The Teacher

by Gray, Meg

  Somehow, Emma escaped her room without any further reprimands and hurried down the street in search of the blue line rail. She didn’t have time to go back for Audrey’s directions, not if she wanted to arrive on time. How hard could it be? All she had to do was get on the train heading west. Surely, it couldn’t be that hard.

  * * *

  Two hours later, Emma tried to rest her eyes as the cab wound its way up the steep suburban street. The angry sound of the cab’s muffler punctuated her quietude as the car accelerated out of another curve.

  Emma’s body rolled toward the door as the car turned onto the next side street. The road leveled out and Emma knew she was almost to her sister’s house, finally. She looked out the window and watched the trees pass by. Carefully pruned shrubs and manicured lawns harmonized the homes in this quiet neighborhood.

  Audrey’s two-story craftsman style home came into view and Emma saw the hanging baskets on the front porch, spilling over with white and red petunias. They’d been there since the Fourth of July. In another week or two, Audrey would toss them out to make room for scarecrows, straw bales, and pumpkins.

  The cab pulled to the curb. Emma jumped out and paid the greasy haired driver. Crimson and gold streaked the sky as the summer sun reluctantly began its decent. The smell of grilled meat lingered in the air. Beach Boys music and children’s shouts rode the summer’s evening breeze from the backyard.

  Emma hoisted the strap of her quilted tote bag onto her aching shoulder and made her way through the maze of minivans and SUVs parked in the driveway. She rounded the side of the house and followed the path to the backyard, hoping she had enough energy in reserve to survive this family-studded barbeque.

  A handful of children played in her nieces’ playhouse while their mothers stood guard on the lawn and cast their conversations sideways at one another, never taking their eyes off the children. The men, on the other hand, sat kicked back on the patio beneath the white pergola with Finn McCormack, Audrey’s Irish-born husband. They wore dark sunglasses and held bottles of beer. Emma scanned the two groups, finding Audrey absent from both.

  Stepping onto the patio, Emma heard Finn’s robust laugh rise up in response to one of the other men. Emma looked in his direction and he caught her eye. He waved heartily, his entire face lit up by his smile. She waved back before she slipped through the back door.

  Inside the kitchen, Emma found Audrey three steps up on a small ladder, reaching into the cabinet above her stainless steel refrigerator.

  “Hey, what’re you doing up there?” Emma asked as she dropped her bag onto the seat of a barstool.

  Audrey teetered on her perch and grabbed the frame of the cupboard before she looked down, “Geez, Em, you scared me.”

  “Sorry, but seriously, what are you doing up there?” Emma walked over to stand next to the ladder.

  “I was just checking our tequila stash. I thought we were running a little low and I was going to send Finn to the store if we needed more, but I found some.” She held up an unopened bottle. Audrey closed the cupboard and grabbed for the ladder’s handle with her free hand as she stepped down. At the bottom, she nearly lost her balance and Emma reached for her. Audrey took hold of her sister’s forearm and then straightened. She pulled her hand back and pressed it to her forehead.

  “Are you okay?” Emma asked.

  “Oh, yeah. I’m fine.” Audrey said, as she set the bottle down and cracked the seal open. “Long day,” she added and poured a splash of tequila into her margarita glass.

  Emma watched her sister sip the cocktail. Audrey’s long dark brown hair was secured into a casual French twist. The belt at the waist of her short denim sundress was slimming. She looked perfect, just like always.

  Audrey let out a relaxed sigh as she put her glass down. “Where have you been anyway?” Audrey asked. “I was beginning to wonder if you were coming at all.”

  “I know. I’m sorry,” Emma apologized. “I got lost.”

  “Lost? How could you get lost? I gave you explicit directions on how to get here.”

  Emma thought of Audrey’s detailed directions sitting on the kitchen counter in her apartment and desperately wished she’d gone back gone for them.

