I stood awkwardly as Danny shuffled through the open doorway. “Hi,” I said cautiously, wondering what this little visit was about and hating myself for hoping he missed me.
I could count on one hand how many times Danny had been in my classroom over the years.
“How you been?” he asked.
The spiteful part of me that I kept locked away wanted to get angry, to tell Danny to get to the point and get out of my life. But there were other parts too, ones that were just as difficult to ignore. The girl who remembered holding hands for the first time on the bus in eighth grade or swimming in the lake with sunburned shoulders and full hearts. Or the young woman who’d gotten married under the gazebo at the farm and watched her groom cry when he saw her walking down the aisle.
“Good,” I replied stiffly, a compromise.
He shoved his hands awkwardly into the pockets of his coveralls, and I hated that I knew it was because he was nervous. “Figured you’d be here late.”
It had been a point of contention in our marriage. But I liked finishing up all my weekly grading before heading home for the weekend. Danny had gotten frustrated if I made us late for dinner at his parents’ house on Friday nights. But I hadn’t made us late. I always did the majority of the cooking, so we didn’t miss anything. He was just chronically impatient and didn’t like to wait on me. Plus, he thought eating after six thirty was the end of the world.
“Yep, still here,” I replied, refusing to let that old bitterness bleed through. I didn’t have to justify my decisions to him or anyone else. Not anymore.
A few more steps put Danny in front of my desk. I was still standing, unsure what to do with myself.
Finally, he said, “Got some news about Mom. Her cancer is back. Not much they can do about it this time. She’s home with hospice.”
My heart sank. Diane Jensen was one of the kindest people I’d ever met. I’d known her since I was fourteen years old, and she’d been a second mother to me. The separation had been hard enough to manage without feeling like I’d lost half my family in the process. But I had.
Danny’s parents and sisters had all gradually broken contact. I realized it had been over a month since I’d heard from any of them. Not even about this.
I loved Diane. I couldn’t just turn that off.
“I wanted to come by and see if you might visit with her,” Danny said as I sat heavily in my chair. “She’s been asking about you, but didn’t want to bother you. I know it would mean a lot.”
“Of course,” I replied immediately. I wanted to see her. I might not be her daughter-in-law anymore, but I could still support her in this. “I’ll get in touch with your dad and figure out when she’s up for some company.” I swallowed roughly. “I’m so sorry, Danny. Thank you for telling me.”
His smile was tight. “Yeah. I’m sorry too.”
We watched each other for a long moment. My instinct was to give comfort, to hug him or ask if he wanted to talk about it or if there was anything else I could do to help. But I’d promised myself I wouldn’t offer something that wasn’t wanted. I’d stop reaching for lifelines that had cut themselves.
Danny took a step back. “Well, I’ll let you get back to it. Thanks, Bon. I know it’ll really lift her spirits to see you.”
He left as suddenly as he’d arrived, work boots squeaking on the linoleum.
I didn’t know how long I stared at the doorway, forcing myself to breathe in and out.
Danny had touched down like a tornado, uprooting and leaving destruction in his wake.
Eventually, I finished grading and packed up my belongings. April had been sick most of the week with a stomach bug, so she wouldn’t be walking out with me. I’d packed up Cocoa on Wednesday and taken her over to April’s house along with some crackers, applesauce, and drinks with electrolytes.
The hallways were quiet. I’d stayed later than usual, and the custodian would be through in a little while to lock up.
The news of Diane’s health decline weighed heavily on me, slowing my steps. She’d been through so much already. A breast cancer diagnosis nearly a decade ago, followed by surgery and chemotherapy. I hated the thought of her battle ending this way.
My pace slowed outside of Angie Morris’s classroom, the night-light catching my attention through the window in the door. Little Oreo was alone again for the weekend, from the looks of it. I stepped closer and watched the bunny hop to the other side of the cage.
It was probably my heightened emotional state that made me impulsive. That was really the only explanation I had for why I tried the knob on Morris’s door and then quickly slipped inside when it opened.
I located Oreo’s carrier and supplies in the storage closet.
And twenty minutes later, I found myself struggling to exit the side door next to the cafeteria with a giant cage in my arms. Once I’d loaded it into my car, I glanced around to make sure no one had seen me. Then I collapsed into the driver’s seat and released a long breath.
“It’s just for the weekend,” I told the black-and-white rabbit in my passenger seat. “I’ll bring you back early on Monday, and no one will ever know you were gone.”
I could see Oreo’s nose twitching agreeably behind the mesh side of her carrier, and it felt a little like having a partner in crime.
