by Kali Brixton
I give her a half-smile to acknowledge that I believe her. “I know.”
“Enjoy your night off,” she grins. “I’m going to see if the babysitter made it.”
I smirk, knowing Mondays are usually when Landry gets a sitter for Aliana so he can go be entertained by Madam Siren in her love grotto.
“Have fun. Oh, and uh, Lia?”
The door reopens wide enough for me to grab the freshly washed orange behemoth and chuck it to her.
“You can take Landry’s worst nightmare with you.”
17
Everleigh
Eight Months Later
“Ms. Greene, you have some visitors in the office,” Rita, our school receptionist’s kind voice filters through my classroom phone. “Would you like me to send them back?”
A quick glance at the clock tells me this more than likely isn’t a parent wanting to conference, not that they would want to this early in the school year. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.” I make a quick swipe at my desk to straighten the newly graded papers, full of rudimentary lettering and drawings of all colors. Today’s been a great day by all kindergarten standards… No one vomited or soiled themselves, and the kids all got along. I didn’t even have to tell Tina Carlson to sit down eighty-seven times today.
Note to self. Buy a lottery ticket on the way to RISE this evening because it’s your lucky day, Everleigh Greene.
A soft knock on my open door draws my attention away from my desk. The two faces I recognize bring an immediate smile to my face. “Well, hey there!”
A mop of deep red hair blurs across the room as little chubby legs carry my sweet adopted “niece.”. I scoop her up in a hug and pepper a few kisses on that cherubic face, her dark brown eyes squinting as she giggles. “What a pleasant surprise,” I add, nodding to Rory’s grandmother Greta. “I thought I wouldn’t see you all until later in the week.”
Ever since Rory’s mom Drea, my fellow kindergarten teacher and dearest friend at Hearst, died in a car accident along with her six-year-old daughter Nila, I’ve tried to meet with Greta and Rory at least once every couple of weeks for dinner, and sometimes drop by their home just to visit and give Greta a break. Two-year-olds can be trying, but considering Rory was the only survivor of that car crash, Greta takes it all in stride. After all, she’s all Greta has left of her daughter and her eldest granddaughter.
Rory wiggles out of my hold and toddles to the crayon bucket, fetching a few along with a yellow piece of construction paper before making her way to the little desk I keep just for her when she visits. Her independent nature and strong-willed personality is a trademark of the women in her family, but having a redhead for a father myself leads me to believe there might be an extra dose or two of both in her.
Warm arms envelop me in a hug as scents of magnolia and jasmine tickle my nostrils. “We were out and about, so I thought we’d drop in and chat for a moment.” She smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. A glance over my shoulder at my desk raises her brows. “Is this a bad time, or are you free?”
“As a bird,” I muse, motioning toward my two “big-person” chairs near where Rory sits, already coloring away. We settle into the old chairs that have very little life left to give, a comfortable silence blanketing us as we watch Rory creating some new artwork for their fridge or my wall. When she switches to the fourth color, I decide to break the ice. “Good day?”
“Full, for sure.” Her cryptic words pique my interest, but she quickly switches gears. “How’re the family and the girls?” she asks, nodding at the pictures I have framed on my desk and my wall.
“They’re all doing just fine. Busy.” Busy might be the understatement of the century, though, all things considered.
“I’d say Lia’s got her hands full now.”
“She definitely does,” I laugh, knowing just how full her hands have been the past year or so. “Her husband’s a good guy, though. We all really like him.” Lia and Landry had gotten off to an unconventional start, but they’ve really hit their stride here lately, which is great because their daughter keeps them hopping.
“I meant to ask you last time… How’s little Aliana doing?”
“Growin’ like a weed.” Pulling up the photos in mine and the girls’ shared online photo album, I give Greta my phone to peruse them. “I guess they all tend to do that, though.” As a certain little redheaded beauty reminds me of that fact every time I see her.
