a quick “Hey,” though, I keep my teacher hat on and focus on the lesson.
“If anyone needs help, I’ll be right here.” I settle on one of the cushions near the front of the room, Maya sitting at her desk creating a lesson plan.
To no surprise, Katie approaches. “I made you this.” She hands me a wonkily knitted thing that looks like some kind of sleeve.
“Oh. Thank you.” I take it, my heart filling with warmth. It doesn’t even matter that I have no clue what it is. The fact that she made me something makes me want to cry—and because of the whole soup of emotions that comes with this complicated situation.
“It’s a case for your glasses,” she explains.
I gasp with true delight. “Katie, I love it.”
Katie folds her arms and fidgets, looking uncharacteristically uncomfortable. “I want you to know that no matter what happens between you and my dad, we can still be friends.”
I hold the crocheted case close to my chest. She’s tugging on heartstrings I didn’t even know I had. “I’d like that,” I say softly.
“Do you have any idea of what I could make for him to cheer him up? He’s been down since the fire.”
“He has?” A lump forms in my throat.
Katie nods and searches my face, maybe looking for an answer as to what happened between Michael and me?
It doesn’t seem like my place to tell her the story, though. It’s up to Michael to decide how much or how little she’s privy to.
“I’ll think about what that could be,” I say.
Instead, I spend the rest of the class toggling between feeling sure I’ve made a terrible mistake by stepping back from Michael and knowing for sure that a life without him is what’s best for me. By the time the bell rings, Katie and I can only say a quick goodbye before she leaves with her class, so I’m spared from admitting I haven’t come up with any ideas.
“I’ll text you,” I tell Maya, blowing her a kiss as I grab my bag and walk out of the classroom. School is over, the halls overflowing with kids.
I keep my eyes peeled, my breath in my throat, hoping to see Michael here picking up Katie and Rose. What would I even say to him, though?
I’m sorry? I hate this?
Both are true, but saying them won’t do any good. My feelings don’t change reality. No matter how much I miss him, I’m probably still better off flying solo.
“Hannah,” a woman’s voice calls as I’m walking through the front doors.
I spin on my heel and catch sight of Cynthia over the sea of children’s heads. My heart jumps into my throat.
Oh no. Michael’s mom.
Did he tell her about our talk? What does she think about me now?
As she advances toward me, a smile on, I realize I have nothing to worry about. If anyone understands how I feel, it’s Cynthia. Her husband was a firefighter, after all—and he died while at work.
She reaches me, a little breathless from trying to catch up. “How are you? I heard that you and Michael…well…” She smiles, like she’s unsure how to finish and that’s the best she can do.
For some reason, that breaks my heart more than anything else this last week.
“I’m okay,” I say, voice cracking and tears filling my eyes. “How are you?”
“Oh, honey.” Her faces scrunches with sympathy. “Would you like to get a cup of coffee? There’s a spot a few blocks away. The girls have their play rehearsal today, and I’m hanging around until they’re finished.”
Because I don’t trust myself to speak, I just nod. Cynthia leads us across the parking lot and down the street. With the cacophony of school behind us, she finally speaks.
“So, you and Michael broke up.”
Is that what this was? A breakup?
I guess so. I just haven’t wanted to call it that. Instead, I’ve been using gentler phrases, like “taking space” and “figuring things out.” There’s no guarantee we’ll get back together, though. Three days later and I haven’t found any additional clarity.
“Yeah.” The word is dry as sawdust. It sticks to my mouth and sits there, turning sour till I think I might throw up. “It’s for the best, though. I miss him, but I wouldn’t have been able to handle worrying about him every time he left the house for work.”
Cynthia hums in acknowledgment. “I understand the feeling. Half the time Michael’s dad left to go to the firehouse, I felt so nervous.”
A little bit of tension leaves my body. It feels good to be seen, even if that in itself doesn’t fix any problems.
We reach the coffee shop, which isn’t nearly as cute as the one on Pine Island but—according to Cynthia—has good teas. After grabbing two cups of herbal to go, we find seats at one of the wooden tables.
“I’m glad that you understand.” I fiddle with my tea bag.
“Oh, I do.” She blows on her tea. “But you know, for me, our life together was worth every ounce of the worry.”
I freeze, surprised. “It was?”
“Ted loved his job.” Her eyes sparkle at a memory that only she’s privy to. “Every day, he walked out of the house to a career that he loved, to a job that helped people. It’s why he started firefighting in the first place. He wanted to give back to the island that had done so much for his family.”
I stare into my tea, mixed emotions rising to the surface. When she puts it that way, I feel like a selfish jerk for not accepting Michael’s important job. Then again, I can’t give back to the world myself if I’m always having flares, always worried about where he is and if he’s okay.
Cynthia goes on. “I suspect that’s why Michael took the chief job when it came up.”
I look up. “To help people?”
“To give back to the community that raised him.”
I have to sit on that one for a minute. Michael always seems so put off by the islanders, annoyed that everyone’s nose is in his business.
“I know he doesn’t show it,” Cynthia says, “but Michael loves Pine Island, even if it isn’t the easiest place to live. And Michael…” She lets out a little sigh. “Well, doing anything that didn’t help its people wouldn’t fill his cup enough. You know what I mean?”
I nod slowly. “I do.”
“I heard you used to be a teacher.”
“Yeah,” I say, disappointed that the conversation is straying away from Michael. “I taught at a high school, then when my fibromyalgia started getting bad, I switched to online.”
“And then you opened Knit Happens.”
“I put everything into it.” I laugh at the memory, a rare event where I took a chance. “I had never even been to Pine Island, had never run my own business…”
“But your heart called you to it.”
“Exactly.”
“So then, you understand.” She peers at me over her glasses. “Running that shop makes you happy in a way that teaching didn’t, so you switched, even though being a small business owner isn’t nearly as safe or steady as teaching.”
“No.” I blow out a breath. “It isn’t.”
“But was it worth the risk?”
“One hundred percent,” I say with zero hesitation.
Her phone beeps, and she checks it. “Oh! School needs me back. The drama teacher has to go pick up her sick kid from day care. Looks like I’m filling in as director for the day.”
“Good luck.” I smile. “Thanks for the tea, and for…being here.”
She grabs her purse and stands. “You don’t have to, but maybe think about what I said.”
She steps out into the autumn afternoon, a gust of cool air taking her place. I stay in my seat, staring out the window, her words swirling around in my head.
For years, I’ve been calculating risks. Counting spoons. Measuring my energy. It’s the only way I’ve been able to get this far in the world while living with a chronic disease.
But is it possible that I’ve been too careful? In my attempts to participate in daily life, is it possible that I’ve been missing out on opportunities to truly live?