by Lea Geller
“It’s me,” I said. “I’m here. But I don’t plan on staying long. I want to come home. I miss you.” I hung up and threw down the phone. The call was supposed to make me feel better, closer to Jack, but it only left me feeling more helpless and alone.
I hadn’t seen Beeks yet. She, Brian, and the boys were finishing up the summer on a beach somewhere in Massachusetts. I felt untethered and alone in New York. I wasn’t sure how I could let Beeks see me like this, in this house, but I also needed to see the only person here who knew me before all this happened.
-3-
I spent the Sunday before Labor Day unpacking and preparing myself to start teaching on Tuesday. Grace was upstairs taking her morning nap and I was in the kitchen putting things away when I heard a knock on the door. Instinctively I froze, and my mind flashed back to the conversation I’d had with Jack on the beach. I’d asked him if I was safe, and he’d said, “For now.” In theory, I could have been followed here by whoever it was that Jack was hiding from. I don’t know why, but it wasn’t until the moment when I heard the first knock on my New York door that I actually worried about my safety. Jack was hiding out, and I had been sent away. What made me so sure that I was safe here? I looked at my phone, unable to even reach for it. I had no way of seeing who was at the door without walking into the foyer and peeking through the window, but my feet were frozen to the already dirty kitchen floor. I could not make them move. I had no choice but to call out.
“Hello?”
No answer. I tried again. “Hello? Who’s there?”
“It’s me! Your new neighbor!” sang Stacey Figg. My shoulders slumped down with relief, and I walked to the front to find Stacey Figg standing there, wearing what I think was a jumpsuit, a basket of tomatoes in her hands. “I grew these,” she said, thrusting the basket at me. “In my window box. You’d be amazed what you can grow in a window box.”
“Wow, thanks,” I said, actually pleased to see some produce that wasn’t under several layers of truck-stop plastic wrap.
“You settling in?” she asked, craning her neck to see what was happening behind me. Like an overeager dance partner, she lunged toward me, forcing me to take a step back. If she kept doing this, eventually I would have no choice but to let her in. I did not want to let her in. I did not want anyone to see the inside of this place. Once anyone else saw this, once someone else bore witness to my new situation, then it would all be real. After a few steps, I placed my arms on either side of the doorframe.
“Actually,” I said, with a firmness that surprised me, “it’s a mess in here, and Grace is about to wake up.”
“Oh,” she said, crestfallen. “Another time, then. I just wanted to let you know that the people who lived here before you complained a lot about the air and the heat, because, you know, this unit hasn’t been updated yet.” Pause. “Not like mine.” She gazed triumphantly at her own house, which was only feet away but apparently far superior. “They also said something about a mouse population.” She lingered over the word population, as though she were getting points for saying it as slowly as possible.
I shuddered, and Stacey Figg took notice, crossing her arms in victory. “Don’t worry, though. I’m here to help. You know, if you need me.” I prayed I would never need a reason to invite anyone in. I thanked her and almost wept with joy when I heard Grace cry out for me. I ran inside and slammed the door before Stacey Figg even had time to turn around.
I fed Grace a jar of applesauce for lunch. With each jar I opened, I thought wistfully about the days of homemade purees and trips to the farmers’ market. Grace didn’t seem to notice the difference, even if I did. Using her stroller as a high chair (I got an email from the facilities office informing me that one would be delivered to me by the end of the week), I watched her polish off a jar, wiped her face, and walked her around the house, from the foyer through to the kitchen and back again, until she fell asleep. Once she was asleep, I parked her in her stroller in a dark corner, a blanket draped over it to make sure she stayed sleeping. Hungry myself, I made a cheese and tomato sandwich, using the bounty from Stacey Figg’s window box. I’d eaten more sandwiches in the past week than I had eaten in the past five years. I was nearing the end of the organic, grass-fed, free-roaming cheese (the cows roamed free, not the cheese) that I’d stocked up on before we drove east. I layered the cheese and tomatoes on an everything bagel. I would like to be able to say the bagels tasted better here than they did in LA, but I don’t remember the last time I ate a bagel in LA. I definitely didn’t remember eating a bagel that wasn’t hollowed out, the fluffy, tastiest white bread pulled away in the hopes of enjoying the bagel but avoiding the carbs. Ah, California.
Later on, when Grace was asleep for the night, I sat down next to the bay window in the living room on the box of books I’d asked Sondra to pack. They were texts on education and child psychology, relics of my college days. I wasn’t sure what was in them that could possibly help me teach English to middle schoolers. I would be more likely to get any information I needed from Google rather than a textbook I’d been dragging around since college. But I hadn’t brought the books for the information they contained. I brought the books for luck or security or both. Maybe I brought them just to have something to bring.
I heard another knock on the door. I assumed it was Stacey Figg again, this time with homegrown squash, but then I heard a male voice. I froze. I thought if I said nothing, maybe the voice and the man to whom it belonged would leave. I also wondered if I’d misheard the male voice. Maybe it was Stacey Figg. Please let this be Stacey Figg and I’ll never have another nasty thought about her again.
