What He Doesn't Know(2)

I'd always fit so well with Cameron - not just in our relationship, but  physically, too. He was taller than me, but not by too much, just enough  so that I sat comfortably under his arm when we walked side by side.  When we would lay together at night, his knees would curve into the back  of my legs perfectly, his arms winding around me like a safe haven.

In photographs, we looked as if we'd been plucked from a magazine - our  dark hair complementary, eyes the same shade of golden brown. He was  harder than me, his features more pronounced against his olive skin.  Those differences only complemented my soft eyes and light complexion,  in contrast. We were as aesthetically pleasing as a freshly painted  mural, one everyone loved to stop and marvel at.                       
       
           


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But sometimes when I looked at him, I didn't recognize the man I saw at all - not anymore.

This was one of those times.

I crossed my arms over my middle, the thin fabric of my nightgown suddenly not enough to block out the cold.

"Oh. That's too bad."

He reached into the basket on the island for a banana and paused,  watching me for a moment like he wanted to ask me something. His brows  pinched together just slightly above the straight bridge of his nose,  but the line disappeared so quickly I convinced myself it'd never  existed at all.

Cameron stepped into me and pressed a kiss to my forehead. He didn't  linger, didn't lean down to transfer that kiss to my lips. And then his  hands were reaching for his keys instead of me.

"Have a great first day, sweetheart," he said, and I forced a smile in  return, holding it there until I heard the front door close a few  moments later.

I stared at the french toast, the smell of it taunting me. I could  almost hear his laughter from that first morning he'd cooked for me all  those years ago, could almost feel his arms around me as we danced in  the kitchen, one of his favorite places to pull me into him and sway in  time with our favorite songs.

But there was no apron that morning, no dancing, no laughing. Just the sad, melodic voice of Bon Iver and a table set for one.

I clicked the power button on the kitchen stereo system, tossed the  french toast in the trash, and abandoned the white porcelain plate in  the sink along with my memories.





Westchester Preparatory School sat right in the middle of Mount Lebanon,  only a ten-minute drive from our house. It was the highest ranked  private school in the state and one of the top in the country.

I had nearly burst into tears the day I'd been offered my dream job  teaching kindergarten at Westchester, though I suppose I shouldn't have  been surprised. After all, I'd attended Westchester my entire schooling,  as had my brother, and our father, too. Dad had also been a top donor  since before my brother or I even attended.

It was the middle of my eighth year teaching there, and I still felt the  same pride as that very first day when I opened the large, wooden  double doors that led into the main hallway of the Annie Grace Wing.  Named after the founder's daughter, it was the wing that housed  pre-kindergarten through fifth grade, and the wing where my classroom  had been located since the day I joined the Westchester faculty.

I unwound my scarf when the warmth from the hall hit me, the school an  almost reverent sense of quiet in the early morning. The wood floors  were freshly polished, the late Victorian architecture filling me with a  sense of history as my eyes traced the high arches and ceiling murals.

My students wouldn't learn to appreciate the gold and navy baroque  floral wallpaper and antique chandeliers until they were much older,  maybe even until they were alumni. That was when I first took pride in  the school I'd attended, in the foundation of it, the hundreds of years  of history within its walls.

"Good morning, Mrs. Pierce," a familiar voice called from across the hall as I rounded the corner into my classroom.

Randall Henderson, our headmaster, strutted toward me like a peacock in  heat. It wasn't that he wanted to show off for anyone, least of all me,  but rather that his personality was as loud and colorful as the purple  and green feathers that beckoned you in for a closer look. His belly was  round, his cheeks the same, and his smile took up his entire face even  on the rainiest of days.

"Mr. Henderson," I greeted with a nod, hanging my coat, scarf, and purse  on the hook behind my desk. "A pleasure to see you this early on the  first day back."

"Pleasure's all mine," he assured me, tucking his hands into the pockets  of his navy blue dress slacks. "I hope you enjoyed your holidays?"

My stomach tightened at the reality of my holiday season, spent mostly  alone, save for Christmas Day when Cameron and I had joined my parents  for dinner. Had it not been for waking up to what I thought was a  traditional first day breakfast with Cameron, I would have hustled out  the door with a sigh of relief that school had started up again.

Cameron had worked long days and sometimes even nights throughout the  entire break, and even when we'd had dinner at my parents' for  Christmas, he'd barely said a word. We were both asleep well before  midnight on New Year's Eve, and I'd dreamed of earlier years that night,  of midnights spent kissing under confetti rain.

"It was a wonderful break," I lied to Mr. Henderson, hoping the smile  I'd managed with those words was at least somewhat convincing. Had Mr.  Henderson noticed how that smile had changed over the last five years,  how it had lost the vigor and brilliance? Did anyone even see me at all,  or was I as dead to them as I felt inside?                       
       
           


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"How are your parents? Well, I hope?"

It was no surprise that Mr. Henderson would ask after my parents, Gloria  and Maxwell Reid. They were a shining beacon in Mount Lebanon, well  known and well spoken of. They'd married at just seventeen, and run the  town as a powerhouse couple ever since.

"Very well," I said. "Dad is just as stubborn as always, and Mom is  making it harder and harder for the buckle around his waist to fasten."

Mr. Henderson chuckled. "That woman's cooking is a blessing and a curse."

"You're telling me." I ran my hands over my modest navy blue skirt  before folding them together at my waist. "Is there something I can do  for you, Mr. Henderson?"

"In fact, there is. We have a new music teacher starting today, taking  over Mrs. Flannigan's old position as the piano instructor."

We both shared a sympathetic look then. Mrs. Flannigan had been with  Westchester for three decades, but had been diagnosed with early-onset  Alzheimer's just before the break. She'd gracefully stepped down to  spend time with her family before the symptoms worsened, and we all  wondered how Mr. Henderson would handle filling her position so last  minute.

"I was fortunate enough to find an excellent candidate who was willing  to up and move over the break, but he wasn't able to get here as early  as I'd have liked to tour the grounds or even set up his classroom. Miss  Maggert took care of that for me, thank goodness," he added. "Anyway,  he grew up in the area, but never attended Westchester. I wondered if  you might be willing to show him around, perhaps let him join you for  lunch for a while until he gets acclimated?"

Internally, I cringed, but on the outside, I only offered a placid smile  and nod. The word no wasn't in my vocabulary, and it hadn't been ever  since I could remember. Mom had raised me to always be the hostess, the  one always willing to accommodate others, and since it brought me more  joy seeing others happy than it did to say no for my own discomfort, I  always obliged.

Always.

Even if it meant giving up my time after school to take someone's  detention duty, or enduring paper cuts helping Mom seal envelopes for  fundraiser invitations, or, like now, agreeing to be someone's lunch  buddy when even the thought of mindless small talk affected me in the  way nails on a chalkboard would anyone else.

"Of course. I'd be happy to," I finally agreed aloud.

"Wonderful!" Mr. Henderson clapped his hands together. "He's getting set  up in his classroom now, but I'll introduce the two of you at lunch  today. You're a life saver, Charlie." He waved as he turned to exit.  "Happy first day back!"

I waved in return, but when he rounded the corner and disappeared, my hand fell, my smile fading.

It truly did bring me joy to be able to help him, to see that bit of  relief in his eyes when I'd told him I could handle the task at hand.  Still, my hands were already clammy at the thought of spending my lunch  entertaining a stranger instead of reuniting with my favorite fictional  characters between the pages of a very worn book.