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My hands go still around the glass. I felt a moment of blind hope when she came to the office on Friday and carried eighteen months’ worth of documented evidence out the door. Maybe she’d see how hard I tried and convince Aiden to at least look at them. But that was ridiculous. I worked for the enemy and didn’t tell any of them. That’s lying by omission. Teachers have no patience for that kind of nonsense.

"That company did to you what they did to us," she says. "Ignored every argument and every well-worded letter of objection." She sets her glass down on the floor by her shoe. "You still should have told him the day you arrived here. You know that."

"I know." My voice is very small.

She’s not shouting at me. She kind of sounds like she’s sympathizing and that has my throat closing up. I stare at the floor, blinking back the tears.

She waits me out.

"Did he…" I bite back the rest of it. She watches me do it and has the grace not to finish the question for me. I'm not asking his mother to spy on him and report his movements to me. She wouldn’t and I’d only embarrass both of us. Aiden already told me what he wants.

Me gone.

"I don't know what my son is going to do," she says, her voice still so much kinder than I think I deserve. "I raised him, but I’ve never been able to predict his actions. You may have noticed he’s not the most communicative and more than a dash stubborn. Even if I did know, it would be between the two of you. I’m not opposed to meddling, but only within reason. Aiden will make up his own mind, in his own time. Waiting on him may not be in your best interest."

Right. I knew that, and she’s making a very fair point. One I’ve made to myself repeatedly. Part of me was hoping she’d tell me to stay. Wait. Not give up hope. But that would be akin to lying and Nora doesn’t strike me as someone who’d knowingly peddle in false hope.

"The town says Whitmore offered you a job."

"The town is well informed."

"Tommy," she says, and that explains everything.

"Are you taking it?"

"I don't know," I start, and then I stop, because it isn't true. I’ve known that since the first time he offered me a job. I’m done working for people without a moral compass. I’ll go back to freelancing when I leave here.

"No. I'm not taking it."

I smile wanly.

"I came here as penance. But somewhere along the way, I stopped doing it only for him. I’ve grown to love Marcus and Tommy and Carol. Even Walt. Especially Diesel. I got so much more out of it than I was expecting. I loved working there. Helping them build something." I blow a strand of hair out of my face. "He fired me, there’s nothing more I can do to change his mind. Working for someone like Whitmore definitely isn’t part of what comes next for me."

"He told me about the dock. Fifteen years ago."

Heat crawls up my face. "He told you everything, then."

"Everything he knows. Which is less than he thinks." She folds her hands in her lap. "I remember you. Trying to dry that thick braid of yours."

I stare at her.

I very vaguely remember a towel around my shoulders, and warm hands wringing out my braid. I can recall every fleck of golden brown in Aiden’s green eyes with perfect recollection, but my mind turned Nora into a formless shape on the periphery.

"I looked straight past you." The shame of it is so complete it's almost funny. "I'm so sorry."

"You were thirteen and soaked through and in the throes of your first crush. I don’t blame you." She stands and smooths her slacks. "The real reason I came today was to tell you that you’re not the first person to have ever made a mistake. You’re not even the only one between you and Aiden to have done so. Cut yourself some slack."

At the door she stops and gives me the look she must have given a generation of fourth graders with something hidden behind their backs.

"I feel like there’s something else weighing on you. I want you to know you can talk to me if you need a sounding board."

The packet is one layer of denim away from her. "There's nothing else," I say, voice bright and level. I can only imagine how that conversation would go.

She studies me a moment longer, clearly not convinced. Then she squeezes my arm once with a warm hand and goes.

Now that there's nobody to see it, I sit down on the mattress and cry for a while. Some of it even feels a little cathartic. Then I wash my face, put my shoulder against the bed frame, and start pushing it back where it belongs.

Monday morning Marcus comes in for his coffee and tells me about his weekend, careful as always not to mention Aiden once. Tommy salutes me with his donut on the way past the window. Then they're both off to the docks and it's just me and the handover binder, where I'm writing out how the deposit system works for whoever sits in this chair after me.