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“It’s fine, I’ll do it,” I say. I would have done anyway, but the thought of Dean taking my son to school is enough to make me sit up and pay attention. “I’ll have to call Katie and get her to come in early, but I’m sure she won’t mind.”
“So you’ll come by and collect him?”
“Yes. You have remembered it’s the first day of the new semester, haven’t you?” I ask.
“Of course I have.”
“And he’s got everything he needs?”
“Jesus, Tanner. I don’t need a lecture. I’m his mom… remember?”
“Yeah. I remember. It’s just a shame you forgot that when you were fucking your way out of our marriage.”
I hang up, instantly regretting my words. They sounded like sour grapes and regret… and I don’t regret a thing about our divorce, other than the effect it might have had on Nash. I won’t apologize, though. Neither of us does. Not anymore.
It’s still not six-thirty yet, so it’s too early to call Katie, which means I may as well take a shower. It seems like a wasted opportunity when I was so close to coming, but I’m not even hard anymore. Sabrina’s voice is still ringing in my ears, so there’s no chance of my erection returning anytime soon.
The shower is set at its usual temperature of just about lukewarm, and I stand beneath it for a moment, wondering how Katie’s going to react to my request to come in early.
She’s usually amenable to everything I ask of her, so like I said, I doubt it’ll be a problem, but I guess I know in the back of my mind that one day I’ll ask and she’ll say ‘no’. I just have to hope that day isn’t today.
Katie’s worked for me since just after Sabrina left. Even if she and I had never worked together, I knew things were going to change. It was obvious I’d be absent from time to time, and I needed to hire someone who’d be reliable and willing to cover for me, should the need arise
I placed an ad in the Hart’s Creek Courier, and had several responses, although Katie’s stood out because she’d been my English teacher for a couple of years in high school. Back then, I knew her as Mrs. Foster, and I remembered her giving up teaching and being replaced by Mr. Long, who wasn’t anywhere near as engaging. I hadn’t known the reason behind Mrs. Foster’s departure, despite the gossip that flies around the town, but when she came for her interview, she explained her husband had been diagnosed with cancer, and she’d given up work to care for him.
“It was a long road back after the surgery,” she said, “but eventually he was given the all-clear, and I was thinking of returning to teaching when I noticed he was becoming forgetful. To begin with, we both put it down to stress.”
“Can I assume it was more than that?” I asked, and she nodded.
“It was dementia.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“I lost him inch by inch,” she said, swallowing hard and making me wonder if she was going to cry. I wasn’t sure what I’d do if she did. My emotions were still fairly raw, and it seemed likely I might join her. Fortunately for both of us, she held it together. “He faded and changed, but he clung on a lot longer than anyone thought he would.”
“When did he die?” I asked, sensing it might be easier for her to cut to the chase.
“Just under two years ago.” She sucked in a breath. “It’s taken me all this time to even think about returning to work.”
“You don’t want to go back to teaching?” I asked, and she shook her head.
“No. I’ve been out of the classroom for too long now. I want something simpler.” She blushed then. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you, or your business.”
“That’s okay. I’m not insulted. I like the simplicity of working here and, to be honest, you know more about books than I could hope to learn.”
She smiled, and I hired her on the spot.
We’ve worked together ever since, and although I’ve had to call on her to step in at the last minute on more than one occasion, I hate doing it. She never seems to bat an eyelid, but I always feel guilty about imposing, and worried that I might go too far.
I wash quickly, aware that I’m whiling away the time, and get out of the shower, wandering back up to the bedroom, where I sit on the edge of the bed, my towel wrapped low around my hips, as I place a call to Katie.
She answers promptly, with a polite, “Hello.”
“Hi, Katie. Sorry to bother you so early.”
“Can I assume this is something to do with your ex?”
“You can. Sabrina just called and asked if I can take Nash to school this morning.”
