Chapter 39
Andrew
I lean back in my desk chair and close my eyes. God, I’m tired.
Robert and I stayed out later than we’d planned—ten o’clock, not that late—but when I got home, Maya ripped into me for not calling and for standing up my daughter.
“You know,” she’d said angrily, “your daughter likes routine. And she was expecting you to read to her tonight.” I felt like I was in high school again being scolded by my parents for missing curfew. She wanted to know where I’d been. I told her, “Out with a friend.” She didn’t seem to like that answer very much.
When the bell rings, I start, then rub my eyes and get to my feet. The kids start trickling in. I’m just finishing writing the day’s objectives on the board when Stephen shows up . . . on time. And the real kicker, he actually acts human. And do I detect a small measure of contrition?
I allow myself a moment of pride at my eloquent presentation of the situation yesterday and the subsequent taking down a peg of one Stephen Newman.
The kids have a quiz today. After we go over homework, I pass out the quizzes and instruct the kids to place them in a basket on my desk when they’re done and get started on tonight’s homework.
I park on the stool in front of the classroom to monitor, but I’m foggy-brained, and at least once I almost lose my balance and tumble off the stool. I need caffeine, and I need it badly. But there’s no leaving the room.
The first kid to finish is one of the girls—Safina Ahmad. She drops her quiz in the basket and catches my eye. I motion to her. “Would you do me a big favor?” I ask quietly. “Would you take this cup to the teachers’ lounge at the end of the hall and fill it with coffee?”
“Sure.” She takes the cup.
“And there are some little containers of cream and some sugar packets. Would you bring me a couple of each?”
She smiles and quietly lets herself out of the room. Not only is Safina bright as hell and poorly placed in this class, but she’s one of those kids who loves to help out her teachers. And she’s one I can trust to go into the teachers’ lounge and not get into some mischief on the way.
When Safina gets back, I mouth a thank you and give her a wink, then set the cup on my stool to add cream and sugar.
The kids are starting to finish in larger numbers now. Two and three at a time are at my desk. I notice that Stephen is still working. No doubt he’s just doodling since he hasn’t done any homework on this unit and has wasted every class period. But he’s not acting like a jerk. I take that to mean that his dad gave him the what for after our meeting, and I wouldn’t be having any more trouble from him. Maybe after this quiz I can get him back on track and help him salvage what’s left of the school year. In high school, kids should be using summer school to get ahead, not to recover credits. Even an immature little brat like Stephen Newman.
In the back corner of the room, I see Tyler Hicks stretching his scrawny self in his seat to see over Izzy Garcia’s shoulder. I’m pretty sure that’s not going to do him much good. I clear my throat and he darts a look at me, then hunches over his quiz again. I keep my eye on them until Izzy turns in her quiz.
That’s when I see the note being passed hand to hand. I consider letting it go, but I figure I’m on a roll, so I might as well ride this baby as long as I can. I pick up the note and make a big show of dropping it in the trash unread.
Another quiz, second period, practically puts me in a coma, despite the coffee. By third-period conference, I have to move around.
I grab some more coffee, check my mailbox, stop by the attendance office to sign a few forms, then just to keep busy stop by the library to check out some picture books for Kiki. The librarian, Ms. Wetzel, purchases them for teachers in English classes to use in teaching literary elements.
She pulls a couple of new ones from her not-yet-available-for-checkout shelf and checks them out to me because, she says, I’m too cute for words. She’s about eighty. She talks to me like I’m eight. Sometimes I think she thinks I’m checking out the picture books for myself.
On my way back to my classroom, I reach for my phone to check the time. It’s not in my pocket. I try to remember when I last had it, but I just don’t know. Sometimes I place it on my desk during class, so I check there first, under papers, around my computer, in my desk drawers, under my desk. Then I resign myself to retracing my steps. Lounge, mailboxes, attendance, library.
No phone.
In the few minutes I have before fourth period, I go out to the parking lot and check my car. Nothing. That’s just great. I probably left it at home this morning. I’m going to feel naked all day without it.
And I do. Countless times I reach for it, and then remember it’s not there. I even call myself from my classroom phone. Nada.