  “I forgot them at home,” Emma told her sister and looked down at the toes peeking out of her sandals. “I thought I could remember them, but it was more confusing than I thought.” Emma left out the part about asking a guy sitting on a bench near the train stop which train would take her west. He pointed to the train coming up the track and smiled at her with yellow stained teeth encircled by an overgrown beard and mustache. When the train arrived, he stood up and clomped away in his unlaced hiking boots. He shouldered an army green duffel bag and pulled on the leash of his mutt. She climbed aboard the train never once thinking she’d been led astray. When she reached the eastern outskirts of the city and searched for a cab, she realized she’d learned her first big-city lesson—taking directions from a bum on the street, was not a good idea. She knew Audrey would scold her for it and she couldn’t bear the thought of another lecture. Mary Ellen had given her enough for one day.

  “Emma! You’ve got to be careful out there. Portland is a big city and if you get lost, you might end up in a very bad place. This isn’t Orchard Creek where you can stroll along without a care in the world.”

  “I know,” Emma said, her voice shook from the tickle of sadness that rose in her throat. She took a deep breath and pushed back the wave of homesickness brought on by the mention of her hometown.

  “I miss Bessy,” Emma added.

  “What, that old clunker? Emma, honey you’re better off without her,” Audrey said and then took another sip from her glass.

  “Well, at least I wasn’t at the mercy of public transportation with my own car.”

  “Oh, you’ll get used to it,” Audrey reassured her. “You’re a city girl now.”

  Emma didn’t think she could ever call herself a city girl. Born and raised on their family’s twenty-acre peach orchard she embraced her country roots, unlike Audrey who shed them at her first opportunity.

  “Well, I still miss the freedom of having my own car,” Emma said.

  “Then buy something,” Audrey said with a hint of impatience. “You’ve been living rent free with Mom and Dad. You must have some savings to put toward a car.” Audrey didn’t wait for an answer before she turned to the refrigerator and pulled the door open.

  Of course, Audrey would assume Emma’s bank account was brimming. Audrey attended college on an athletic scholarship, and after graduation, she landed a job with one of Portland’s top accounting firms. Emma, on the other hand, went to a state college courtesy of the U.S. Government’s financial aid loans, all of which she was currently paying back. For the last three summers, she funded her own master’s classes and dumped whatever dollars she had left into keeping old Bessy running. The vintage 1966 Ford Mustang was her first and only car. At sixteen, she spent her entire savings on its purchase, hoping to draw a little attention when she pulled into the high school parking lot. Namely the attention of Buck Monroe. His rebel attitude, tight fitting jeans and sleeveless t-shirts had excited her. But he never noticed her or the car until three weeks ago when Old Bessy was towed into his auto shop. The cost of repairs he quoted was more than she could afford and she sold it to him on the spot for a fraction of its worth. That small amount of money was the beginning of her new car savings. She hoped that over the next year she could build up enough money to buy something sensible, because Henry Hewitt, the accountant, raised his children on the ideal that money is only borrowed for higher education and a mortgage. “If you don’t have the cash, you can’t afford it,” he would tell his daughters.

  Audrey closed the refrigerator door and handed Emma a paper plate. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks,” Emma said and took the plate with a hamburger, beans and fruit salad on it. She looked for a place to set it. Nearly every inch of the dark slab, granite counter top was covered with plat
es of half-eaten food, empty chip bowls, beer bottles, and lipstick kissed margarita glasses. Emma moved her bag from the barstool at the island and settled in while Audrey pulled the mayonnaise and ketchup out for her. She dressed her cold hamburger before biting into the thick grilled meat.

  “Sooo, how’s the roommate situation working out?” Audrey asked, reaching for a pile of used paper plates and stacking them in the garbage can.

  Emma shrugged. “Fine, I guess.”

  “Well, that’s quite an answer for someone who’s rooming with her heartthrob,” Audrey snickered.

  “Seth is not my heartthrob.” Emma wondered when Audrey would ever let it go that she’d been smitten with Seth at first meeting all those years ago, when her roommate Stacy dragged him into their dorm room.

  “Have Mom and Dad gotten over you rooming with a guy yet?” Audrey asked, her smile playful.

