Where We Left Off (12 page)

I promised myself I wouldn’t fall asleep in the rocker again tonight, but as I lifted him from where he lay and we settled into our favorite space, Corbin’s sweet breath fanning against my neck, his tiny heart beating on top of mine, I knew there wasn’t any good reason to place him back into the empty crib to sleep alone. We had each other, and while most children sought their mothers for comfort and assurance, I relied on Corbin equally as much for those two things.

I was sure of the life I once owned when I looked into his eyes. He wore so much of his father on his cherub face, in his crooked smile and long, long lashes. They were the kind that would be the recipient of comments for the rest of his days. He’d grow tired of hearing how unreal they were, become annoyed at how jealous the girls got that a boy would have such beautiful and full eyelashes. He’d grow to hate them, but I’d make him learn to love them.

That was my job now. To make him learn to love
him
.

I wasn’t sure if it was innate. It could be one of those things where the stories told by firesides and dinner tables built an imaginary relationship where the real memories were missing. Layer upon layer added in like a tale from a book of fables. A book full of them. A book full of life.

“He wanted you so badly, Corbin,” and “He named you the minute I showed him the pregnancy test,” and “He planned to take you fishing at three, hunting at twelve. Already owned the rod and the rifle.”

Each milestone in my son’s life would be tagged with the disclaimer that his father would’ve “loved to be there for this.”

There would always be a missing piece, a gap in his future. Like playing chess without a king or making cookies when you’d run out of sugar, but on a scale not even measurable. Just this gaping, yawning, and noticeable hole where something wasn’t quite right.

My world had more missing pieces than usable ones, so of course I got it.

Mom.

Dylan …

I broke my promise and woke up the next morning with a slumbering baby on my chest, sleep lines from the rocker’s cushion pressed deep onto my cheek.

But I’d broken a lot of promises in my life.

I wasn’t sure it was actually possible for anyone to really keep one.

Heath

Congratulations, Mr. McBride!

Big, swirly letters were scrawled across the entire length of my white board.

I’d already eaten up a good ten seconds staring at the dry erase words, my back turned to the thirty-two pairs of eyes that greeted me for first period Honors English. I settled my leather messenger bag onto my desk without looking down, my fingers fumbling, my words
not
doing any better. I was buying time, but high school seniors weren’t necessarily known for their grace and patience in giving it.

There were two options here, really.

Option One
: I could ignore this hulking elephant in the room and continue our section on Flannery O’Connor and the weaving of her faith into her works as planned.

Option Two
: I would address this monstrous oversight on my part. The one where I forgot to mention that my ex-wife’s new addition was added without the seemingly necessary help of me.

Tabitha Contreras, one of my seniors who I could count on in any situation to answer questions, no matter how challenging or difficult, came to my rescue. She was going to bail me out, just like she bailed out her classmates when the silence became too thick, when the others avoided the answers and waited for the more astute and dedicated peers to come to their aid.

I locked eyes with her and practiced my best telepathy.

Come on, Tabitha. Bail me out. Please.

“We have a little something for you, Mr. McBride!”

She stood, slipping out from behind her desk. Metal feet scraped against the puke green linoleum. Her arms tucked behind her, hiding something from view. While walking toward me, she swung her ebony hair over her shoulder and offered a smile. It was like she was the spokeswoman for the class, and I knew that curlicue message must’ve been penned by her hand.

I gulped back the bite of acid that bubbled in my throat. That triple shot Americano wasn’t the best breakfast choice, but I needed something strong to combat the hangover I’d incurred from my weekend antics. The ones that involved me getting wasted at my parents’ ranch and shutting out the sun under drapery-drawn windows and patchwork quilts, my head hidden from the outside world and the land of the living. Total zombie style.

I was going to need another highly caffeinated drink by noon at this rate.

“My mom
works
at the hospital and told us your news! We’re so happy for you, Mr. McBride. You’re going to be an absolutely awesome dad!”

Like a runway, Tabitha shimmied to the front of the class and just as I was about to correct her (at least it felt like I was going to correct her—I was aware I hadn’t done anything to contradict the class’s assumptions), she shoved a haphazardly wrapped gift into my hands. Baby rattles, blocks, and a stuffed teddy bear repeated in a nauseating pastel pattern across the paper. It crinkled in my palms.

“Oh, how thoughtful, class,”
or
“You really shouldn’t have,”
were two options that failed to make their way out of my parched and numb mouth. The shape my lips took must’ve been terrifying. I wasn’t grimacing, but I certainly wasn’t smiling. Just this frozen, wide open
gape
, like a clown. Clowns were scary as hell.

I was a freaking clown, in more ways than I cared to admit.

“Mr. McBride?” Tabitha’s doe eyes went wide. “Mr. McBride, are you okay?”

There was a scattering of
He doesn’t look so good,
and
What the hell is wrong with him?
among my students.

When I heard Toby Kincaid, the six-foot-four, long-haired quarterback, stutter, “Big congrats to your swimmers, McBride!” I knew this shenanigan had to come to a screeching and abrupt halt.

I’m not one of those throat-clearing teachers, but some situations called for it.

Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I began, “Listen, class.” My gaze swung over the beige painted room, at the bright eyes of my students assembled before me, their expressions eager and equally concerned. “I seriously appreciate all of this. You guys are incredible. Truly.”

“There’s a but,” Mark Dwayne jeered from his seat in the front row. “I’m sensing a but.” I moved him up there last week because he couldn’t be trusted to pay any amount of attention
in
the back of the class unless it was to the girls that sat on either side of him. But I saw he had no problem focusing now. Touché.

“Class—Kayla and I split up six months ago.”

“Last I checked,” Mark started, his expressive, dark brows cocked up to his hairline, “It takes nine months to grow a kid.”

Tabitha still occupied the walkway, and when it clicked, her small hands flew to her mouth. “Oh, God, Mr. McBride! I’m so sorry! I just figured—”

“That I’d be the one to have a baby with my wife?” I laughed, genuinely, because it actually was sort of hysterical, in a pathetic way. There was an uneven echo of insecure chuckles across the room. “Yeah, me too.”

Apology was written all over Tabitha’s face as she had clearly been the orchestrator for today’s baby shower. “We are total idiots.”

“Since I have access to the grade book, I beg to differ.” I sat on the edge of my desk. The button-down white shirt bunched at the sleeves and I pushed them back more before folding my arms across my chest. “Only about half of you are idiots.”

That got the chorus of laughter I needed. I felt the energy shift, everything guided back on track. I loved these kids and knew they wanted the absolute best for me, which might’ve been a strange thing for a teacher to say. Of course I had those same feelings for them, but there was a mutual respect and admiration here. In a way, I felt like I’d let them down in letting my marriage down. A hopeful celebration was something we all could have used.

“I’m going to be completely candid with you all for a moment if you’ll let me.” Tabitha found her seat again and I took the reins now that the class was somewhat in order. “Kayla and I went our separate ways just before Christmas,” I began to explain as I swept the eraser over the white board, each letter blotted away with a stroke of my hand. I settled the felt brush back onto the tray and swiveled on the heels of my leather loafers and they squealed. “In reality, she went her own way long before that. I didn’t mention anything at the time because, as your teacher, my personal life is not meant to be on display nor become a burden and distraction to you in any way.”

Sabrina Temple’s red head snapped up from her place in the second row. Her thick-rimmed glasses slipped down her nose and she adjusted them as she said, “You’re not a burden, Mr. McBride. We care about you, just like you care about us.” As though surprised by her sudden and quick response, her gaze diverted back to her four-book-high stack adorning her desk, a tower of fictional escapes. She fanned and flipped through the top
one,
though I knew for a fact that she’d read it three times already. Meek and quiet, she wasn’t the one I’d expected to speak up in my defense and I smiled at the surprising gesture.

“I agree, sir.”

Lucas Hawthorne.

He
was the guy. The one I knew had my back because I definitely had his. I knew parents weren’t allowed to have favorites, but that was the beauty
of
being a teacher. We could (and did) totally have favorites, and over my six years of teaching, Lucas took the number one spot, hands down.

“We’re here for you. I know I don’t just speak for myself when I say you’ve always been there when we needed you the most.” He turned in his seat, surveying the class like he was rallying them together. “Like last week when Principal Higgins threatened to cancel Senior Ball because we all skipped class on Senior Ditch Day, even though it’s a tradition that’s been around for the past thirty years. You came to our defense and changed her mind. We owe you big time for that.”

Mark narrowed his eyes, nodding. “Or like the time when Vanessa broke up with me and you totally played along with the new girlfriend story I created to make her jealous. You didn’t question my elaborate, unnecessary details and specifics about said made up girlfriend.”

“Not sure lying was the best decision on my part in that instance, Mark—”

“You had my back, McBride, when it seemed like no one else did.”

Lucas planted his hands on his desk, resolute. He shook his cropped brown hair from his forehead and looked directly at me with thoughtful, hazel eyes. “What we’re saying, sir, is that you aren’t just any teacher to us. You’re not some old, tired
dude
that’s only here for the paycheck. You genuinely care about us, and we care about you.”

“Which is why we wanted to throw you a shower,” Tabitha chimed in. Her voice fell in disappointment as she swiveled in her seat at the back of the room to make eye contact. “And to tell the truth, why we’re a little hurt that you kept this from us.”

I saw their
point
and saw the confusion in their eyes. I knew I wasn’t a peer—that as their teacher I had to be set apart even just a little bit—but I also understood that much of teaching, of mentoring, involved transparency and the ability to relate on the same level as people. Forget the divide that came through the gap of years, education, and experiences. I’d taken that from them.

“We just wanted to be happy for you, sir.” Lucas pulled at the collar of his plaid flannel, clearing his throat. He reminded me so much of me at that age—inevitably and awkwardly stuck between a boy and a man. His Adam’s apple lifted as he said, “We just want you to be happy.”

“I am happy.” Overwhelmed, a little hung over, and exhausted, too. But these kids—they made me happy. “Happiness is not circumstantial. It can’t
be
because there will always be something to bring you down.”

“Like your ex-wife shacking up with another dude,” Mark blatantly told it, yet refreshingly so.

“Exactly like that. Just when you think life is going smoothly, something juts in your path and throws you off course.”