“It’s Gavin Burke,” said the voice. When I did not answer, he spoke louder. “The middle school principal.”
I skipped into the foyer with relief and yanked open the front door, beaming a little too eagerly. As I tugged at the door, it was also being pushed open by the hairless arm of a tall man with a shaved head. He wore a faded T-shirt, cargo shorts, and sneakers. He was older than I was, but not as old as Jack. His eyes were two very different colors—one a bright blue, the other a deep brown. Even though I was still grinning with relief, I couldn’t look directly at them.
“Hey there,” he drawled. “I guess I’m happy to meet you, too.” He was thick, a big guy who looked like he could have played football at some point, but as he raised an arm to lean against the doorframe, I saw that he also worked out. I could have sworn his muscles were twitching, moving independently. He saw me gaping at his arm, then looked at it himself and smirked proudly.
We stood there, smiling at each other for different reasons, when his eyes shifted. He looked down at my feet and then surveyed me, starting there and moving up.
I’d always suspected that one of the first things Jack had noticed about me was that other men notice me. I’m blonde, lightly freckled, cute in a nondescript way, and in California shape. But it had been a while since I’d been leered at. This guy was smiling as though he’d heard a joke about me but didn’t want to let me in on it. He managed to look at all of me at once without moving his head. I felt his mismatched eyes move up and down, and I was self-conscious of my sweatpants, my stained T-shirt, my enormous—if extremely comfortable—underwear. I instinctively took my hands, cheese sandwich and all, and crossed them over my chest. I waited for him to say something, but when he didn’t, I had no choice but to start talking.
“Hi,” I chirped. “I’m Agnes Parsons. I’m teaching English in the middle school.” I stood in the doorway, trying to figure out how I could offer to shake his hand while still having my own hands cover what I now realized was my braless chest.
“I know who you are,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “I’m Gavin Burke, and I run the middle school.” He leaned forward, as if letting me in on a secret. “I’m the principal, remember?”
“Did we have a meeting? Did I forget something?” I shuffled back into the doorway, but I didn’t want to invite him in.
“No,” he said,
still smiling, taking a cue I hadn’t meant to give and walking a step forward. “I just thought we should meet before school starts on Tuesday. Honestly, I kind of had to check out this mystery teacher I’d been ordered to hire.” A bigger smile this time, but more forced.
“Ordered?” I asked, immediately wishing I hadn’t. I knew Jack had pulled strings to get me here. I didn’t want to know more.
“When Ruth Moore tells you to hire a teacher, you know, when you get the command from on high—” He had now straightened up and waved his hands in the air, making a strange, jazzy motion. “When that happens, you don’t ask questions.” We were both standing in the cramped foyer. I couldn’t figure out how we ended up there when I’d been so determined to keep him out.
“I don’t really know Ruth,” I said, a little too forcefully.
“Well, you know someone,” he said, no longer smiling. “But I guess we all know someone.” He walked right past me, into the living room.
I followed him in and stood with my back to the bay window. Without any curtains to cover the window, the light poured in from behind me and the glare bounced off his forehead. I could only squint at him, as I’d done with Ruth. I moved to the side, to see him better, so that I wouldn’t be caught off guard, even if it meant getting closer to him. The room wasn’t big enough for both of us and all my boxes and suitcases, without us standing in very close proximity. Gavin looked down at me, and I felt myself shrinking. He clasped his hands behind his neck and rolled his head around, his gaze finally resting on me.
“Don’t you want to introduce me to your family?” he asked, his eyes moving from my face and chest to the ringed finger on my left hand.
“Huh?”
“Your family, your husband, kids.”
“I have a daughter, but she’s asleep,” I said. “And I have a husband . . . but he travels for work.”
“Really,” he said, leaning in. “What kind of work would be worth leaving you behind?”
I swallowed nervously. Honestly, I’d never been able to really say what Jack did, even when I knew where he was. I’d always just said that he worked for himself, or that he invested money for people. It never seemed weird that we didn’t talk much about it, or that I didn’t know more. Frankly, in LA, unless you worked in the entertainment industry, people never asked too many questions about work. They weren’t interested. As I was learning, though, in New York, no matter what you did, people wanted to know all about it. I was going to have to have better answers. In the meantime, I mumbled, “He works for himself. It’s just me and my daughter here now, and like I said, she’s asleep.”
“Interesting,” he said.
“Not really.”
“Huh?” he asked.
“Me,” I said. “I’m not interesting, not really. You know all there is to know now.”
“Oh,” he said, grinning, his mismatched eyes bearing into me, “I highly doubt that. Everybody has a story.”
Perhaps, I thought. But I didn’t want to know his. As for mine, that had to stay as quiet as possible. The fewer people who knew me here, the better.
Gavin started walking to the door. “Before I forget, lesson plans are due on the first of every month.”
What?
“And I’ll ping you later about office hours and study hall.”
What and what?
“And I’ll expect you to be available for both.”
My head started to spin. I had only really thought about being in the classroom. My brain had not registered that teaching middle school came with add-ons like lesson plans and study hall. “Sure,” I said, swaying slightly and blinking to bring him into focus. He just stared at me, unflinching.
