Jo-Jo: I got your letter today.

Abby Girl: Yay!

Jo-Jo: Yay for you, bestie. You got into college!

Abby Girl: I did!

Jo-Jo: I’m proud of you, Abby girl.

“Well, does she have a fever?” I whispered into the cell phone crooked in my neck as I gathered papers from the printer and shoved them into a folder. It was hard to focus this morning, as for some reason I kept thinking about Joey, an old friend from high school. Friend? That’s what I had made him, hadn’t I? It seemed like a lifetime ago, when we were inseparable. I knew he was back in town, but I threw myself into my work to avoid thinking about it.

“Abby, she’s fine,” Georgia, my daycare provider, assured me. “It’s just a little cough. You might need to pick up some Tylenol on your way over to pick her up this afternoon, though.”

More papers spit into the tray and I scooped them up. I hadn’t even had time to look over the roster. I was so unprepared this morning. Zoey had been so sick I regretted taking her to daycare, but I didn’t have much of a choice. Mom and Dad were at work and my sister, Lettie, would be walking into her first period class of her senior year of high school.

“I’m walking into my last class of the day in a few minutes, and I’ll pick her up early,” I told Georgia. I glanced at the clock above the printer. “Shoot, I’m late! Give my baby girl kisses for me!”

“Go. Teach!” Georgia laughed. “Zoey will be fine.”

“Okay. Text me if she gets worse. Gotta go!” I hung up without even waiting for Georgia to say goodbye.

My head spun with worry for Zoey. I hated it when she was sick. It always reminded me of … well. I pushed those thoughts away.

Today was the first day of term. I needed that excitement for my students. I hauled my bubbly personality out of the trenches and plastered a smile on my face as I headed to building 201 for my first history class of the day.

Ten minutes late, as always. I waited for the mass exodus of students at the main doors, then pushed in behind the ones waiting for me. By the time I made it into the classroom, everyone was seated and anxiously awaiting my appearance.

“Welcome to History 102: Civil War and Restoration,” I announced with my usual classroom exuberance, glancing over the packed room of some thirty-plus students. I was so happy to see a few familiar faces. “Glad to see some of my favorites here. Sam! How are …” I paused when I saw the man seated beside him and struggled to finish my sentence. “…you?” I pushed the smile on my face bravely, trying not to waver. My heart beat a million miles a minute and I felt the sweat break on my brow, but I was better than this. One student wouldn’t unnerve me.

Even if at one point he was the love of my life.

What the hell is he doing here? Of course, I knew he was in town, I figured we’d run into each other at some point, but here, now, at my college, where I taught? I cleared my throat and focused on greeting Sam, one of my best and brightest, with a clear passion and dedication to American history. I smiled and welcomed him, then pulled out my roster and focused on the roll.

There he was, halfway down the spreadsheet: Joseph Harrison. I skipped him. He’d have to drop; conflict of interest. There were two other history classes at this school he could take, and it wouldn’t be mine.

I hadn’t said his name aloud in years and doing so now would break me.

Not on my first day of class, and not in front of these students.

Good thing I wasn’t new to this teaching game, and community college was a far cry from the military school I’d done my student teaching at three years ago. Those students were tougher than anything I had to deal with at a two-year community college like this one. They couldn’t pull one over on me, not even Joey’s return to town could distract me.

Thankfully, the first day is all classroom expectations, syllabus assignments, and ice breakers. I let them go ten minutes early; I wanted to get my daughter home, and every time Joey caught my eye I had to sharply look away.

He looked much the same, as handsome as ever, but he sat straighter in his chair, and his ever-smooth chin from high school now sported a trimmed, dark brown beard to match his longer hair. I felt my heart flutter seeing him again, and I fought to keep it under control.

Dismissing the class was more of a relief than I’d expected.

I answered a couple of questions from lingering students, as I spied Joey slowly stuffing his materials back in his bag. It was clear he was waiting for me, would stop me, and try to talk.

No, not today.

At last, the final student left, and I gathered my folders and slipped into the hall. I hurried to my office, throwing the folders on my cluttered desk and shut the door. I shrugged into my thin sweater and snagged my purse and keys from the drawer.

My heart pounded. Joey. After all these years. We had texted, emailed, a few times, and I’d seen him around town maybe twice in the eight years he’d been gone. Now, it looked like he’d come back for good. Would he be upset I hadn’t waited? That I had married Evan, his best friend once upon a time. Then, Zoey happened. Damn, it was hard to swallow suddenly. Did he know about Evan? Oh, God. I couldn’t explain that to anyone.

