Page 61 of Make it Real
“It can be a little creepy working in the school after hours. Being alone in the quiet, that’s when the ghosts come out.” I hooked my fingers into a claw like a cartoon witch. Would not add how much being alone in the big echoing school could freak me out.
He nodded, but that sparkle in his eyes had dimmed. “That they do.”
Yeah, nothing like joking around about spooky things to kill a mood.
“Do you need to get back to the farm?” The interruption had reminded me of the time. We’d gotten much more done than I ever would have managed alone, but I couldn’t take up his whole day.
He shook his head. “I can spare a little more time. What’s next?”
“If we set up the library, that will take care of the biggest jobs.”
“Then let’s get that library done.”
I couldn’t help the disappointment swirling through me that we weren’t going to pick up right where we’d left off with that near-kiss. But whatever sparks I’d seen in his gaze a few minutes ago, they were gone now. Then again, maybe I’d only seen the reflection of all the flames in my own eyes.
TWENTY
jed
It’d taken allmy self-control not to kiss Callie senseless in the middle of her kindergarten classroom. If it hadn’t been for the other teachers interrupting us, I wasn’t sure my tenuous hold on that control wouldn’t have snapped. Felt like that said something specific about me, just didn’t want to think too hard about what.
I’d told her she could be in charge of the PDA, but when I held her, everything inside me wanted to steer that ship. Of course, I’d probably steer us straight to deep waters, so I wasn’t really the best one to put in charge. I knew that. Didn’t make it any easier to fight.
I moved the three short particleboard book cases to where she’d indicated, and we filled the shelves with brightly colored bins of books. She brought over a few beanbags and laid them out to make a cozy little reading spot for the kids. Her colorful style and personality fit perfectly with her room, and I could just imagine her in here teaching. Her obvious affection for students she didn’t even know yet tugged at my chest. Who had this kind of love for people she hadn’t met?
“How’d you get into teaching? Unless…wait. Did someone say you’d make a terrible teacher so you set out to prove them wrong?”
She laughed as she slipped books onto shelves. “Nothing like that. My mom was a kindergarten teacher.”
The air in the room seemed to shift. She didn’t do anything outwardly, but I could feel it was a sensitive subject for her, just like talking about my mom was for me. She hadn’t shared much about her mom yet, but I wanted to know whatever she’d tell me. On any subject.
“Do you want to talk about her?”
Her soft smile wore a sadness around the edges. “You know me so well.”
I didn’t know her nearly as well as I wanted to. Wasn’t sure I’d ever reach a spot where I thought I’d had enough of Callie Louise Matheson. That urge to know everything about her worried me, even though so far, I hadn’t done much to fight it.
She sank into one of the beanbag chairs, and I did the same. Wasn’t the most comfortable spot for a six-three guy, but I wouldn’t complain.
“She was everybody’s favorite, you know? She just had this life to her, this zest. She could make everything fun. And she loved children. I think she would have had a dozen babies if she could have. She put everything she had into teaching, and her students loved her. I knew I wanted to do the same thing even before she died, but I like having that connection to her now.”
Her joy in sharing about her mom held sorrow, too, no attempt to hide how much she still hurt. Of course she did. I understood—the same sorrow ran through me, coloring everything like ink on a wet page. That kind of loss didn’t go away simply because a few years had gone by. We had to keep going because the world kept on turning, but the pain could still cut us just as deep today if we let it.
“She sounds like a great teacher and an amazing mom. I was thirty when I lost mine, and it gutted me. I can’t imagine going through that as a teenager.”
Seeing her grief now sliced my heart to ribbons—I couldn’t think how it’d been for her when it had been fresh.
Callie nodded, no longer looking at me. “She died of cancer, just like yours. She was diagnosed when I was fifteen, and had one remission where we thought we were out of the woods. It didn’t last long.” Her mouth twisted, her shaky breaths making me guess tears weren’t far behind. “Watching the person you love most in the world slowly wither up and die was just…”
I shifted closer, theswish swishof the beanbag chair accentuating every move, but I needed to take her hand. My fingers closed around hers, and that small smile returned to her face. Not entirely happy, but not nearly so sad. I would take it.
“I spent all my time with her like I could bottle it up and save it for later. We watched all her favorite old movies, I read books to her…I didn’t want to do anything else but be with her. My friends couldn’t understand, and after a while, they stopped trying to get me to hang out. By the time she passed away, I’d become that weird girl with the dying mom. Some girls tried to keep in touch, but they didn’t want sad me, or grieving me, or confused about finding sparks of happiness when I still had a broken heart me. They just wanted fun, happy Callie, and not the rest.”
I understood that, too. After Zach’s death, I’d had friends who’d expected me to just turn my smile back on and be the life of the party. People who’d rather I pretended the hurt didn’t exist than sit with me in it.
Hand holding wasn’t nearly enough. I got up and sat next to her on her small, awkward cushion and wrapped my arms around her. She came right to me, sighing against my chest, letting me comfort her however I could.
“What happened with your mom?”
