Mine (10 page)

“Jesus Christ,” she whispered as she dropped into her chair and rubbed angrily at her forehead, annoyed at the situation as well as the realization that she’d felt completely disheartened by a student.

At thirty-five, she was certainly not an old woman; she was barely middle-aged. But she felt ancient when she thought about the differences between her students thirteen years ago when she was a young substitute teacher and her students now. They had no respect for authority today, not like when she was in school. They had no respect for their elders, either. The thing that amazed her, though, was that this lack of respect generally wasn’t a result of them being bad kids. It was more often a result of them not ever being
taught
respect by their parents. She heard kids in the hall every day mouthing off to teachers or aides in ways that made her head spin and sent her flashing back to the whack upside the head she would have gotten from her mother if she’d been caught verbalizing such insolence. Today, the parents seemed not to care. Either that or they didn’t have the time to care. Or they were too tired to care. Whatever the reason, it was a sad state of affairs when the idea of being polite simply because it was the right thing to do went flying out the window. She wondered how parents today managed. With all the scheduled events their kids had lined up, all the doodads and gadgets they required to keep up with the Joneses, the Web site access, the cruelty of the media, how was it possible to raise a child to have family values and reverence for the rights of other people?

Only when the noise in the hallway began to dull did Courtney realize she’d been sitting at her desk, lost in her own thoughts, for too long. The appearance of the cleaning woman in her doorway, prepared to give the room its end-of-the-day scouring, only solidified her dawdling.

“Hi, Ms. McAllister,” the woman said timidly. “Am I early?”

“No.” Courtney smiled at her as she gathered her stuff. “I’m late.” Thank God her last class of the day was a study hall. Shaking herself free of the clinging fog of discomfort with which Andrew Gray had shrouded her, she locked her desk, bade the cleaning woman a nice weekend, and hurried out of the classroom toward the large lecture hall that held almost fifty students anxious to be gone for the weekend.

*

The evenings weren’t chilly yet, but they’d definitely become cooler. It was a sure sign that summer was over and autumn was fast approaching. Within two months, temperatures would be down into the forties and it was even possible that a light blanket of early snow would make an appearance. The idea didn’t sit well with Courtney; winter was hard for her.

She sat in group in shorts and a long-sleeve T-shirt and was grateful to not have the air-conditioning blowing on her, causing her arms to break out into gooseflesh. She listened as Richard gave them a shy recounting of his most recent date with Ms. One Floor Down. The exhausted look he’d carried when she first met him seemed to be vanishing slowly in stages and he looked almost content today as he recounted his story. Courtney was envious, but couldn’t help smiling along with him as he spoke. Next to her, Lisa seemed just as happy for him.

“He’s so sweet,” she whispered as she leaned closer to Courtney. “He reminds me of my grandpa.”

Courtney nodded, thinking suddenly how strange it was that two people so far apart in age could be going through the exact same type of grief and be pulling for one another to break through to the other side.

After a few moments of silence, the balding man named Ted spoke up. “I don’t like the winter. I dread it.”

Nods and murmurs of agreement rolled around the room.

“Tell us why, Ted.” Constance’s face was the picture of gentle expectation.

“It’s the time of year when I miss my wife the most.” He sighed, studying his own lap. “At least in the summer, I can find things to do to occupy my mind. I’ll do yard work or go to a baseball game. But I’m a homebody at heart and winter makes me want to stay home, warm and cozy in the living room, by the fire. I haven’t felt like I could just do that since she’s been gone. It makes me feel so alone to sit there without her.” He rubbed at his chest as though he felt a physical pain there. Courtney wondered if maybe he did.

What Ted said was almost a carbon copy of the way she felt about the icy season. The picture he painted of sitting in front of a fire made her ache with desire for that coziness she’d been unable to thoroughly embrace and enjoy since Theresa’s death.

“Please tell us that goes away,” Courtney said just above a whisper. She squinted at her hands folded in her lap as she gathered her thoughts.
It’s not going to do me any good if I’m not honest at these sessions.
“My partner’s been gone for two and a half years, and the thought of winter makes me want to run away screaming.” She met Ted’s gaze across the circle. “I totally get it.”

