“Dad?” Eli buckled himself into his booster seat, clutching his Captain America backpack like a shield. “Are we going to have to move again?”
The question knocked the air from Noah’s lungs. He gripped the steering wheel, forcing his voice to stay steady. “No, buddy. This is home now. I promise.”
He’d make it work. Whatever it took. Even if that meant swallowing his pride and admitting he couldn’t fix everything himself.
But first, he had a class full of juniors waiting to discussThe Great Gatsby, and Eli had a math worksheet to turn in. Structure. Routine. One step at a time.
The house would still be there when they got home, with all its problems and possibilities. And maybe, just maybe, it was time to accept that some of those problems were too big to handle alone.
The faculty loungeat Maple Hill High smelled like burned coffee and exhaustion. Noah settled into a worn chair, cradling his thermos of actually drinkable coffee as his colleagues filtered in for their morning meeting. Sarah Nielsen dropped into the seat beside him, her guidance counselor badge catching the fluorescent light.
“You look like you’ve been swimming,” she said, eyeing the damp hair at his collar. He knew it wasn’t the most professional look, but drying it would’ve meant skipping helping Eli with his homework, which simply wasn’t an option. His son would grow up knowing he was Noah’s priority, professionalism be damned.
“Plumbing emergency.” Noah took a long sip of coffee, savoring the warmth. “Though emergency implies I made the situation better, not worse.”
“Ah.” Sarah’s knowing smile reminded him of his sister. “Have you considered?—”
“Calling someone? Yes, about twelve times this morning, thanks to my son’s newest friend Tommy and his apparently endless knowledge of home repair professionals.”
David Atwood chuckled from across the table, not looking up from his crossword puzzle. “The Crowley kid? Man, that family has an expert for everything. Did you hear about their new meditation room? Complete with imported Himalayan salt lamps and pillows Carrie Crowley brought back from some retreat in India. Or so they say…”
Interesting. From the sounds of it, Noah wasn’t the only person who got a vibe when it came to the Crowleys. “Because that’s exactly what first graders need,” Noah muttered. Then again, if Carrie taught Tommy to meditate, maybe he wouldn’t be such an unholy terror.
The three of them made their way to the library. Everyone seemed disgruntled that this meeting had been set for the start of the day when they had better things to do—like finish waking up—but at least the principal couldn’t drone on for an hour as if no one had better things to do with their time.
Principal Matthews strode in, saving Noah from further discussion of the Crowley family’s perfect life. As she launched into updates about the upcoming standardized testing schedule, Noah’s mind drifted to his third-period lesson plans. They were starting chapter seven ofThe Great Gatsbytoday, and he’d planned an activity comparing the green light to modern symbols of unreachable dreams. Hopefully, his students would engage more than yesterday. His question about the significance of the valley of ashes had been met with blank stares and the soft glow of hidden phone screens.
His phone vibrated in his pocket. Probably the plumber he’d left a message for on the drive from the elementary school to the high school returning his call. But when he glanced at the screen, Rachel’s name flashed instead.
I think I found someone who can help with the house. Luke is the best contractor in town. I gave him your number. Let him help!!!
The message hit him like a punch to the gut. Luke had been ever-present Noah’s senior year, always hanging around, tinkering in Megan and Rachel’s basement while they studied. He’d been impossible to ignore, even then—all easy smiles and capable hands, the kind of effortless charm that made everyone gravitate toward him.
“Earth to Noah.” Sarah’s voice pulled him back to the present. The meeting had ended, the other teachers filing out to start their days. “You okay? You looked a million miles away.”
“Fine.” Noah tucked his phone away, pushing down memories of the gangly freshman who hadn’t seemed to have a care in the world. “Just thinking about lesson plans.”
“Uh-huh.” Sarah gathered her files, but her expression remained concerned. “You know, it’s okay to need help sometimes. Especially when you’re juggling single parenthood with a new job and a house that sounds like it’s one stiff breeze away from collapse.”
“The house is fine.” Even to his own ears, the words sounded defensive. “It just needs some work.”
“And you need to accept that you can’t do everything alone.” She paused at the door. “Think about it, okay? For Eli’s sake, if not your own.”
The mention of his son hit its mark, as she had probably intended. Noah’s first class wouldn’t arrive for another ten minutes, giving him time to arrange the day’s handouts and battle with the ancient projector that liked to display everything in shades of green.
Instead, he found himself staring at Rachel’s message again. Luke. The best contractor in town, apparently. Noah wondered if he still had that same infectious laugh, that way of making everything seem manageable.
Not that it mattered. This was about the house, nothing more. And if Luke happened to remember Noah from high school… Well, they were both adults now. Professional. Practical. He only hoped Luke had learned when to take things seriously because if he cracked a single joke about the house’s condition or how hopeless Noah was with even the simplest fixes, Noah might lose it.
The first bell rang, jarring Noah from his thoughts. Students began trickling in, dropping their backpacks with theatrical sighs and slumping into desks. Over half the class cradledstainless steel mugs likely filled with sickeningly sweet coffee as if it was their life force. Noah pushed thoughts of Luke aside, focusing on writing the day’s essential question on the whiteboard.
“All right, everyone. Chapter seven. Let’s talk about why Fitzgerald chose to set the confrontation at the Plaza Hotel…”
He lost himself in the familiar rhythm of teaching, in drawing out reluctant responses and guiding discussions. This was what he was good at—creating structure from chaos, finding meaning in careful analysis. Everything else could wait.
Until his phone buzzed again during his planning period, this time with a number he didn’t recognize.
Hey, this is Luke Garrett. Rachel asked me to take a look at your place. When works for you?
