Page 125 of Wells

"Going on three months."

My face softens before I can stop it. The image of him breathing easier, sleeping deeper, finally letting something go, hits me somewhere I thought I'd sealed off. My chest aches, and I hate that it does.

Then the guard rises, because every soft thing in my life has had lies underneath. Every calm moment turned into something that hurt me later.

I nod and take a step back, putting more space between us.

"That's a big deal, Wells. Congratulations."

Congratulations? Is that what you say to someone who quits smoking? God, I'm such an idiot.

"When did you get back?"

"About a week ago."

He doesn't ask any more, and I don't offer. Students for the next class start filtering through the door. A woman in black leggings waves at me, and I lift my hand in return.

"You look good, Cera."

I meet his eyes, those warm brown eyes that are so serious, so intense.

"Thank you."

He shifts the mat under his arm and steps toward the door.

"I'll let you get back to work."

"It's great seeing you."

He pauses at the threshold and glances back.

"You, too."

I swallow. My throat burns.

He leaves. The door closes behind him, and I watch through the window as he crosses the parking lot and disappears around the corner.

My chest caves. Just a little. Just enough that I have to press my hand against my ribs to hold myself together.

I turn back to the room. The next class is settling onto their mats. I walk to the front and adjust my blocks even though they are already perfectly placed.

I breathe. Four in. Six out.

By the time I reach Tchoupitoulas, my breath has evened out. The wind in my hair is exactly what I needed after teaching four classes, starting with the one with Wells.

The river air drifts in from the right, cooler and slightly metallic, mixing with exhaust from a delivery truck idling at a stoplight.

I slow down as I approach the block I've ridden past a hundred times. The building sits on the corner, set back from the street behind a low iron fence.

Except it doesn't look the way it used to.

I brake hard. My feet hit the pavement, and I stare.

The building is restored. The brick has been cleaned until the red shows through decades of grime.

The windows are new, framed in white trim that catches the light from inside. The front steps have been rebuilt, and planters sit on either side of the entrance, spilling green ferns and bright purple blooms over the edges.

A banner stretches across the front porch.