“It fades,” Edith offered up, her papery thin voice cracking. “It does fade, but it doesn’t go away. Not really.”

The group absorbed the words in silence.

“Courtney?” Constance Mays’s words cut through her thoughts, causing her to blink rapidly. “How’ve you been doing otherwise? The move okay? The new house?”

Happy for the change in subject, sort of, Courtney wet her lips and felt the attention of six people focused on her. She cleared her throat. “Yeah, otherwise, I’m good. I’m doing all right. The closing was hard. Giving up the keys to our house was harder.” She heard the sympathetic, bitter chuckles as they filled the room. “But I made it through. I actually feel a lot better now that I’m in my own space. Every room doesn’t call up some painful memory, you know?” In her peripheral vision, she saw Lisa nodding. “And…” She took a deep breath. “I asked somebody out.”

Lisa’s head snapped around and she felt her stare. “You did?”

Courtney inclined her head once in affirmation. “I did.”

“That’s fantastic,” Constance praised her. “That’s a big step, Courtney. You should be proud of yourself.”

“Yeah, well, I haven’t heard back from her, and I almost don’t expect to, so it may have been for nothing.” She was conscious of the pronoun she dropped, but there really wasn’t much reaction from anyone. She was equal parts surprised and relieved. “But I’m glad I did it anyway. I feel like I took a step.”

“How did it feel?” Constance asked, her expression kind.

“Scary as hell.”

The room rumbled with understanding chuckles of agreement.

Thinking back to the bumbling and stuttering she’d done when she spoke to Rachel, Courtney wished she could call and simply reclaim her words.
Please disregard that last call. Unfortunate lapse in judgment. My bad.
But that hadn’t been an option; she’d been stuck knowing Rachel had heard every stumble, every uncertainty and hesitation, and was probably still rolling her eyes at Courtney’s feeble tone. It had been almost a week and she hadn’t heard a thing. No return call, no message about her schedule. Courtney supposed it was probably better this way anyhow.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” Lisa teased good-naturedly, nudging her with an elbow.

Courtney lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “I didn’t want anybody to know. I was embarrassed.”

Lisa squeezed her arm. “Well, I’m proud of you anyway.”

Chapter Seven

“Hi, Courtney. This is Rachel Hart. Listen, I know it’s been a while since your call and I’m really sorry it’s taken me this long to get back to you. Life has been a little chaotic recently. Anyway, I was just wondering…are you familiar with Happy Acres? It’s the animal shelter out on the east end of the city, near the thruway? They’re having their annual thank-you shindig for the volunteers and I’m invited. It’s very informal and casual…just drinks and hors d’oeuvres, that kind of thing, but it’s usually a pretty good time. I was wondering if you’d be interested in accompanying me. It’s Friday evening at seven. Please don’t feel obligated, but if it’s something that you think might interest you, I’d love for you to come with me.”

Courtney blinked at the answering machine in disbelief as Rachel rattled off her number and the message ended with a click. She’d played it twice but still didn’t quite register the facts, so she punched the Play button one more time, hunkering down with her elbows on the counter and her face practically pressed against the plastic as the husky voice filled the kitchen air for a third time.

When a knock sounded on the screen door, Courtney was still staring at the machine. She called out, “Come on in, Markie.”

Mark entered the kitchen, dressed in khaki slacks and a green short-sleeve button-up shirt. He looked casually handsome and Courtney felt her heart skip a beat the way it did every time she looked at his face. For a split second, she could see Theresa, and it threw her just like always. She often wondered if that feeling would ever fade away. She supposed it would and found herself torn over whether or not she wanted it to.

“Ready?” he asked. It was Sunday morning and they had a standing date once a month to have brunch together. They’d spend an hour or two eating, catching up on life, talking about Mark’s family, and in the fall, they’d watch football together, just as they’d done when Theresa was alive. Mark would often bring whatever woman he happened to be dating at the time. Once Theresa was gone, they’d vowed to not break the routine. It was out of respect for her and it was a way for them to hold on to some semblance of normal life in her absence.