A knock on my closed door startled me, and I threw it open, hoping to see another faculty member or student.

Instead, it was the person I last person I wanted to see – Joseph Harrison.

“Hello, Abby,” he said, leaning against the door-frame. “College, huh?”

I stared at him, frozen. Up close, he was more handsome than ever – and filled out. His arms, even in that black hooded shirt, bulged, and his chest was twice as wide. The military had made him even more dashing than he was in high school.

“What’s that?” He pointed behind me. I looked to my computer, where a small teddy bear, aged and worn over the last eight years, sat perched on a low shelf.

I blinked at him. I wasn’t ready for this. “I’m sorry, I’ve got to rush out for an appointment,” I said, pushing past him and pulling my door shut. I locked it quickly and hurried to the end of the hall.

“Abby! Let me walk you out!” he called, jogging to keep up with me.

The dean, Jennifer Gonzalez, rounded the corner at that minute, nodding to me. “Good first day, Abby?”

I forced a smile to my face. “Dean Gonzalez,” I greeted her, hoping Joey would get the hint and go away “Yes. It’s been a great first day for two classes. Third is tomorrow.” She looked between Joey and me. “I was just catching Joseph here up on an assignment due at the end of the week, and I’ve got to pick up Zoey.”

Oh crap. Why had I said that?

“Oh, how is Zoey doing?” Jennifer smiled, nodding to Joey.

Joey was staring at me, a clear effort to avoid asking me questions in front of my boss.

“She’s got a cough, nothing serious, but you know what daycare’s like.”

“I remember.” Jennifer laughed. “Well, I’ve got a conference call. Keep up the good work, Abby. We love having you on the team. Have a good term, Joseph.”

“Thanks,” we both said at the same time.

She strode down the hallway past us.

Ignoring Joey, I pushed through the double doors and out into the parking lot behind the faculty building.

“Abby, wait. Who’s Zoey?”

He doesn’t know she’s Evan’s. He doesn’t know anything, I thought painfully. I pulled my keys from my pocket and turned to him as I stopped at my car. “Zoey is my daughter.”

Joey stumbled back, shock on his face. “Your daughter? When did you…never mind. How old is she?”

“She’s almost two years old,” I quipped, changing directions. “You need to drop my class,” I said forcefully, unlocking the car door and not looking at him anymore. “You can’t be in my class.” As if repeating it would make him do what I wanted.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

I flung the door open, too hard, and finally turned to him. His jaw was set in determination, just like always. Just like the day he told me he was joining the Marines. The day he broke my heart I’d been too stubborn to give him in the first place. “Joey…”

“I remember you used to call me Jo-Jo,” he said softly, taking a step closer.

I shook my head. “That was a long time ago. A life time ago, in fact.”

“I promised I’d come back, and I did.” His eyes were glossy. My strong Joey. What had happened to him?

I wrapped my resolve firmly around me, even though it broke my heart all over again. “I’m sorry, Joey, but we were different people then. I’m a teacher now, and I’ve got my daughter to think about. Please drop my class.” With that, I shut the car door, roared the engine to life, and zoomed out of the parking lot.

I couldn’t tell him about Evan, and I’d only married him because I never stopped loving Joey. I didn’t know if I’d ever be ready to tell him.

“Mama! Ice cream!”

“No, Zoey,” I said for the third time on our drive home. I pulled into the driveway of our two-bedroom rental. It was as nice as I could afford on my salary, though Evan’s benefits helped. I was saving to buy a place, and by this time next year, Zoey and I would have a home of our own. After Evan, we needed something new, anyway.

From the backseat, my almost, but not quite two-year-old coughed, an awful choking sound which tore at my heart. “You’re getting soup,” I told her as I got out and started to unbuckle her.

“No soup,” she protested, smashing her fists on the car seat. “Ice cream!”

“Zoey, come on. Mommy’s had a long day,” I said gently. It was only a little after one in the afternoon, but I’d been on campus since six to prep, print syllabi, and attend a meeting. Zoey’s cheeks were rosy red. I was sure she had a fever and Georgia had been wrong. “Let’s just go make some soup and take a nap, okay?”

She finally agreed, quiet for once in her short life, and I hoisted her onto my hip to carry her into the house.

“Daddy,” she said, pointing to the family portrait that hung over the small fireplace in our living room, as I shut the front door and sat her down.

