Page 14 of The Write Place

“I’d hardly call one happy hour overtaking every other aspect of your life. Besides, I need to observe teachers in their natural habitat. What’s more natural than Friday drinks with colleagues?”

“I suppose this has everything to do with your research and nothing to do with how bored and lonely you must be sitting in your room all by yourself this weekend.” My voice is dripping with mock sympathy.

He stands and shoves his notebook into his leather bag. He crosses the strap across his chest, and he rests one hand on top of it at his side. “Of course it has everything to do with research. The drinks are a bonus.”

“You’ve been to Tony’s. The drinks are not a bonus.” I shake my head in warning. He laughs lightly. “And this department is full of vultures,” I continue. “They’ve stayed away for a whole week because they respect Ken enough not to pry right in front of him, but he won’t be there.”

He’s silent for a second, as if it has just occurred to him that a social situation with other people might not be ideal. I catch his face falling slightly, so I crack a joke to lighten the mood. “Besides, you can’t go to Tony’s in a suit with a bunch of teachers in spirit t-shirts and jeans. You’ll look ridiculous.”

His eyes fall pointedly to my feet. “Says the grown woman wearing green-and-yellow spirit shoes.”

I scoff. “You know what? I was only trying to save you, but now you’re on your own.”

“I’ll be sure to stop at my place and change before I meet you there,” he responds drily. I shrug and start making my way to the door. “I wouldn’t want to embarrass you,” he teases to my back. When I ignore him, he adds, more to himself than to me, “Those shoes are embarrassing enough.”

I can’t help but glare at him over my shoulder before I walk out of the room.

When I arrive at Tony’s, there are teachers playing pool, sitting at the bar, and gathered in a few booths. It’s early, so there aren’t many people, and the only patrons are teachers. Daniel is nowhere to be seen. Jenny spots me from her table where she is sitting with Kylie and Ava, and she waves me over.

Jenny has already ordered my usual beer for me, and it’s waiting in front of an empty chair. I sit down next to her, our backs to the door, and immediately the younger teachers lean across the table, eerily in unison.

“Tell us,” Kylie says quietly so no one else can hear. “What’s he like?” Ava’s eyes are wide and expectant, as if these women have been waiting all week to talk to me. Just then, I hear the door open, and Kylie and Ava’s expressions turn almost giddy. There’s something about their dinner-plate eyes that makes me feel jumpy.

“Oh my gosh. Jenny said he was coming, but I didn’t believe her!” Ava whisper-squeals. “I have been carrying around my copy of Letting Go all week. Do you think he’d sign it for me?”

I twist myself to see Daniel making his way to the bar to order a drink. He’s dressed much more casually in a cream sweater and jeans, though he’s still much dressier than everyone else. His sweater is fitted, showing off his lean, muscular shoulders, which I immediately try to shove out of my brain. The bartender hands him a bottle of beer, and he searches the room. Spotting me, he starts to make his way to our table.

I can feel my heart rate quickening unnaturally, and I know I need to excuse myself for a minute. I don’t want to say something stupid and jeopardize the deal we have with Daniel and the publisher. I turn back to Ava and say gently, “I’m sure he’ll be happy to sign it for you. He’s really nice, actually.” Then I say to Jenny, “I’ll be right back.” She frowns, but I stand and make my way away from Daniel to the bathroom.

I take a long swig from my beer bottle and put it on the counter next to the bathroom sink. I don’t really need the bathroom; I need a minute before the masses of the English department descend on Daniel, or before they descend on me with their questions about how it’s going. I put both my hands on the counter, feeling the sharp edge bite into my palms, and take a few deep breaths. I study myself in the cracked mirror, noticing my muted green eyes and my red hair trying to escape my ponytail. My skin is paler than normal, and the freckles smattered over the bridge of my nose seem darker because of it. I press the tips of my clammy fingers into my cheeks, trying to rub some color back into them. I can handle five classes of teenagers every day. Surely, I can handle some questions from LPHS teachers.

After a few minutes, I feel as ready as I’ll ever be to watch this unfold. There’s only one way out of this place, I think, fortifying myself to leave the bathroom and face everyone again. When I walk out back into the bar, I look over to where I was sitting and Daniel is, in fact, in the middle of a conversation with Jenny, Kylie, Ava, and two more English teachers. Jenny is the only one not looking at him like he’s the literal center of the universe. He has a pen, and at first glance, he seems like he’s making charming small talk with everyone while he signs copies of novels, but then I notice his shoulders are falling slightly inward and his eyes are dull.

I take a step toward the table, thinking maybe I can offer some support, but there’s no seat left. I move to sit at the bar instead, leaning my back against the counter and facing out. When Jenny spots me, she comes over to sit next to me, crossing her legs and angling herself so she is half facing the table and half facing me.

