“Hey, you okay?” I ask Harry, my voice low, but not so much that it feels like an interrogation.
Harry exhales, long and loud. “Yeah, I’m fine. Justforgot my lunch,” he mutters, and I can tell by the way his jaw clenches that it’s more than just a minor inconvenience.
“Forgot your lunch?” I repeat, raising an eyebrow. Harry doesn’t seem like the type of guy who forgets anything. “What happened?”
He shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Being away the first part of the weekend . . .” He shoots me a look, not having to say more about him unexpectedly chaperoning. “I was catching up on planning yesterday but didn’t get a chance to hit the store. And I need to eat during my prep this afternoon because I have lunch duty today.”
I know exactly what he means. Lunch duty is a commitment. Chattering kids and scraping chairs blend into one long, noisy symphony. You can’t just shove a sandwich in your face and call it a day. And anyway, it sounds like Harry doesn’t have a sandwich to shove.
I feel a grin tug at my mouth. “Listen, I’ve got time at lunch. I know a little sandwich shop just off Cumberland. It’s tucked back between some houses. They make the best melts. Tuna melt. Turkey melt. Veggie melt, if that’s your jam. I can run and grab something for you. What do you want?”
“No, no, it’s fine. I’ve got some crackers in the classroom for the kids who forget snacks.”
My heart sinks because I know the drill. Kids forget, or worse, their families don’t have the resources, and the school doesn’t step up to help. Who picks up the slack from their own underfunded pockets? Teachers.
“Worst-case scenario,” he says with a groan. “I can always just grab . . .” He gulps. “School lunch.” His tonedrips with disdain as he says it, and I can’t say I blame him.
“Don’t torture yourself,” I say. “It’s hot dogs and beans today.”
That seems to do it. His face twists like he’s just smelled something foul. He sighs, giving in. “Fine. I’ll take you up on your offer. But I’m not picky. Anything’s fine.”
He reaches for his wallet, but I stop him.
“My treat.” I give him a quick nod and head over to the students before he can protest or change his mind.
Class is uneventful. Johnny wins the first round and, riding high from his assist at the big game, there’s a shift in the way the other students are treating him. It’s heartwarming to watch kids discover their passions and talents.
When Harry picks them up, I’ve already got my track jacket on and my car keys in my pocket. I could walk to Sammy’s Sammies but want to get there and back as quickly as possible. Because fourth grade has lunch during this period, there’s no class in the gym, so I have my prep period.
When I return, walking through the corridor with the sandwich shop bag, it feels like I’m carrying the weight of the entire planning period in my hand. I head to Harry’s classroom, the faint sounds of students singing about Jimmy cracking corn drifting into the hallway as I pass Christine’s room. Good, he’s alone.
I knock once, then open the door.
“Lunchtime,” I say, setting the bag on his desk. He looks up, and for a moment, that weight on his faceseems to ease. He glances at the bag like it’s a small miracle.
“You’re a lifesaver,” he mutters, tearing open the bag. He pulls out two wrapped sandwiches—one marked with a V and the other a T.
“Veggie and tuna melts. You choose because I’ll smash either.”
It registers on his face. One is for me. I pull a chair out at the small kidney-shaped table near his desk. I’ve seen teachers pull small groups at these, and I figure it’ll make a fine place to eat.
“Don’t worry, I’ll clean the table after.”
Harry lets out a small sigh, then presses his lips in. “Why don’t we split them?” He stands and walks over to the chair in the middle, behind the table. “This way I can try both.”
A foolish smile forms on my face. He’s relenting. At least for lunch.
Harry opens the sandwiches, using the brown bag as a plate. He takes half of each for himself, then slides the other combined sandwich over to me on the paper they were wrapped in. My mind races, thinking of the next right thing to say, but comes up completely empty. For now, we’re here, eating our sandwiches, and for a minute, it’s just us. Quiet—the weight of the day paused.
“Damn, this is good.” His mouth is full, but he covers it with the sandwich.
He’s started with the veggie, just some random vegetables slathered in smoked gouda. A thin, almost invisible string of melted cheese stretches from his bottom lip when he puts the sandwich down. I nod in hisgeneral direction and hand him a napkin from the pile between us, which he places on his lap.
“No, Harry, you’ve got a little . . .” I reach over, swiping at the cheese and wiping it on my napkin.
“Thanks,” he says.
“They use a ton of cheese,” I reply. “That’s what makes it so tasty.”