Courtney debated for only a second before pointing at the machine and ordering, “Listen to this.” She played the message for him while he fidgeted.

“I’m starving,” he prodded. “Can we go?”

Sighing with impatience, Courtney pointed at the machine. “Did you listen?”

“I did.” He grinned. “She just asked you out.”

Courtney nodded. “I think you’re right.”

“That’s great, Court. You’ve been waiting for her to call back.”

She knew that was the truth, but she was sure the expression on her face told Mark she was less than enthusiastic.

“What’s up?” he asked, thoughts of breakfast apparently shelved for the moment. “This is good. Isn’t it?”

Courtney rubbed at the corner of her eye, then turned to look at him. “Do you think she’s out of my league?”

Incredulity settled across his face. “
What?
Are you serious?”

Gesturing at the answering machine with a defiant chin, Courtney snorted. “She didn’t even stutter.”

“So what?”

“God, you should have heard me talking to her, trying to ask her on a date. I sounded like a twelve-year-old boy asking out his crush.” She groaned, wishing she’d taken the original route she’d entertained and sent an e-mail instead. “She’s so…put together, you know? Everything in its place—hair, clothes, makeup—smooth speech, impeccable posture. Nothing rattles her. I’ll be awkward and clumsy next to her. I’ll probably embarrass her.”

“Sweetheart, look at me.” Mark took her by the shoulders and turned her to face him. “It’s not a marriage proposal. It’s an evening out.” He brushed her hair sweetly out of her face. “And if anything,
you’re
out of
her
league.”

“You think?” Courtney’s voice was small as she looked up at him uncertainly, hesitant to allow herself to feel reassured.

“Yeah, I think.” He kissed her forehead. “Can we eat now? I’m starving.”

Not for the first time, Courtney found herself wishing she was a straight woman, for no other reason than she and Mark could be together and it would be almost like being with Theresa again. She sighed internally, knowing that was a silly assumption to make, but the thought didn’t go away just because it was dumb.

At Binky’s Diner, they got a table with a minimal wait—unusual for a Sunday morning there—and sat down without looking at a menu, knowing from habit what they wanted. They placed their orders with the waitress, who joked with them familiarly, and then sipped coffee as they chatted.

“How was the first full week of school?” Mark asked as he added more sugar to his cup.

“Not bad,” Courtney replied, scanning the restaurant and the faces of the patrons. “I made it through yet again. Tomorrow, it will start to feel more routine.”

“Good kids this year?”

“For the most part, I think, aside from one difficult one.” Courtney relayed the story of her run-in with Andrew Gray the previous week.

Mark focused on her face. “You be careful, okay? Kids today, especially the boys, don’t think twice about defying authority figures.”

“Yes, Dad,” she teased, feeling silly about the whole thing, but loving Mark for his concern.

An errant thought tickled her mind, telling her Rachel Hart, Million Dollar Producer, would probably put Mr. Gray right in his place, just like Theresa would. She felt the corners of her mouth hitch up the smallest bit at the idea of her not only taking him on, but winning.

As their food arrived, she promised Mark she’d be extra careful and then changed the subject. “So, what about you? How’s work? What’s new?”

They rambled on as they ate, back and forth in a comfortable friendship that was difficult to find between a straight man and a gay woman. Courtney had often wondered why that was such an uncommon pairing. Gay men and straight women got along famously; you could find them on television all the time. But it was rare to find the lesbian/straight man combination, and she didn’t understand it. Didn’t straight men and lesbians have a lot of things in common? In general, stereotypical terms: women, sports, cars, construction. Not that Courtney had the first clue about engine mechanics or building a house, but she loved sports and she never failed to notice a beautiful woman. Her friends were often surprised by how much time she spent with Mark. She knew a big reason for that was their biggest, most important common bond: Theresa. But still, Mark was a great guy, interesting and funny, and Courtney often felt that if she’d met him under some other circumstances, if she
hadn’t
spent ten years of her life with his sister, they still would have ended up as close friends.