“You OK?” he asked.
“Sure,” I said, taking a step back.
“I live across campus, on the other side of the cafeteria.” He gestured with his shiny head, his eyes still piercing me. “In case you want to stop by and ask me questions, or if you need me to come by and help lift some of these heavy things.” He nodded to the boxes behind me.
“Of course,” I said quickly, desperate to cut this off. “Thank you. I actually have a bunch of stuff to get done.”
“A bunch of stuff?” he asked, laughing. “You certainly don’t talk like an English teacher.”
That’s because I’m not an English teacher. I’m a former preschool teacher whose husband stole some money and then sent me here. “Yeah,” I said, “well, I’m saving all my big words for Tuesday. Wouldn’t want to use them all up.”
“You’re funny,” he said. “But maybe a little too funny. Remember, these kids are like horses. They can smell weakness.”
“I—” I started.
“I have somewhere to be,” he said. He walked to the door and turned back to me. “At least I know where to find you now.” He grinned again before letting himself out.
I locked the door, unlocked it, and then locked it again to be sure. Then I ran upstairs to shower and wash off the whole encounter. I made a mental note to buy more soap, because I had unwittingly used half a bar trying to do so.
-4-
On the night before school started, I locked the front door, unlocked it, and locked it again. I looked through each window and made sure they were all closed. When I was sure nobody was standing outside the house, I put Grace down, took a bowl of cereal to bed, and texted Don.
I’m playing the part of a middle school teacher tomorrow. For how long? When do I get to come home?
Don’t know. Stay there. Do your job.
The principal stopped by to say hello and I thought he was coming to kill me. Am I even safe here?
Yes.
Did Don really think that a simple yes would be enough? Unplanned house calls didn’t happen in LA, and I wasn’t enjoying jumping out of my skin with each knock on the door.
Not feeling satisfied, I decided to make things worse. I called Jack.
“Hi,” I said. “It’s me. I’m still here. But I wish I wasn’t.” I half expected the voice mail lady to say something to me, anything, but she didn’t. I hung up and looked at the picture of Jack in his contact. Really? Nothing?
I’d tried calling Beeks a few times since I’d been on the East Coast, but bedtime for Grace was hours before things quieted down for her. She was back from the beach, so I tried her again. Finally, I got through.
“I was hoping you’d call,” she started, “to distract me from the thirteen loads of laundry and the six buckets of sand I inadvertently ran through the washing machine.”
“Was it fun?” I asked.
“Sure,” she said. “It’s fun getting out of the city and being on the beach. It’s just a little less fun spending most of the vacation feeding children, cleaning up after you’ve fed them, only to realize it’s time to feed them again. It’s a good thing the beach house had a good kitchen, because I think I spent most of the day in it. And then there’s the laundry and all that sand. But enough about me,” she said, stopping herself. “I’m boring. All the good stuff is happening to you. How is St. Norbert’s, and are you ready for tomorrow?”
“It’s fine,” I said. “It’s weird living in this house, you know, being without Jack. It’s weird being so far away.”
“Give it time,” said Beeks. “You just got here.” She paused. “Have you heard anything from California?” Beeks wanted me to walk away from Jack and the mess that came with him. But she had to ask. A best friend doesn’t not ask about a missing husband, even if that friend never really liked him.
“Nothing,” I said, finishing the cereal and putting the bowl on the pile of books and papers that would now be my nightstand. “I checked in with Don. Nothing new has come up.” I didn’t want to tell her that I’d been calling Jack’s phone and leaving him pathetic messages.
“Crap!” she yelled. “I think I just washed a diaper. Do you know all that gel inside that is supposed to soak up pee? Well, now that shitty gel is everywhere.” I could not even begin to imagine Beeks’s life in a small
apartment with four boys. “The super will kill me for messing up the washing machine.”
Her voice was muffled, trailing off. “Beeks?” I said. “You there?”
“If you can’t hear me,” she yelled, coming in and out of range, “it’s because I have climbed into the washing machine to remove the gel by hand. Jealous?”
I laughed, grateful for the convenient, if minute, washer and dryer that were stacked in a closet in the upstairs hallway. It was one thing to leave the luxury of Santa Monica; it was another to have to deal with a shared laundry room.
“By the way,” I said, “I met the middle school principal, Gavin. He’s a total creep. He showed up here.”
“What?” she asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “He wanted to meet me, or so he said. He really looked like he wanted to eat me for dinner.”
Now it was Beeks’s turn to laugh. “As if. There’s not enough meat on you anymore to make a light snack. Besides, don’t worry. You’re good with men.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, sitting up.
“Nothing bad. Anyway, he’s not the one you should be worried about. Come tomorrow, you’ll have to charm a room of adolescent boys.”
“That’s right,” I said, slumping back in my bed. “Beeks, what the hell do I know about teaching middle school boys?”
“Nothing. That’s why you have me,” she said. “Living with a middle schooler is like watching a train wreck in slow motion. They are awkward, clumsy, impulsive, and they can’t decide if they want you to do everything for them or if they want you to take a hike. It’s dizzying.”
