I passed one room and pictured my mom, her hair as dark as the other woman’s, talking to a teacher of mine and smiling at me during parent-teacher conferences. When I got to the juncture where I turned right, I caught sight of the library on my left. It had been remodeled, but I could still remember towing my parents inside for the book fair.
My parents. Another memory of Dad had snuck in. I hadn’t had many before Mom died, but they were hitting me at the oddest moments.
Like entering the gymnasium and seeing the big stage at the end, the red curtains were open. I recalled standing in the middle, in the back row because I was a tall kid, and looking out to see Mom and Dad smiling at me.
I had been in middle school when Mom died. My chest grew tight. This building held nothing but good memories. The unwanted memories. Because they showed me how far Dad fell after that.
I swallowed the acid eating up my throat. Autumn circled a set of risers with two other people, a woman and a guy who looked to be over fifty. Was that fucking Mark?
Autumn’s hair was now back in a ponytail, her shiny, coppery strands reflecting the overhead lights. She wore the same clothing as this morning—a long striped top that was belted at the waist, brown leggings, and knee-high boots.
She glanced over and her eyes widened. “Gideon? What are you doing here?”
The other two stopped to stare at me like the first two women had.
The guy took a step forward. “Gideon James!” His laugh boomed across the gymnasium. Good acoustics. “I bet you don’t remember me.”
So . . . not Mark.
He looked like any other suburban dad who came to Vegas with his family for vacation.
“You guess correctly.” I walked toward the stage.
The other woman’s gaze was dancing between me and my stunned wife.
Only the man smiled. “I was the student teacher when you were in fifth grade. Mr. Ellison?”
I peered at him. Years of dust flaked off my memories, and yeah, I did remember a young guy helping my teacher that year. “You loved to play football at recess with the rest of us.”
“Heck yeah!” Joy danced across his face. He truly loved being recognized as my teacher. He held an arm out to the other woman. “This is my wife, Kerry. She’s the music teacher here. Kerry, as you heard, Gideon was one of my first students.” He looked at me. “I thought you were going to be the arm that helped us get to state, but you never played.”
The same excuse slipped out of my mouth that had decades ago. “The ranch needed me.”
He waved it off. I used to get pitying looks back then. People knew the story of my mom and my dad and knew why the ranch needed me.
“Eh, I realize now that’s a common story around here. Congrats on the wedding—uh, marriage.” He flashed an awkward smile. “It’s going to take some time to get used to changing from Miss K to Mrs. J.”
I dipped my head, unsure what to say when I was feeling like a goddamn fraud around people who sincerely wanted to wish us well.
“You here to help?” he asked.
I glanced at Autumn. She’d been watching the exchange, curiosity in her eyes. Now, there was challenge.
“You need a hand?” I aimed my question at her. Why hadn’t she asked me earlier? Or at all?
“The kids wanted to do a Halloween-themed music program, but the school doesn’t have much for decorations. We bought some, but they don’t work with the high ceilings. No one can see them, even if we can get them up there in the first place.”
“The janitor found some old plywood and gave us her toolbox,” Mr. Ellison said.
“But she has bingo tonight,” Kerry added. “So, it’s us and some scrap two-by-fours.” She propped her hands on her hips. Like Autumn, she was dressed for teaching in knit leggings and a long shirt. “We still have the risers to place and the rest of the props to make.”
“Props?” In my day, we sang a few songs and went home.
“The kids turned this into more of a skit,” Autumn explained, her cheeks growing pink. “And they were actually getting excited. I couldn’t say no. I figured I’d just toss up a quick set.”
“It’s turned into a bigger production than any of us anticipated,” Mr. Ellison finished. He was still in slacks, but his polo shirt was half-untucked. None of them were prepared to build a set. “But we couldn’t leave Autumn here to work alone.”
They’d get it done, but it’d be late. I could leave, but I’d just wait up for her and get some more work done. I’d wonder how she was doing. How the set would look. My shoulders already ached at the thought of working at the table.