  Emma shook her head as she took another bite of her hamburger. It wasn’t just her parents that had a conservative view on her roommate. Emma was also uneasy about the whole arrangement. Living with a guy, even if it was just Seth, was different from having a female roommate. She would have declined the offer to occupy his spare bedroom except for the fact that she couldn’t afford rent on her own and his apartment was walking distance to the school.

  “Is he still in California?” Audrey asked over her shoulder.

  Emma nodded. Seth worked for a consulting firm based in Portland and traveled to projects up and down the west coast. With his work schedule, Emma scarcely had a roommate at all.

  “When does he get back?”

  “Tonight,” Emma choked out as she swallowed her bite. She reached for her sister’s margarita glass and took a sip to wash down the dry meat. Emma winced as she set the glass back down, “Geez, Aud, did you forget to add the mix to this stuff?” Her eyes were about to tear up when her sister whipped around to look at her, eyebrows knitted together. Audrey looked angry, but then she smiled.

  “Living with Mom and Dad has made you soft hasn’t it? You’ve forgotten what a real drink tastes like.”

  It was true, liquor of any kind made a rare appearance at the farm in Orchard Creek. Their mother, Lucille, the daughter of an alcoholic and abusive man, would wring her hands with anxiety at the sight of an open container. It had been a while since Emma had had a real drink, but still Audrey’s was potent.

  Audrey snatched her glass away from Emma’s reach. “What are you doing stealing my drink anyway?” Audrey tipped her glass to take another drink and set it down near the sink. “I’ll mix one for you.”

  “No thanks,” Emma replied. “I’ve had my quota for the night. Do you have any soda?” Emma could use the shot of caffeine. She’d been pulling twelve-hour days since she was hired ten days ago and it was all catching up to her. She could feel the exhaustion in her every move.

  “Sure, there’s plenty out in the cooler.” Audrey pointed to the patio. Emma picked up her plate and carried it outside. The evening air felt fresh as the coolness of the night rolled in. She reached beneath the layer of melting ice for a red can of soda and found an empty seat at the patio table next to Finn.

  The men talked about fishing, retelling their best “it-was-this-big” stories, the distance between their hands grew each time they told a tale. Emma sat quietly among them as she devoured her dinner and listened to their banter. She loved to hear Finn’s stories about pike fishing in the rivers back home in Ireland, not because she was a fishing aficionado, but because of his deep Irish drawl, which thickened with each beer he drank. He used words like angler and lough, which meant nothing to Emma, but it didn’t matter, she loved to listen to him talk. His fierce green eyes were all a twinkle and his dimpled cheeks flushed with excitement as he regaled a tale about reeling in the biggest fish of his life. His hands gestured and mimicked the reeling motion. The men cheered as he finished his story and told of his triumph.

  Emma popped her last bite into her mouth when Audrey walked out from the kitchen, margarita in hand. Coming to stand behind her husband, she settled her free arm on his shoulder and let her hand caress his chest. She whispered something in his ear that even Emma couldn’t hear, but his green eyes smiled as he lifted his chin and kissed her. Audrey patted him on the chest before walking out to the lawn, to join the other women and watch the children.

  Emma watched her walk away, hips swaying slightly. Audrey, her big sister, was so lucky. She had the most adoring and perfect husband, two beautiful daughters, a beautiful home and a successful run in her career. She was taking an extended leave of absence from her job to stay at home and raise her children. All of her life Emma had been in awe of her sister, who exuded perfection.

  A mob of screaming little girls chased two seven or eight year old blond boys. They ran along the heavily treed line of the backyard, behind the garden shed and through the swing set, setting the two yellow-seated swings in motion. Out on the freshly cut lawn Emma saw her niece Lauren, barely twelve months olds, toddling behind her big sister Chelsea, who was all of three years old now. Try as she might, little Lauren couldn’t keep up. She tripped over her own feet, falling forward into the grass. The tiny blades assaulted her soft rounded cheeks with their prickly pokes and she let out a wail of distress. Audrey picked her up and dried her tears. A second later, Lauren squirmed out of her mother’s arms to join her sister in the chase once again and tried desperately to keep up despite her unsteady steps.

