Her doe eyes found mine then. "For me?"
I nodded. "Come on. Grab your lunch and let's go. I'll have you back before the kids, I promise."
She chewed her thumbnail, shaking her head when she realized she was doing it and quickly drying it on her skirt. It was strange, like she didn't trust me, or maybe like she didn't trust herself. But I waited patiently. I wasn't in a rush.
After a long moment, she grabbed her scarf from her desk and wrapped it around her neck. "Okay. But I only have thirty minutes."
I smirked. "Deal."
There were two libraries at Westchester - one for grades K through eight, and one for grades nine through twelve. Both were massive, two floors each, but the lower grade library was brighter, more colorful. We were hidden away in the back corner of the second floor, our lunches spread out on one of the private study tables. The library was quiet, save for our hushed conversation and the laughs coming from a middle school lunch study group a few aisles down.
"You're good with them," I said as I took the last bite of my soup. I licked the spoon clean, dropping it inside the Tupperware and popping the lid back in place. "The kids."
Charlie smiled, twirling her own spoon around in her yogurt. She'd played with her food more than she'd eaten it, but I didn't press her on it.
"It's not hard to be. They're so young. Creative. And it's their first year of school. I get them at their happiest."
"Not yet scathed by the rigorous Westchester curriculum, huh?"
"Exactly. Their homework is still fun at this age."
"They're going to hate it when they get to me."
At that, Charlie laughed.
"They all really look up to you," I added, tucking my empty Tupperware back into my bag. "I have some kids in my class who said they had you and you're still they're favorite teacher."
"Really?"
I nodded, smiling at the tinge shading her fair cheeks. "Really. Quite the impression you've made on these little minds, Mrs. R-" I caught myself. "Pierce."
She watched me for a moment before her eyes fell back to her spoon. "I love my job. It sounds silly, but I've always wanted to do this. I've always wanted to teach. It doesn't feel like work to me, coming to Westchester every morning." She smiled. "It's where I'm happiest."
My chest tightened at her admission. Part of me was glad for her, that she'd found what she loved to do, that she'd secured a job that wouldn't ever feel like a job to her. But the other, stronger half of me wondered why her home wasn't where she was happiest. In my opinion, it should have been.
"I didn't know I wanted to teach until after I'd tutored for a while at Juilliard," I admitted. "I always kind of thought performing for crowds was what made me happiest. But all the restaurant gigs I had, all the weddings and parties, even Broadway - none of that made me feel as good as it did when I taught a kid how to read music, or how to perfect a piece they'd been struggling with."
Charlie finally took a bite of her yogurt with a smile. "It's pretty magical, isn't it? Nothing in the world like that feeling."
"There really isn't."
"Do you still play?" she asked. "Outside of the classroom, I mean."
My chest tightened, and I shifted in my seat. "I've thought about maybe finding something in Pittsburgh. It's been hard, since … everything," I admitted, catching her eyes. She understood what I didn't have to say. "Playing doesn't really bring me joy the way it used to. Before."
Her face bent. "That makes me so sad. You play more beautifully than anyone else I've ever heard."
"Yeah, well," I said with a shrug. "My ability to play like that faded pretty fast after everything happened. Almost as fast as the inheritance my family left for me."
///
"Blew it, huh?" Charlie asked.
I smirked like it wasn't a big deal, but the memories of long nights spent doping and throwing my money away hit me like a fist to the chest. "Surprised?"
"A little." She tilted her head to one side. "I'm sorry, Reese. I know it doesn't help or mean anything, but I am."
I watched Charlie dip the spoon back in her yogurt, both of us quiet.
"Some of the teachers are getting together for happy hour on Friday," I said after a minute, changing the subject. "You should come."
She shot me a look under one lifted brow. "Not really my scene."
"What? Can't throw down with the crew for a while?"
"I barely talk to any of the other teachers," she confessed. "And besides, I have a date with Cameron that night."
"Oh."
It should have been easy to hear her say that. It should have hit me like common sense. She was going on a date with her husband, as she should on a Friday night.
But it sliced through me like a rusty blade on an old wound.
"That'll be nice. I was bummed I didn't get to spend more time with him at dinner this past weekend."
Charlie paused, lifting another spoonful of yogurt to her lips. But she dropped it back into the tub without taking a lick. "Yeah, just bad timing, since there was a game that night. I'm sure he would have loved to get to know you more, too."
"I'm sure. Next time," I said, hoping to comfort her, but she just chewed her thumbnail.
Lunch was almost over, and it didn't feel like the smoothest segue in the world, but I was running out of time. Swallowing, I reached into my messenger bag for the gift I'd brought her. It was wrapped in simple brown parchment paper with her name in neat script on the front. I slid it toward her with two fingers, watching as she eyed it before glancing up at me.
"What is it?"
"Well, open it and find out," I teased.
She ran her fingers over the top of the paper as she pulled it closer, her nude nail polish nearly blending in with it. A strand of her hair fell out of place and over her eye as she ripped the first piece of wrapping, and that's all it took for her to cover her mouth with a gasp.
"Oh my God," she whispered, peeling the paper back slowly. "Is this … "
"It is. The one and only good thing I have to show from my inheritance."
She shook her head, glancing up at me briefly before unwrapping the book all the way. It was an old copy of Anna Karenina, one that would have likely been thrown in a donation bin by the unsuspecting average American. The lower right-hand corner of the dark brown cloth cover was badly bent, the spine stretched and worn, and as she flipped through the pages, she revealed the various stains that riddled the pages within.
To someone else, it would have been trash. But to her, it was gold.
"It's a first edition," she said, almost as a question. "It's beautiful. Where in the world did you find it?" She narrowed her eyes then. "Wait, is this one of your surprises? Please tell me you didn't steal this from Juilliard."
I barked out a laugh.
"Nope, actually bought this one. It wasn't too long after the shooting, actually," I said, voice softer as I watched Charlie flip through the pages as gently as she could. "I passed by an older couple selling books out of old boxes in front of a bookstore in Manhattan. They were closing their doors after ninety years. It was the woman's father's store before he passed it on to her."
Charlie's brows bent together. "That's so sad."
"It is. But they were in good spirits. They told me a lot of great stories, and I bought a few books from them, this one included."
She shook her head, closing the book to run her fingers over the gold text on the cover. "This must have cost a small fortune, Reese."
"They practically paid me to take it," I lied. "Trust me, it would have been crazy for me not to buy it at the price they offered."
The truth was it hadn't even been in the boxes at all. It was one still locked behind a glass case inside the store, the most expensive book they still owned. I bought it off them for just under three thousand dollars.
And I'd buy it again if it meant I got to watch Charlie open it one more time in the back of an empty library.
"It's too much," she whispered.
"It's a gift. I figured I'd run into you again someday, and you'd kill me if I told you that story and I'd walked away from a first-edition Tolstoy."
///
She smiled, but it fell quickly, and her eyes were glossed over as she tore them away from the book and found my gaze once more. "You thought you'd see me again someday?"
"I hoped," I answered honestly.