I snort at the absurdity of it all.
“We’ll do posters too. And Becky? Joey says Ms. Harrison is a bitch to you. Carter said something similar. If that’s true, I want you to know, I got your back when you want to take this to the school board or what the fuck ever you do in these shitty situations. Joey likes you. He needs good people in his life. Just let me know, and I’ll support you.”
Off the phone I hear again, “...hitting on her…”
Then a muffled response, “I am not, Jesus, man.”
To me, again. “Okay, just remember that, bye Becky,” he rumbles.
Muffled, “bye Beck?—”
And he hangs up.
I stare at the phone for a minute before I sit back on my chair and think. If the car raffle is enough of a draw to those who normally don’t care to enter the 50/50 drawing, this fundraiser may become the reason the entire class can afford to come on this trip.
The last three years I’ve done this, I’ve complained to Carter that a few lower economic students always end up missing out. The school system does not fund field trips, so kids always have to fundraise themselves. My first year I felt horrible when I found out too late how many kids couldn’t go.
The next year, I started having meetings with parents, writing grants, and planning group fundraisers to drop the total cost. That step made participation double, and last year it went up some more. The booth at the music festivals had actually been Carter’s idea. This plan, though, this might get us where we need to be for all of the children to come on our trip.
That… would mean a lot to me.
By the end of the day, I finish with some planning, then I gather my things to head home for the weekend. The flowers were lovely, but I gave them to the librarian because she was having a bad day with book banning drama.
I kept the note.
?????
My yard is freshly mowed and the poop is removed. I admired the fresh smell then let the dogs out to re-poop-ulate it. Laughing at my own stupid thought, I pull out my phone to send it to Carter. He’d get a laugh out of it too.
Oh, yeah.
The relentless sadness that has been hovering over me for weeks swoops back in. My breath wooshes out of me at the sudden, staggering ache in my chest.God, this hurts.It’s been hitting me at the most random moments, and always when I’m doing something mundane. I’m not going out to any place significant to our shared history. I’m just existing, but existence was something we shared. Our lives were thoroughly intertwined, so the day-to-day moments of waking up, making coffee, breakfast, lunch or dinner, snuggling with my dogs, even brushing my teeth, were riddled with memories ofus.
I lean against the railing on the porch and look out into our small yard.I may not own this house, but we had made it into our home.
“Ellie, Daisy, come here.” They play hard to get for a few seconds, then finally listen to my command. Inside, they get a scoop of food, some fresh water, and I finally sink into my favorite spot on the couch. My eyes move across the walls, and I realizeeverythingis still there. All of our random art and gadgets from the many antique and second hand stores we’ve been to are scattered about where we had decided to put them. Same with our photos.
Carter’s smile stares at me from his photos. I sigh.
He sent me flowers. He got me a whole ass vehicle for my students, and—I look around the room I’m sitting in and realize it isclean. I have not vacuumed in weeks. So he’s not only taking care of the yard, but of the house. I guess he remembers how much tunnel vision I get at the beginning of the school year.
“Fuuuuuuuck.”
I reach into my pocket and pull out the note.
Why did he do all that? Why did he throw us away, just to want me backso quickly?I rub my thumb over the words he sent me.He wasn’t himself for weeks, now, after he?—
A notification goes off, and for just a moment, I consider it’shim.I pull my phone out to see that it’s a message from an unknown number. I ignore my disappointment, and click it immediately, wondering if it has to do with our booth in a couple weeks. It’s a lot more involved than our last one because we are actually in school now, and more students tend to get involved. And it’s the final music event of the season, so it’s always the busiest.
The image that loads makes me want to throw up or throw my phone.
The picture is dark, but the subjects are still crystal clear in the frame. There’s Carter posted up against the wall of the bar, wearing what he wore the other night, and then there’s Taylor, in some barely there shirt and show-the-ass shorts, leaning against him with her hands on his body. His eyes are closed.Savoring her touch.
Of. Fucking. Course.
I hold the image and forward it to Carter, then go to his contact and block his number. What a giant load of shit he’s been clogging my mind with when he’s out here doing this again, and in public, again.
With a deep breath, I go back to the message and read it.
