Her lips, now pale and dry, thinned. “You need sleep. Go home and go to bed.”
She was right, but he didn’t move. Couldn’t move.
“How did your classes go today?” he asked.
“They were fine.” She closed her eyes for a brief moment, her lashes a sweep of darkness. “If you’re not going to get home to your daughter and rest, at least sit down, Mr. Krause. Before you collapse.”
The same student chair as earlier was calling his name, so he dropped into it with a sigh. “I know you’re teaching all U.S. history this year, including AP, but I don’t know how many of each prep.”
He looked down at himself, listening to his own words—emerging, somehow, from his own mouth—with mingled awe and horror.
Had he truly just sat down in her classroom again? While she was trying to work? And he really just inquired about her schedule? Him, Mute Boy?
She wanted him gone. He didn’t make idle conversation,especiallywith people who wanted him gone. So what the hell was Old Sobersides doing? Did he crave another of her smiles that badly?
She rested her elbows on her desk. “I’m teaching two periods of Regular U.S. History and three periods of AP U.S. History.”
He leaned forward, astonished. “Three periods? How many students are in each class?”
“Right now, around thirty. But that number will drop a bit, as some of the kids flee from all the homework.” She lifted a hand toward her forehead, then dropped it back to the desk. “Which might be for the best, since we don’t have enough textbooks for everyone.”
He had no explanation for those numbers. None.
“But how is that possible? I only have two periods of AP World, and those classes aren’t even completely full.” His mouth was open and fish-like, but he couldn’t help it. “How in the world did you attract that many kids to your AP classes?”
She met his gaze directly, those dark-amber eyes solemn but not bitter. “Until recently, I taught two periods of Honors World History every year.”
Now his own eyes closed for a moment, as everything coalesced in his beleaguered brain.
“And those kids followed you to AP,” he finished for her. “Shit. Shit, Rose. I’m sorry.”
He wasn’t just fucking with her schedule this year. His presence would change what and whom she taught next year, and possibly for years to come.
She lifted a shoulder in a fluid shrug. “It’s fine.”
Oh, God, that meeting of AP teachers last week. “The funding for AP programs will drop if our numbers drop. Which they will, since you’re not attracting the Honors World History kids to AP U.S.”
She didn’t deny it. “Only if they drop too much. I’m brainstorming different ways to recruit those kids to my AP classes.”
“That’s not solely your responsibility. I’m part of the AP program too, and it’s my arrival that caused this whole problem.” He dropped his chin to his chest, distress shortening his breath. “When my brain is functioning more effectively, I’ll come up with some strategies to fix this and run them past you. Rose, I’m so sorry. But I’ll come up with something good. I promise.”
God, she had to hate him. She must be furious.
But when he forced himself to look up, to face her anger, she didn’t look angry at all. Instead, she was holding up a hand, palm forward.
“Martin.” Her voice was low. Soothing. “It’s okay. None of this is your fault. You didn’t choose your preps. And no matter what happens, everything will be fine.”
Her gaze was as soft and warm as a quilt fresh from the dryer. The kind he’d once swaddled Bea with when she was sick, or when she’d been outside too long in the snow. Back when Bea needed him.
But for Christ’s sake, why was Rose comfortinghim?
Pansy, he could hear his father spit.Boy’s got no spine. Look at him snivel.
No. He wouldn’t listen.
He’d spent too many years erasing that voice with better, kinder, more truthful ones. The voice of his therapist. His daughter. His oldest friends. His students, as they hugged him after graduation and thanked him for caring. His ex-wife, once upon a time.
He breathed as he’d been taught, and his father abruptly went silent.