During fourth, I pull a book from my shelves—a biography of Galileo—and tuck a note inside, leaving about a quarter inch exposed: Phone missing. Don’t text. Will call later. On the outside I attach a Post-it: Robert Westfall. Then I look up Robert’s schedule and add Room 242. Out of an abundance of caution, I put a rubber band around the book, then shanghai the first kid to finish the quiz, Annie Dunn.
“Would you take this to Robert Westfall, room 242. He left it in my classroom this morning.”
When Robert comes into class sixth, he waves the book at me. “Thanks for returning my book, Mr. Mac.”
“You’re welcome, Mr. Westfall.”
I search everywhere when I get home for that damn phone, but it’s just gone. I use Maya’s phone to call myself. Nothing.
It is beyond frustrating to lose a phone. Do I wait and keep looking? Or do I just drop another couple hundred dollars or so that I don’t have and buy a new one? I decide to wait until Saturday morning at least.
When Maya takes a bubble bath that evening, I borrow her phone and call Robert.
“Hello? Ms. Momin?”
“Not Ms. Momin.”
He laughs. “I didn’t think so. Still no phone?”
“Nope. If it doesn’t show up by tomorrow morning, I’m going to have to buy a new one. In the meantime, though, we have some plans to make. And we have about ten minutes to make them.”
I hate hanging up when I hear Maya pull the drain on the tub because I know there will be no communicating with him until tomorrow. I delete the call dialed and replace the phone exactly as I found it.
By two o’clock Saturday afternoon, I’ve got a new phone, disabled the SIM card on the previous one, and downloaded all my contacts. It costs me almost two hundred dollars for a similar refurbished phone since my contract isn’t up for renewal yet. I don’t carry insurance, because I don’t lose my phones.
Maya is vacuuming when I get home, and Kiki is napping in a pile of clean laundry on the couch. I move her to a cozy, oversize chair and sit on the couch to fold. Maya turns off the vacuum cleaner. “Did you get a phone?”
“Yep. What a pain.”
“Hey, Doug is out of town. How about I rent a movie from Redbox and we have a pajama party tonight?”
“Wow. Sounds like fun, but I’m going out tonight. In fact, I’m leaving about five.”
“A date?”
“Yeah.”
“What time are you going to be home?”
I’m folding a towel. I make a trifold the way Maya likes it and set it on the back of the couch. “I’m not going to be home tonight, Maya.”
I pick up another towel and focus on making neat, tight folds.
“Are you staying at his place?”
I don’t particularly like her tone. I am not a child. I do not need her permission or approval. I don’t answer. Maybe that’s what sets her off.
She snaps the vacuum handle in the upright position and storms out of the room, but just as she reaches the hallway, she turns back. “Why is he texting your phone?”
Goddamnshitmotherfucker. She was in my room. She looked at my phone. Hell, for all I know, she took my phone. I am livid. No, I am beyond livid, but I force my face to remain neutral, or if not neutral, at least confused and maybe a little indignant. I’m not sure how well I’m accomplishing any of those.
“What are you talking about, Maya? And what’s with all the questions? Weren’t you the one who insisted we were still going to have our own lives? I think your actual words were, ‘You can still date. Go dancing. Bring a guy over for dinner.’ So what was that? Just some kind of bullshit to get me back in the house again?” I pick up another towel and wad it up. “Well, I’m back, but I’m not too damn happy about it right now.”
I get to my feet and fling the towel at the couch. “I’ll be back tomorrow, early afternoon. I’ll take Kiki to the lake to feed the ducks, and you can have the afternoon to yourself. Okay?”
She says, “Okay,” but she doesn’t mean okay. She makes me feel like I’m committing adultery. Like I’m committing statutory rape.
We avoid each other for the next few hours. It’s a relief to zip up my small duffel bag and kiss my daughter good-bye at five.
“I hope you have a good time,” Maya says, but her tone sounds more like she hopes I get a disease and die. As I pick up my duffel bag, I make a decision. On Monday, I’m going to look for an apartment. We’re better friends when we’re apart. When we’re together, it’s just toxic. And I don’t want to have to drive an hour to spend a night with my boyfriend again.
She recognized his number. Fuck.
Robert
I tell Mom I’m spending the night at Luke’s. She just tells me to keep my cell phone on and have a good time.