Page 24 of Tart
His words didn’t comfort me the way he expected them to. I understood that the way I felt about storms wasn’t normal. I understood that other people thought I was looney tunes, but that didn’t make being me any easier.
“How was your day?” I asked to change the subject. “I suppose the summer is full of to-do lists you don’t get to finish during the school year.”
“You aren’t kidding. There’s always something to do around here, and that’s not even taking the curriculum work, classroom orders, and reading recommendations to finish into account. People think teachers have the summer off,” he said in quotation marks, “but that’s so far from the truth.”
“At least you get paid, right?” I said on a laugh.
He shook his head. “Actually, I don’t get paid. I mean, I get a paycheck, yes, but only because they take my pay for nine months and spread it across twelve. I have the choice to take it all from September to June and just get bigger checks, but then you have to be dedicated to saving money to get you through the summer, or you have to work a summer job. By taking smaller checks across the twelve months, you always have income.”
I tipped my head to the side. “So wait. If you’re getting paid in the summer, but it’s money you earned during the nine months you were teaching, that means you aren’t getting paid for the extra work you do in the summer.”
He touched his nose. “Ding-ding, you win the prize,” he said, laughter filling his voice. “That’s being a teacher. Sure, if we’re doing heavy curriculum writing, we will get a stipend to do that, but for the most part, all of the other stuff we do during the summer to prepare for the next year isn’t paid.”
“I had no idea,” I said with a shake of my head. “Like none. I always thought teachers got paid to do nothing in the summer.”
He laughed, but it wasn’t his usual laughter. He wasn’t amused, which was easy to hear. “You aren’t alone. The majority of people think the same. The truth is, we don’t have the summer off,” which he put in quotation marks again. “We aren’t on family vacations and frolicking in the water all summer. The thing is, I love it enough not to care. It is super annoying when people yell loudly about teachers making all this money to sit on their butts all summer and do nothing. If only they knew what we do, the programs we plan, the classrooms we organize and stock from our own funds, and the planning and collaborating we do during those twelve short weeks. Teaching always has been and always will be a thankless profession, which is okay by me. My job satisfaction comes from knowing my students will go on to do great things.”
“That’s true,” I agreed, holding the cake on my lap, but not eating it. “I’m sure that’s a perk every teacher appreciates as the years go on.”
Another clap of thunder hit, and I jumped up, nearly tossing the cake into the fire before he caught it, bringing it into his chest. A raindrop landed on my nose as a jagged bolt of lightning streaked across the lake.
“I want to go inside,” I said, my voice shaky.
“It’s just a little summer storm, Amber. It will pass.”
“I want to go inside,” I said, louder this time and with less stability in my voice when more thunder and lightning filled the air. “I want to go inside! I want to go inside!”
The rain came down heavier now, and he grasped my elbow and helped me up the rickety steps of his deck. “I’ll go home!” I said over the sound of the thunder rumbling overhead.
“Get inside,” he ordered, sliding the patio door open and pushing me through, then coming in behind me to close it just as the wind picked up. He set the cake plate on his small dining room table that was circa the 1980s and eyed the yard. “I want to make sure the fire goes out,” he explained as the rain came down in a sheet.
The wind started to howl, and I backed up toward the front of the house, fear filling me. “I want to go home. I have to go home. I have to go home now.”
He turned away from the door and shook his head. “Not wise. Better to stay here until the storm blows over. It shouldn’t be too long. The good news is, the fire is out.”
He was teasing, but my heart was pounding as the rain drenched the front of the patio doors. I kept backing up into the room and fell over the arm of the couch rather ungracefully. I was on my feet again instantly when another clap of thunder shook the house.
I had my hands over my ears now, my whole body consumed by fear. “I want to go home!”
He held his hands out while he walked toward me. “I finished my man cave in the basement the other day. Would you like to see it?” he asked, opening a door and flipping on a light.
I nodded, afraid no words would come out if I tried to speak. I walked toward him, and he grasped my elbow. “Be careful going down. The stairs have carpet so they can be slippery.”
All I wanted to do was run down them, but my hands and legs were shaking, so I took them as slowly and carefully as I could until I made it to the bottom. I was grateful when Bishop followed me down the stairs after shutting the door. I was also thankful that the small windows in the basement didn’t let in much evidence of the storm raging outside.
My legs were shaking so hard I had to sit, or I’d fall. I sank onto the L-shaped couch that lined one side of the room, glad for the coolness that grounded me. It was leather and enveloped you into the soft, buttery cushions. I put my hands to my ears and leaned over my knees, my body rocking slightly. The cushion depressed next to me when he sat, his hand rubbing my back up and down. After a few minutes, his hand chased away the shaking and calmed me down enough that I could breathe again. The thunder was lessening, which meant the storm was moving out and away from us. My hands slowly slid from my ears, embarrassment likely tinging my face a bright red.
He kept his hand on my back but motioned at the room in front of us. “Do you like it? It’s kind of a movie room, man cave, and guest room in one. I have the projector set up for movies, and back there,” he said, pointing at a wall, “is an extra bed for guests. I have a second bedroom upstairs, too. I have that set up as the main guest room for when Athena comes to visit. There’s also a large loft room on the top floor. I’m just using that for storage right now.”
“It’s unexpectedly roomy. The house looks smaller than it is,” I said, my voice trembling when another clap of thunder rumbled over us.
He nodded his agreement. “Exactly what I thought when I saw the place. It’s nice to have a finished space like this, even though I live by myself. I hope eventually to have a family to share it with.” He held my gaze for a beat before he spoke again. “Feeling better?”
“I’m—I’m fine,” I stuttered, clearing my throat. I stood up off the couch and inspected all the pictures he had hung on the wall. “Is this Athena?” I asked as another crack of thunder made me jump. I grimaced and bit my lip to keep from whimpering, but instinctively covered my ears at the same time. I was glad I had my back to him.
“It is,” he said, standing behind me now with his hand to my back. I couldn’t tell if it was a protective gesture or a steadying gesture, but either way, I liked it way too much for it to be smart. “She was an adorable little girl who grew up to be a beautiful young lady.”
“You’re not kidding,” I said as I stared at the girl in a senior photo. “I see all of you in her.” I jumped again when thunder rumbled through the room, and his hands grasped my upper arms tightly, as though he knew I needed that comfort.
