13
Tell Me How It Is
ELOISE
The moment sunlight streams through my window, I spring from my bed. My alarm hasn’t even gone off. Considering how late I stayed up putting the parlor back together and reevaluating my life choices, I should be exhausted. This entire week has been a whirlwind of stressful situations. Nothing is right. My grandmother is still terminally ill. I’m still in danger of losing my house. And my bank account is still running on empty, as is my gas tank. But somehow, the sun seems brighter. My heart swells with a strange and unexpected buoyancy.
It's hope, I realize. I feel hopeful.
Is it because of Damien? Has the orgasm rewired something in my brain? I loathe to admit it. One climax from a bad boy should not improve my mood. If anything, the replay of the encounter in my head is worthy of the hashtags #unsafe, #foolhardy, and #badidea.
Still, the truth is I haven’t ever experienced that kind of pleasure. Learning my body is capable of it is like learning Ihave a hidden talent for acrobatics or can speak another language. Last night was eye-opening and empowering. Damien wanted me. I’d seen it in his eyes. And today, standing in the sun, I am a woman worth wanting. An individual, separate and distinct from Tony, capable of powerful choices, and of performing magic. Even if I never have another encounter like that with Damien, it happened, which means it could happen again with someone else.
I guess my good mood is about Damien. Even if it isn’t.
After checking on Grams, I seize the moment to call my old principal, Ed Singer, and ask for my job back. Ed is an octogenarian who’s been running Echo Mills High School since before I was a student there. All the jobs and applications are online these days, but Ed predates all of that and always appreciated the personal touch.
“I didn’t think I’d ever hear from you again,” Ed says. “Weren’t you supposed to be living the good life with that new husband of yours?”
A prickle of embarrassment seizes me, but I cast it aside. “Actually, we’re getting divorced. I desperately need to work, Mr. Singer. I submitted my application on the website, but you told me to call if things ever changed.”
“I’m glad you did. We miss you here at EMHS. Both the kids and the staff loved you, Eloise. Unfortunately, after you left, we brought back Ms. Adams, so your position has been filled for the year, although I’m happy to take you on as a substitute if you’re willing.”
“Yes. I’ll take anything you’ve got. Thank you.”
“I don’t think it’ll be long before something opens up. I wouldn’t be surprised if Ms. Adams retires at the end of this year. Anyway, I’ll send a note to Dolores to get your paperwork processed and putyou on the list.”
“Thank you. Oh, thank you so much.”
“See you soon, Ms. Harcourt.”
I end the call, beaming at the kitchen window. This is a good day. A very good day.
“Did I hear you talking to Ed Singer?” Grams hobbles into the kitchen, dressed in an aqua-colored terry cloth sweatsuit with her usual matching turban. For a woman who spent the entirety of yesterday in bed, she looks remarkably put together.
I pull out her chair and help her sink into it. “Morning, Grams. How about some cream of wheat?” It isn’t her favorite, but it would be the easiest to swallow.
“I’ll try a few bites.”
I grab the enameled cast iron saucepan from the cupboard. The red color is chipping around the edges. It has to be a hundred years old. Still works though. I add water and start a burner on the old gas stove.
“Are you going to tell me about your call?” Grams asks.
“Mr. Singer is hiring me on as a substitute. I think it’s actually better than full-time. This way, if you need me, I can be here.” Grams becomes conspicuously quiet, and I glance over my shoulder at her.
“Teaching.” She shifts. “You haven’t given a second thought to opening up your mom’s studio and painting again.”
My brows shoot toward my hairline. “I have to actually make money. I appreciate you letting me stay here for free, but that’s not a long-term solution. I have expenses. This house is paid off, thanks to Mom and Dad, but there are the taxes and the upkeep.”
She spreads her gnarled fingers on the table. “I have a life insurance policy. All the paperwork is in my office and my agent, Marilyn Maples, has it on file. You rememberMarilyn. After I’m gone, see her and use the proceeds to pay the taxes and to live off of while you’re creating.”
I walk to the table and take her hand. “That will still be a while. I need the income now.”
Grams raises her chin defiantly. “For what?”
“Utilities. A better data plan considering the Wi-Fi here is awful.” I hold up my phone. “My car needs some serious TLC, and then there’s food, health insurance premiums.”
She frowns. “Oh, Eloise, you know there are a million casseroles in the deep freeze from the neighbors. Everyone brought one when I was going through chemo. I had to tell them to stop when I ran out of room.”