  Emma wondered if Lauren would always try to keep up with Chelsea the way she tried to keep up with Audrey. As children, Emma remembered following her sister around relentlessly trying to emulate everything she did, hoping to glean at least a little bit of her sister’s perfection.

  As much as Emma tried not to compare herself to her sister, she never could escape their obvious differences. Audrey was two years older, two inches taller, two dresses sizes smaller, and her hair was two shades darker, a rich chestnut color while Emma’s was brown, plain old brown hair. Audrey’s eyes were a deep rich chocolate brown, while Emma’s were lighter, more like the color of rust found at the bottom of an old metal bucket.

  It seemed that in everything Audrey did she excelled. In high school, she was a straight A student and star player on the girls’ basketball team. Her picture made the front page of the Central Valley Times nearly every week. Emma hadn’t inherited the athletic gene and stuck to her love of music. She’d been an accomplished clarinet player in the high school band, but no one ever featured her on the front pages of the newspaper for her concert solos.

  Emma didn’t resent her sister, she only wished for a life as charmed as hers. Someday Emma hoped to have a husband as wonderful as Finn, who was easily better looking than any man Emma had ever dated. None of them—except maybe for Seth, but he didn’t count because they never dated—compared to the ruggedly handsome appeal of her Irish brother-in-law, who’d given up his family and country to marry Audrey. The two met while she studied abroad in Dublin. According to both of them, it was love at first sight. It only seemed fitting to Emma that Audrey would have a fairytale romance.

  The fate of Emma’s love life was clinched the moment she moved back into her parent’s farmhouse. She hadn’t had so much as a date in over three years.

  Orchard Creek’s most eligible bachelor was Garth Simpson, a forty-seven year old goat rancher. Not that she had anything against goats, okay maybe she did, but Garth was far from the romantic suitor she envisioned for herself. The bright side of her being uprooted from Orchard Creek was that here in the city her prospects would have to be brighter. The waters were deeper and she would be able to cast a wider net.

  Men surrounded her now. She looked at the faces of her sister’s friends’ husbands. Did any of them have a single brother or colleague to set her up with? Sitting up straighter Emma tucked the loose strands of hair that had fallen from her ponytail behind her ears. She knew she must look tired, but tried to cover it up by pasting on a smile. Maybe one of these men would catch her bright and
cheerful façade and immediately think, Aha, she’d be perfect for so-and-so, and arrange a meeting between the two of them. It was a long shot, she knew, but if she was ever going to meet someone, get married and have children of her own she would have to start somewhere.

  She peered out of the corner of her eye and saw that not one of the men at the table was paying her any notice. Who am I kidding? Emma thought as she relaxed her shoulders and wilted into her chair—relieved her pathetic behavior went unnoticed. She didn’t need a boyfriend or a husband to make her feel happy, right?

  Right, she reassured herself. She was only twenty-six, going on twenty-seven, and in this modern age, she was still considered young. It would be years before she had to worry about being labeled as a lonely old spinster. But that didn’t change the lonesome feeling she had right now sitting in her sister’s backyard. She was the only one here alone—no husband, boyfriend or child to attach herself to.

  Sighing, Emma picked up her plate and headed for the kitchen. There must be something better for her to think about than the sorry state of her love life, like how she was going to manage her new class of kindergartners. At last count her class was up to twenty-eight students, practically double the size of any class she’d had in Orchard Creek. Thinking about the little strangers she met for the first time this week, Emma longed for the familiarity of her classes in Orchard Creek and the three-room schoolhouse she’d left behind when another round of budget cuts had closed its doors indefinitely.

  In Orchard Creek, Emma had known all of her incoming students before the first day. Some of their parents were her classmates in high school while others had picked peaches on her family’s farm. All of her students would have spoken English unlike the eight she had this year that spoke German, Russian, or Chinese. None of her students would have sat all day stuffed inside their coat locker and any one of their parents would have called her back immediately if she called and left a message, especially on their child’s first day of school.