I winced. Zoey had only been a few months old when I lost Evan. I was sure she wouldn’t remember him, but it was my fault she did. She always asked who the man in the picture was. It had been 18 months since Evan’s death, and I’d erased most of him from our life. Except that picture. I couldn’t take it down.

“Remember, sweetie, Daddy’s always looking down on us,” I said. I almost shuddered. Was that even a good thing?

“Good girl.” Zoey looked up at me, pointing to herself.

“That’s right, he wants you to be a good girl. Never forget that, okay?”

“Okay.” She pulled herself up on the couch, and another cough racked her tiny body. “Sleepy, Mommy.”

“You take a nap, and Mommy will make soup. Chicken noodle?”

She was already snoring softly. I lay her on the couch and felt her forehead. Yup, a slight fever. I’d have to keep an eye on that.

In the kitchen, I quietly put the dishes away from our small dishwasher and set a can of soup to boil. I thought about the weirdness of my first day on campus. My first class, history of the Oregon Trail, had gone wonderfully, with the ice breaker really helping most of the students. But then there had been my Civil War class, and as much as I wanted to deny it, seeing Jo-Jo had lifted my spirits. It had been a long time without a friend or a companion. Most of my high school friends did what I set out to do — left this town behind. We connected with empty likes and shares on social media, but rarely did we talk.

Maybe Jo-Jo coming back was a chance to restart our friendship, no matter how badly it had ended before.

As I turned the soup off and ladled it out to cool for Zoey, my phone vibrated in my office bag and I turned to grab it.

Seeing my mother’s number, I groaned briefly, but knew I had to answer it, lest she persist for several more hours. My mother was relentless.

“Guess who’s back in town!” she nearly yelled in my ear when I answered.

Fearing even Zoey had heard her, I glanced at the couch. She was still sound asleep, her arm behind her cherubic face, framed with blonde curls, just like her father. Her face was still rosier than I liked, but at least she was breathing evenly.

I sighed. “Joseph Harrison,” I told my excited mother.

“Yes, Jo-Jo! Wait, how did you know?”

I bit my tongue. I couldn’t tell her he was in my class, so I made something up. “I saw him today.”

“On campus? Jean told me he was going to school. You remember his mother, Jean? She’s in my sewing circle at church?”

“Just on my way to class.” I tried not to lie too heavily. My mother would box my ears if she ever found out. “Jean told you he was going to college?”

“She did, you should have heard how proud she was. Fourth boy in their family to go to school, well, there’s Juney, his sister, but really Jean doesn’t count her yet, because she’s the same age as Lettie. Which is just so sad that she doesn’t because she’s really very smart. You know she won that prize at the fair one year for something, what as it? I don’t remember, really.”

My mother rambled on for a minute and I let her, stirring the soup in my bowl and taking a spoonful of the hot broth.

“Honey, do you want his number?”

That caught me, and I stopped her. “Mom! Joey is an old friend. Nothing more. We haven’t spoken in years!”

“You used to write him, or text, or whatever people do these days.”

Even now I could see my mother’s confused and slightly judgmental look. “A long time ago,” I supplied, “before Evan.”

“Ah, I see.”

In mother-speak, that meant she didn’t see at all, and I was being stubborn.

“Mom, Evan’s only been gone a year.”

“Eighteen months.”

“I’m not interested in Joey. Not anymore.”

“Oh, sweetie,” my mother sighed, but I knew she was preparing to give me her ‘advice’. “I didn’t tell you to sleep with him. Just, you know, be his friend. You have so few of those.”

I sighed, feeling my eyes roll back. She was so blunt. “I have no intention of either.”

“Even as friends?” she pressed.

“Mom, enough.”

That was her cue. “Well, I need to pick up your father from work. Are we still getting together on Saturday for our lunch date with Lettie?”

Lunch date, I thought sarcastically, where my mother, sister, and I met at the same cheesy diner I’d been going to since middle school, where Lettie worked after school some days. I cleared my throat. “Zoey has a cough, but if she feels better, then yes.”

“Give my grandbaby girl a kiss for me. Did you get her to eat soup?”

“I just made it. She’ll be fine, Mom.”

“Okay, good. Call me later.”

“I will.”

We hung up.

Zoey stirred a bit and her eyes fluttered open, then shut again. I finished my bowl and tested hers, which had significantly cooled. “Zoey?” I prodded her gently. She woke and grabbed my neck. “Cold, Mommy,” she whispered, coughing so hard she could barely breathe.

I scooped her up, feeling her forehead burn with fever. “We’ll have soup later. Let’s get you into a warm bath with some steam.”

She smiled at me. “Bath.”