She flips through photo after photo, taking in the last few months of our first RISE baby’s life. “They sure do,” she comments wistfully as her finger abruptly stops swiping. “Where was this picture taken?”
I look over her shoulder, only to see a picture of me at Aliana’s baptism. A tightness blooms in my chest whenever I think about my past colliding harshly with my present that weekend. A few days later, I got the call about Drea and Nila, but that’s more than Greta and I both need to relive right now. “That was at the party they had right after her baptism.”
She adjusts her silver-rimmed glasses. “Who’s that gorgeous man?” My brows furrow until I see she’s still talking about the picture someone took of me and Papi Dean dancing. “That’s Magnolia’s grandpa,” I explain, my heart growing three sizes fuller seeing that broad grin on his face. I got to know him and Lia’s grandmother back when we were kids. Even though he’s not technically family, he holds a special place in my heart all his own. Lia loves him immensely and has missed him something terrible since he moved back to Italy.
We all do. He’s the grandfather everyone should be lucky enough to have in their life.
“No, honey. This one right here.” Her weathered fingers pinch the screen and open wide, blowing up the background.
Anger clouds my vision when the identity of the mystery man comes into focus. As many times as I’ve seen this photo, how did I miss this? Captured way in the dark distance between where Papi Dean spins me away from him is Luca Fucking Giordano with a half-amused look on his face. Of course, he’d be the one photobombing my favorite picture of us. And dammit all, you can’t even crop him out of it.
I hope one of the girls has some mad Photoshop skills I’m unaware of because that shit’s got to go. My throat clears as I adopt an even tone to my voice. “That’s Lia’s older brother.”
A big grin splits her face after a soft whistle leaves her rose-colored lips. “He’s a looker.” And a moron, a jerk, a heartbr—Nope. You stuff that shit back where it belongs. In that icebox you call a soul.
“He took after his dad.” I point to Lia’s parents in the picture's upper corner, who surprised us all by showing up that day, inviting a few guests along the way. Mrs. Giordano is chatting with someone at their table as Luca Sr. watches Papi Dean and I dancing, his infamous disapproving scowl front and center, marring those undeniably dark and handsome Italian features. Luca’s eyes were always a more beautiful shade of hazel than his father’s, but he’s becoming more and more like dear ol’ dad in every way—exactly what Mr. Giordano always wanted.
“I believe he’s well surpassed his father,” she muses, a slight case of fangirling hinting in her tone. “I’m sure he’s spoken for?”
Try as I may, those words pour over the walls built around my heart and flood it with the memories of hearing Gia say that she’s his...that she’s his. “Yelp.” My tone is light, but there’s a heaviness in that word, which Greta seems to pick up on. Over six years and yet, I’m still so weak. I’d swore the day after Aliana’s baptism that I was going to move on with my life, but that sentiment was much easier said than done. One day, I’ll forget him. One day. A tiny finger pokes my thigh, drawing my attention away from my self-pity. My saving grace from this moment appears, proudly holding up her first masterpiece. “Oh, Rory, it’s so beautiful! Thank you.”
Not sparing a second, she goes to the stack of paper and grabs another piece, settling down for another session with her artistic tools.
“Look how perfect,” I sigh, trying to sell the brimming tears
in my eyes as ones of pride, but those small blue eyes with wisdom etched around them don’t buy it.
Her slender hand pats mine, a large, angry bruise in the center. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up any bad memories.”
I set down Rory’s artwork and wave my hand dismissively. “Ancient history,” I choke out, trying to swallow the hard lump wedged in my throat. Though I can tell she’s curious to know more, she just nods and leaves it at that. “Did you hit your hand on something?”
Her expression grows more sullen as she looks at her own hand. “It’s actually why I’m here.”
I drop my voice down so Rory can’t hear our conversation. “Is everything okay?”
Tears now fill her eyes as she looks back at me. “I had a doctor’s appointment the other day to check on my progress.”
Progress?
