“I know.” Leah sounds so dejected, my heart breaks for her.
“You can come over to my place and see Margie anytime you want,” I tell Leah. “I live in the apartment above Rosemary’s.”
My student looks at me with a combination of gratitude and sadness. “It’s really strange at home without Margie.” Looking at her sister, she adds, “Mom and Dad are barely speaking at all.”
“Good. I don’t want this to be easy on them,” Margie declares.
As we walk into the school, my new roomie goes one way and Leah and I go the other. “I didn’t get my homework done,” she confesses as we near my classroom. “I’m sorry, but like I said, it’s been tough at home.”
“I imagine it has,” I tell her. “Why don’t you spend lunch in my room and work on it. If you turn it in today, there won’t be a penalty.” As much as I want to give her a free pass, that won’t benefit her in the long run. It’s better if she learns how to focusher time now because by the look of things, her family situation is only going to get more difficult.
“Okay.” Even though Leah doesn’t sound excited by the offer, I know she’ll come in and give it her best shot. If I’ve learned one thing about the Flynn kids, it’s that they’re not only smart, they’re determined.
The day moves slowly and by the time it’s time for basketball practice, I’m ready to go home and crawl into bed. Margie walks into my room looking equally worn out. “I was going to ask if you minded if I went back to your place to sleep instead of waiting for basketball practice to end, but I don’t think I can walk without lying down on the sidewalk.”
“Pregnancy is exhausting,” I tell her before offering, “Why don’t you curl up on the bean bag chairs at the back of my room and take a nap here?”
In lieu of verbal response, she drags herself across the room and plops down on the first cushion.
While she looks comfortable enough, I pull another chair over to her. “Put your legs up here. You’ll sleep better.” She’s sound asleep in seconds.
As I leave my room and walk toward the gym, the craziest image pops into my head. And by crazy, I mean truly insane. I ponder it for a few minutes before remembering what I told Margie—if you can’t imagine something, you’ll never have it. My problem is that life has repeatedly shown me I can’t have what I want, therefore the thought of hoping again seems almost futile.
I remind myself that my future does not have to look like the one my mom sees for me. I have a purpose beyond doing everything the way she did, and I’m determined to start exploring my options.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
NOAH
After basketball practice, I cross the gym toward Allie. “We should have supper together tonight.”
Instead of telling me no, she surprises me by saying, “That sounds nice.”
Her response takes me so off guard, I ask, “Seriously? I expected a fight.”
“I have to eat,” she says like having supper with me is nothing more than a way to fill her stomach. And while that’s a little disappointing, I’ll still take it.
“Where should we go?” I ask.
“The diner,” she says. “It’s right across the street from my apartment so I can drop Margie off and meet you there.”
“How are things going with your new roommate?” I ask her.
She leads the way out of the gym. As I lock the doors, she says, “She’s a sweet kid who’s going through a lot. She’s got me thinking though.”
“What has she got you thinking?” Although I suppose I can guess. Allie is nearing the age when she’s sure to be thinking about becoming a mother herself. As such, she’s probably decidedit’s time to find herself another man to settle down with. That thought might have once had me running for the hills, but I’m starting to think about the future, too. Who knew men had biological clocks?
Instead of sharing what’s on her mind, Allie says, “Maybe I’ll tell you later.”
“I’ll look forward to it.” I tease by adding, “You’re not going to confess to war crimes, are you?”
“My life isn’t as cut and dried as it looks,” she says. “There’s stuff about me that might surprise you.”
She stares at me like she’s trying to figure out if I’m trustworthy enough to share her story with, so I assure her, “I’m pretty sure that goes for most people. If it’s war crimes, I promise to keep it on the down-low.”
“I might be a top-secret government operative.” Her tone is joking, but I can tell that whatever she’s hiding, she thinks it’s on par as far as shock value goes.
“I might be one, too,” I tease back.
