Page 47 of Ghosts Don't Cry
“To see what’s above the surface. Or maybe to look for something they can’t find underwater. Or …” I grin at him. “Maybe they’re looking for other whales to play with.”
“But don’t they find it scary? Being that high up?”
“Maybe. But sometimes you have to do scary things to find what you’re looking for.”
Sarah raises her hand. “My daddy says whales jump because they’re free.”
“Maybe your daddy is right.”
Usually Monday’s go quickly, but this one drags. I mess up the weather chart, I forget to pass out art paper until Lucas reminds me. I don’t realize Michael has been holding his stomach until he throws up in the reading corner.
By the time I’ve cleaned him up and sent him home, my nerves are frayed. The scent of disinfectant clings to my hands, and the classroom is too loud to my overwhelmed senses.
At lunch time, I decide not to go and join the others in the staffroom, and stay at my desk, instead. When I turn my phone on, it buzzes with three texts from Cassidy.
Cassidy: I know you won’t get this until lunch time. Let me know how you’re doing.
Cassidy: Holy shit. I saw him coming out of Wilsons. Are we sure it’s the same person?
Cassidy: Call me.
I send her a quick text.
Me: I’ll call you after work.
After lunch, it starts to rain. The drops patter against the windows in a rhythm that’s usually soothing. Today, it just sounds lonely.
“You look like a sad octopus.” I look up to find Emma watching me from across the room.
“A … what?”
She points at the paper plate octopus in front of her. “This one is sad, too. See?” She lifts it, the googly eyes drooping, and the streamers hanging limp.
“Why do you think it’s sad?”
“Because it’s all floppy.”
“Maybe it’s just tired. How about we give it a makeover? Maybe some glitter will help.”
“Glitter helps everything!” She gives me a big smile, and starts dumping different colors onto a plate.
If only that were true.
After the last parent picks up at the end of the day, I tidy the room, preparing it for tomorrow. My phone buzzes again. It’s Mom this time, checking in to make sure I’m okay. I fire off a text telling her I am, and that I’ll call her in the middle of the week.
The rain is heavy when I dash across the parking lot to my car. Inside, I clip on the seatbelt and turn on the engine. I don’t even remember making the decision not to go straight home. One second I’m pulling out of the school parking lot, the next I’m turning left instead of right. Away from my apartment, and toward Cedar Street.
The scenery changes as I drive. The older part of town where the school is gives way to newer construction, then changes again to large houses set back from the roads. A clear indication that this is where the money lives. Trees line the sidewalks, their branches forming canopies over streets that look like they should be on a painting or a postcard.
Cedar Street is the nicest of them all. The kind of street where nothing bad ever happens. Manicured lawns and wraparound porches create the illusion that life here is untouched by any kind of struggle. Everything is perfect, as though time doesn’t dare leave fingerprints on this part of town.
Buthe’shere … somewhere behind one of those large bay windows. Living and breathing in a place I never thought I’d see him.
Which one is his?
I drive slowly along the road, looking at the houses. They’re all beautiful with painted walls, cute little picket fences, porch lights on and glowing.
All but one. I pull up in front of it and cut the engine.