She steals a glance at Rory before finishing. “I was diagnosed with ALS a couple of months before Drea...well, before everything changed.”
My next breath is stolen away, as I know what that means. We had a coworker who had it and died three years ago from it, not too long after I came to Hearst Elementary. “My God, Greta... I’m so sorry to hear that.” I embrace her, needing her to feel my love and what little support I can give her in a situation like this. We sit there and hug for a few moments before she pats my back and reaches down to get us two tissues from her handbag. Greta is one of the few people I don’t mind seeing me cry, but crying in general makes me feel so weak, which I despise. Yet, some things in life called for them, this being one of those very moments.
Our sniffles are muffled so as to not worry Rory, but deep inside, my heart aches for a whole new reason now. Why, after all the tragedy her family has suffered, does this have to happen to her? To them? “What’d they say?”
She draws a ragged breath. “From what they can tell, it’s progressing faster than they originally thought.”
I gently squeeze her hand as my heart breaks into a million pieces. “Are there any experimental treatments or medications they can give you?”
Greta gives me a tight smile. “There are a few. Though, the best-case scenario with mine, I’d only be buying a little more time.”
A little more time. How terrifying to know you only have a few more years left to live. Then, a more worrisome thought crosses my mind as a little hand scribbles vigorously across her page, her little tongue stuck out to the side in concentration. “What’s going to happen to her? Do you have any distant family who can…”
Her head shakes furiously. “It’s just us. We could never find anything where Drea put down who her father is.”
Drea was married to Nila’s father, a great guy who died serving overseas when Nila was only two months old, but she never disclosed who Rory’s father was. She had been seeing a guy for close to six months when she found out he was married, but she never confirmed if he and the father were the same person. They had met on a dating site designed for genuine connections, but apparently, he was using it to prey on unsuspecting women. After his betrayal came to light, she severed all ties with him, only to find out she was a few weeks along when she was tested for an STI panel. That narrows down the chances of him being Rory’s biological dad. But the name “Rick” had been an alias. Drea took his real identity to her grave, and it seemed unlikely that anyone would ever figure the mystery out, short of a DNA search.
If he’s the kind of man that would do that to his wife and Drea, I honestly doubt that him finding out about Rory would be a good thing, especially given this new situation. “So, what are your plans?”
“I meet with the lawyer next week to see what all our options are. Seems like a nice young man on the phone.” Let’s hope this one will do right by them both. Rory’s arm flurries with excitement as she fills in the page with a black crayon. Greta’s wistful stare now makes me realize how many little things she’ll never get to be a part of… First days of school. Proms. Graduations. A wedding. Even great-grandchildren. “I know this is selfish, but it hurts to know that Drea, Nila, and I most likely won’t even be a memory once she’s placed with a new family.”
Sadly, at Rory’s age, it was a real possibility. Unless a child is old enough to remember those they were taken from or even had taken from them, it was often less painful for the child and the new family to start fresh and build their own memories. Every situation is different, but with a mother, a sister, and a grandmother like those Rory has had, that option was a travesty. “Will there at least be a transition period or would you have to give up all rights immediately?”
“According to the social worker I spoke to, it would depend on who was ultimately chosen for Rory. I still have some time left, but my health is only going to deteriorate further, so it would have to be soon.”
“Would they let me still visit with her?” The question slips off my tongue.
Her grim expression casts doubt as her salt-and-pepper hair shakes back and forth. “I...I don’t know, Everleigh.” A heaviness settles between us. Not only is she going to lose Rory, but most likely, I would too. “Would you mind watching her while I use the restroom?”
Nodding her way, she quickly steals away to my class bathroom, a perk of being a lower grades teacher here. I sigh, still in disbelief that the day has soured so quickly and that two innocent lives are going to change again once more. Life just sucks sometimes.
Another tap to my thigh and I peek down to see black crayon streaks, wild and free, around two big circles of green being held up. This could potentially be one of the last pieces of art by her I get. “What’s this?”
