“Nope, it’s your lucky day, bitch.”
Guzzling water, I didn’t respond to her ridiculous obscenity.
“Hey, don’t be so touchy. I’m calling with good news.”
“Not touchy. I was drinking.”
“So early?”
“Mary, get to the point.” I opened my fridge and looked inside for something decent.
“Well, the grad student I had subbing in for you broke her foot, shattered it in a million places…her words not mine…and she’s laid up.”
Slamming the fridge and looking up to the gods, I said, “I’m coming back?”
“You’re coming back, babe.”
“Oh, Mary, I could kiss you.”
“Hey, I didn’t really want to give it you, but the universe has different plans.”
“I don’t give a shit. See you tomorrow. Gotta go, bye.”
I disconnected the call and ran upstairs for my laptop. The grad student was using my syllabus, so it was no biggie for me to take over. All I had to do was check out where the class was in the plan and prep for the following day.
Teaching was the one thing I did well. Or, at least, right.
Monday, I parked my car in the staff lot on campus and walked with purpose to the Frable Humanities Building. I could’ve walked from home, but had decided to bring my car in case I ran errands afterward. I loved living close to campus, but enjoyed the ability to escape to the surrounding small towns equally as much. The farther out I went, the more anonymity I had.
You’d think I’d be tired of the area, working at the same large state school—Central Pennsylvania State—where I’d attended undergraduate and graduate school, but I wasn’t. The lush trees, expansive lawn, quaint Main Street all felt like home…and Abby had been born and buried here. I’d never leave where she was buried.
Today, my steps felt a bit lighter. Teaching was like smoothing Vaseline over chapped lips. It soothed the itch and relieved the ache temporarily. If I wanted it to go away completely, I had to stop licking my lips—or scratching my itch to know what had actually happened on that ill-fated night.
I held the door open for a few students, lingering and walking in after them. Frayed jean shorts, flip-flops, the smell of sunscreen…some of the reasons I loved summer session. Students were generally happy, eager to get to class and get it over with so they could bask in the sun. For a brief moment, I thought of Abby.
Would she be taller?
Tanned?
She’d be driving by now. Would she blast music? Text me when she arrived somewhere?
Would she have taken the SAT already?
The questions were endless.
“Excuse me.” A guy breezed past me in a rush to catch the elevator.
I took the stairs to the second floor and entered Canter Lecture Hall. The seats were filling up, and I set my bag on the lectern and tightened my hair back into a bun at the nape of my neck. As I pulled my tablet out of my bag, a young woman approached.
“Excuse me, Professor Richards?”
“Yes?” I stopped what I was doing and looked up, giving her my full attention.
“I just wanted to say I’m glad you’re teaching. I don’t mean any disrespect to the other woman, but she was a grad student, and well, I signed up for this class for you. So, thanks. Really—”
My heart beat overtime. I wanted to ask her to tell Mary, but Mary knew this was my life.
Teaching.
