“Why?”
“Because I realized I was responsible for twenty students and one of them had already lost a shoe.”
Joel chuckles, and I join him. “I can laugh about it now, but the realization that no one was coming to relieve me was definitely a teacher defining moment.”
“How did she lose a shoe? Were they younger kids?”
“No. Grade twelve, same age as this group. And still to this day, I have no idea how she got on the bus with two shoes and one of them was gone by lunch.”
Joel chuckles. “I had a shoe incident with Dana once. I pushed her in her stroller all around the shops, and it was only when we were leaving that I noticed she only had one shoe on. They werethese bright red Crocs, not easy to miss. She was old enough to point at it and say ‘shoe’ but couldn’t tell me when it had gone. I found it in the back seat of the car. I’d taken her out of the car and spent the morning with her, and all that time she only had one shoe on and I never noticed.”
Joel shakes his head, and we both laugh. He’s devoted to his daughters; that’s obvious.
“What made you come to Hope?” Joel asks.
I look out the window at the scenery going past. The first buds are sprouting on the trees, and tender green growth signals the change of the seasons. Even after the storm that blew through here a few days ago, the new buds are pushing through. And up the valley, the majestic mountain range towers above it all.
“I like the mountains.”
“It’s a beautiful spot,” he agrees. “Where were you before?”
There’s condensation clinging to the window, and I trace a line in it with the tip of my finger as I try to remember where I was last. The places, the schools, the students all mesh together after a while.
“I did a spell in Charlotte, and before that Roxboro. Next stop I’d like to try the coast.”
“Next stop?” His eyebrows raise with curiosity.
“I like to move around,” I explain. “I take short contracts and see different parts of the country.”
He gives me an odd look. “That’s an interesting way to live, always on the move.”
“It’s what I grew up with. My father was military, so we were always moving. I got used to it, and I grew to love seeing new places and meeting new people.”
Joel’s gaze scans my face, and I feel as if he’s seeing me for the first time. He’s scrutinizing me, and I wonder how it sounds to him. He’s settled here, permanently. My life must seem incomprehensible to him.
“You don’t seem like someone who drifts.”
“I wouldn’t call it drifting. I like the independence. It’s made me resilient. I’ve learned to get along with all types of people and to make friends easily. I like this life.”
It’s a practiced speech, the answer I give at every new town when people ask me why I live the way that I do. But saying it to Joel sounds weird, hollow somehow, and the way he’s looking at me, like he can see into my soul, makes me question myself. Do I still like it?
“I get it,” he says quietly, surprising me. “I loved the military life. Being deployed to different places, seeing new sights, new cultures, never knowing what was coming next.”
His gaze drifts to the window as he gets lost in his memories.
“You miss it?”
“No.” His gaze shifts back to me. “I loved it until I had my girls. After that, deployment became hard. I missed so much, and I didn’t realize the half of it until I got out permanently. Now I wonder how I ever left at all.”
I want to ask about when he got out, about the wife who passed, and if he’s still holding onto the grief. But it’s too soon. I’m good at meeting new people, and I’ve learned to read them well. I’velearned not to force connections just because I’m the one who needs them.
There’s a commotion from the back of the bus, and Joel turns in his seat. The laughter dies down immediately.
“Sorry, sir,” Justin calls.
Joel sits back in his seat, and I can’t hide my smile. “They like you.”
“They’re not meant to like me; they’re meant to be scared of me,” he mutters.
