FEELING SOMEONE TAPmy knee, I open my eyes and meet the gaze of the older man who picked me up from the airport. “You’re home, miss,” he says quietly like he doesn’t want to startle me awake, and I smile.
“Thank you.” I yawn before I grab my purse and push open the door. I’m not sure how I could forget how cold it is here, but I apparently did during my too-short trip. Grudgingly, I get out of the car and rush to the trunk, meeting the driver there when he opens it up and pulls out my suitcase. “Have a nice day.”
“You too,” he calls as I drag my bag with me up my walkway, which is still iced over from the snow we had before I left. When I get to my front porch, I freeze at the bottom step—not from the cold, but from the sight of flowers, a stuffed animal, and cards placed on my black-and-white plaid welcome mat.
“What the heck?” It takes me a minute to get my heavy suitcase up the steps, and when I do, I pick up one of the cards and open it up. I’m not sure what I expect to find, but a thank-you letter from Jackson’s—the little boy I dragged out of the water—mom, along with a fifty-dollar gift card for very expensive coffee, isn’t it. Shocked by the kind gesture, I use my keypad to open my door before picking up the rest of the things. I place them along with my purse all on the skinny table just inside my entryway, then grab my suitcase to bring it inside.
The house is quiet, too quiet without my babies, who would normally greet me as soon as I get home, but since they are at my parents’, I won’t see them until later this afternoon when I go to pick them up. I roll my suitcase down the hall to my room and place it in my closet to deal with later, then strip out of my travel clothes and put on a pair of sweats and a baggy long-sleeved tee.
As I walk past my bed, I pause, swearing I made it the morning I left, but the blankets are askew and pillows look like I just got up. With a shake of my head, I put everything back in place, then go to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee, hoping the caffeine will give me the boost I need to make it through the rest of the day.
While it brews, I wander to the entry table to get the stuff I placed there and take it to the kitchen. After tucking the cards away in a box in my office, I pour myself a cup of coffee, then put the flowers I was given in a vase with some water on my island, hoping to bring them back from the brink of death, then grab my cell from my purse.
As soon as I click the screen on, I see a text from my mom asking when I plan on getting to her and Dad’s place, and another two from Aiden. My stomach flip-flops just from the sight of his name, which I know is a ridiculous reaction to a few letters that make up a word.
Do I like him?
Yes.
Does he give me butterflies every time I look at him?
Also yes.
But should I like him? That, I don’t know.
Aiden: Hey, doll. Let me know when you’ve gotten home.
Aiden: I miss looking at you.
I bite my bottom lip as I read his messages, and my fingers hover over the keypad on my cell as I try to come up with something witty to say. But after a minute, I sigh at how dumb I’m being and type out a quick reply.
Me: Home! Thank you again for the ride this morning. I hope you get some sleep.
With no going back and changing my message to him now, I send a text to my mom, letting her know I’m going to get some stuff done around the house, head to the grocery store to stock up for the week, and make sure all my stuff is ready for school tomorrow before I’ll be over around dinner. After I send that, I take my cup of coffee with me to my office and flip on my computer.
Over winter break, I received a few emails from teachers about their third-semester reading list. A couple of emails are from the principal about the schedule for the new year, along with some things she wants to implement in the library for students. And there’s more than one letter from the board about books that were being brought up for approval.
When I applied to be the librarian for the high school, I honestly had no idea the amount of work the job would entail. I figured I would be checking out books to students all day and maybe making recommendations here and there, but I was very wrong. I’m responsible for ordering all books for the school, making sure each teacher has enough material for their students, and that everything is board approved.
Plus, at the beginning of the year, each kid is assigned a laptop, and it’s my responsibility to help them with any issue they might have. Most of the time, it’s an easy enough fix—a new update or a password change—but from time to time, something big happens, which means I have to call in the IT department to fix things. That is one job I’m glad I do not have, because William, who runs that department for the school, is constantly running from one place to another, trying to repair things. And even if he doesn’t say it, I can tell it stresses him out. Plus, it probably doesn’t help that he looks like your typical computer nerd, so no one takes him seriously, and some are not very nice to him, even though he’s super sweet and always willing to help out.
After I’ve written out a long list of things I will need to do tomorrow when I get into my office at the school, I shut down my computer, finish off my coffee, and dump my cup in the dishwasher. Glancing at the time on the microwave, I wonder where the time went and inwardly groan, because it’s later than I thought it was. Living where I do, the grocery store isn’t far, but it’s also not close at twenty minutes away with traffic, and I know that by the time I get back home and unpack everything, another two hours will have gone by.
Wanting to get my next task complete so I can go see my babies, I grab a pair of sneakers from my hall closet along with my puffy winter coat and purse, then stop to check my phone to see if my mom has messaged back. But along with a text from her and another from Aiden, I find a message that causes the coffee I drank earlier to churn in my stomach, making me nauseous.
Mike: I’ve missed you. Please talk to me.
I stare at the message, not sure what to think or do. I thought changing my cell phone number would cut off all communication with him, but apparently it didn’t.
I want to write him back, and tell him that he’s not forgiven, and then ask him how he got my number when I never gave it to him, but I don’t want to feed into whatever game it is he’s playing. And it’s obvious he’s playing some kind of game.
With my hands shaking, I drop my cell phone into my bag and grab my keys before I leave my house and head for my car. On the way to the store, I try not to think about the message, or the fact that—until today—I haven’t heard from Mike, or that just this morning, standing outside of Aiden’s car at the airport, I gave him my new number.