“I know you hate being the center of attention,” she says, swirling a finger around the top of her wine glass, “but you probably shouldn’t have let a third of the department descend on him. He’s trying really hard not to be miserable, but he’s starting to get a little droopy.”

“I needed a minute,” I say simply, not meeting her gaze. I can see her look me up and down out of the corner of my eye. Her lips become a tight line and her eyes narrow. She knows me well enough to know exactly what’s going on, so I shrug quickly. “Besides, I told him not to come. He insisted. He probably loves this.”

“I don’t fully trust him after the fake name debacle, Mac, but it’s pretty clear that he doesn’t. He’s here because you are.” She takes a sip of her wine and places it carefully on the bar. From over her shoulder, I see another English teacher, Ben Allouer, looking in our direction.

“You always over-romanticize everything. He’s not following me around like some puppy because of one kiss. He’s stuck here to write a book, so he was looking for a fling. Ending up shadowing me was simply a weird coincidence.” I drink the last of my beer and put it on the bar, signaling to the bartender that I’d like another. I glance over to see even more teachers standing around Daniel, who is now unmistakably weary.

Jenny stands, taking her wine glass with her. “Right. But you and I know these teachers well enough to know they’d all want to talk to him.” She tips her chin in the direction of the people surrounding him at the table. “I don’t think he came here for that kind of attention, and even if he did, I have a hard time believing this is the research he’s expecting to do.” She pauses, considering if she should continue, and I know what she’s going to say a moment before she says it. “And you of all people should know what it’s like to want to escape this department.”

Daniel’s eyes find mine across the room and he perks up a little when he spots me. I raise my beer bottle to him and face the bar. Jenny makes a low noise of disapproval, but I just frown at her as she hops off her stool and makes her way toward Ben.

I sit and nurse my beer for a few minutes, refusing to turn around and look at how many devoted fans are surrounding Daniel now, which is why I’m utterly surprised when I see him slide into the seat next to me out of the corner of my eye. He leans his forearms on the bar, holding his beer with both hands. His head is bowing slightly between his shoulders, and a lot of his usual swagger has left him. I think of a snide comment to make, and then think better of it.

“You really hate this, don’t you?” I ask, not unkindly.

He takes a deep breath and holds it for a minute, then lets it out in a whoosh. “I really, really do.”

My eyes land on my beer resting on the bar, and I twist it around a little. I didn’t believe him when he told me about why he didn’t use his real name when we met, but I’m starting to understand. I fiddle with my ring with the thumb of my other hand. “I get it,” I say, still staring at the half-empty bottle in front of me. “Not wanting the kind of attention you didn’t choose for yourself, I mean. I get it,” I say again. For a second, I almost don’t continue. I look at him, and he is studying me, his gaze so completely open and warm. My lips part slightly and his eyes dip to them, then back to mine. He leans toward me, just enough to urge me on, and I look back to the dingy surface of the bar, running my finger along the edge of it. The words come tumbling out before I can stop them. “Almost three years ago, my older sister died. She worked here, actually. It’s why my students call me Miss Mac instead of Miss Milcrest. We shared a lot of students that year. They wanted a way to differentiate us, and I guess it stuck.” I pause again, swallowing against the dryness in my mouth. I almost don’t continue, but I’m sure he’s going to hear about it eventually, so it might as well be from me. I square my shoulders and sit up a little on my barstool. “Everyone loved her. She taught math, but she was able to get Jenny and me interviews when we were ready to apply for jobs. She and Jenny and I were headed to dinner that night. Jenny was following us in her car because she had to leave early, but I was with my sister, and we were hit. That’s where I got this.” I flip over my left hand so he can see the underside of my forearm where the skin is raised slightly from a deep scar. “For a long time after, it was all anyone could talk about. I felt like I’d never be free of it and be my own person again. I almost left LPHS, actually. Ken…” I shift in my seat, tapping my foot rhythmically against the bottom rung of the stool. “Ken took care of it somehow.” I force myself to look at Daniel again, only to find him studying me intently, his expression soft but, thankfully, not pitying. I give him a weak smile. “Anyway, I know what it feels like to have everyone make one thing about you the only thing they care about. I understand why you didn’t want me to know who you were at first.” He doesn’t say anything, so I shrug a shoulder as if everything I just said is no big deal and take a swig of my beer. Another teacher wanders nearby and leans closer like he wants to say something to us, but he must notice that we’re deep in conversation because he abruptly changes course.

I’m about to chastise myself for oversharing and excuse myself to wallow in my embarrassment elsewhere when I feel a light finger tracing the scar on my forearm. I inhale sharply and look at where his finger meets my arm.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” he says quietly, gently. His hand remains, warm and soft against the skin of my arm. I meet his gaze, and his hand falls from my arm, though he rests it close by on the bar.