An about-face turns her toward the object which apparently inspired this one.
“This is...it’s special, Rory,” I swallow hard, hoping I won’t break into tears again. Thank you.” I lay it on the desk and snap a picture to send to our family text as well as mine and the girls’ group text. Quickly, they roll in.
Doody Head: I hope you didn’t give that kid a gold star for that hot mess.
My brother earned that nickname last year when he came to talk to the older grades with Dad for Career Day and stopped by my classroom on his way out. One of my kids who was super attached to me threw a chocolate pudding cup at his head when he saw me frown at something Kieran had whispered in my ear. I gave him a dirty look as he did his “in your face” head bob, which apparently made Trevor think he was being mean to me.
Thank God he had changed out of his uniform. Try settling down a room full of five-year-olds hopped up on sugar from lunch and calling a grown man “doody head” when he’s wearing chocolate pudding on his head as well as his once-white t-shirt.
I learned two important things that day.
One, Kieran needs some major practice with children.
Two, never mess with a kindergartener armed with a pudding cup and a vendetta.
#1 Mom: Awww, how are Rory and Greta?
#1 Mom: Would they want to come to dinner tomorrow night? *heart emoji*
#1 Mom: And Kieran, be nice. She’s only two.
#1 Dad: Son, I’d like to see you do better. *raised eyebrow emoji*
#1 Dad: Definitely invite them, Kher Bear. I’ll have a surprise for Little Red.
Doody Head: Why don’t I get surprises?
#1 Dad: Because you’re rarely on your best behavior, mac.
Doody Head: :(
Such a doofus. I quickly glance at the girls’ replies.
Eden: That’s so cute!
Eden: I think… *thinking emoji* Is it supposed to be cute?
Addy: What IS that supposed to be exactly?
Lia: I can’t wait to have pictures of Aliana’s to hang up on the fridge!
Lia: No, wait. That means she has to grow up. *crying emoji*
Lia: Scratch that. I want her little forever. *heart emoji*
Eden: Addy, I think it’s the dark abyss of Ev’s soul. *crying laugh emoji*
Me: *middle finger emoji*
Me: Actually, that may be accurate...
&
nbsp; Addy: Have her draw me a picture of a nice, long, thick *eggplant emoji* and bring it with you tonight. I’ll hang it in my room.
Addy: Or maybe on my boss’s door since he was being one today. ;)
Eden: You’re still coming tonight, right? Meeting in the office.
I look down at Rory, still standing there quietly. She reaches for my hand, wanting to show me something. Placing my phone on the desk, I let her guide me to the wall of special memories I made for my kids to see all the important people in my life. Pictures of my family and friends, artwork Rory and the kids have made for me, and a gift from my dad when I first found out I had been hired as a teacher.
She grunts and continues pointing up. “Dee!” Hoisting her into my arms, we close in on the wall. Tiny fingers bend in a grabbing motion toward the wooden black wolf carving with glowing emerald eyes in the middle of it all.
It’s no mistake that you were born under the sign of the wolf, Kher Bear. You possess all the qualities that helped make them one of the most revered animals by our ancestors—loyalty, intelligence, trustworthiness, and bravery. You’re self-aware in ways that many aren’t and are willing to acknowledge your flaws, especially when they serve as a detriment to the people around you.
“This is my wolf, Rory. My Celtic zodiac animal.”
You were destined to be an alpha wolf. While they’re in your care, be theirs. Your students will look to you as a guide and as a protector. Always remember that.
She pets the snout of the carving gently. “Woo!”
Greta laughs from the back of the room as I grin. “That’s right! Wolf.”
“Dee?”
My eyes crinkle in amusement as Greta explains, “She thinks it’s a dog.”
“Ah, I see. You know what sound a wolf makes, Rory?” A blank stare beckons further explanation. I stroke the stiff wooden fur of the carving. “They say, O-woooooooo!”
