I thought about my schedule.“I have no appointments tomorrow afternoon.If you’re sure?”I pushed up onto my hand and looked into his eyes to ensure he was sincere.
He cupped my face in his hands.
“Come tomorrow.The kids love visitors.”
The next day, the office happily sent me his way exactly as he assured me they would.
Walking down the hall, the sounds and smells assaulted my senses with memories, bad and good, of my school years.Schools all smelled the same, a mix of sanitizer, gym socks, paper, musty textbooks, and art supplies, but this was my school.
I walked these halls.
Sat at these desks.
Ran around with Noelle in this schoolyard.
I sucked in a deep, shaky breath, and smiled.
Because most of my memories were good.
And Hunter lived large and vibrant in so many of them.
In my mind’s eye, I watched him lope down the hall, skinny as a rail with overgrown limbs and the barest hint of down on his lip, his buddies flanking his sides as laughter spilled from his lips.
A soft laugh disguised as a sob broke through my lips at the sweet clarity of the vision.I imagined he passed me, flashing his wide smile, his eyes lighting up as they always did when he saw any of our little crew.
Teachers either loved him or despaired of having him in their classroom.
My eyes welled but the smile on my face remained.
I swallowed hard and blinked back my tears just as I rounded the corner to the kindergarten room.It had an old-time split door.With the top half open, the sounds of pitchy voices interspersed with Daire’s deep baritone and deeper chuckle filtered out into the hallway.
The sight that met my eyes caused my heart to swell in my chest.
Daire sat in a sturdy, straight-backed chair, a picture book held open in his hands.His students sat cross-legged and riveted on a plush rug in front of him as he read to them fromThe Very Hungry Caterpillar.
Every time he got to the day of the week, the children yelled it out for him.When the story called for the word ‘hungry’, the children recited it.And for everything that gluttonous butterfly ate, the children yelled it out.
I stood by the door, unwilling to interrupt, unable to step away.
The certainty of my future hit me with the force of five thousand wishes.
This man.
This man would father my children.
Read to them.
Bring the fun into their lives.
Love them.
And I would love him.
To the best of my ability, beginning now, I would love him.
30
Just Dues
