Page 28 of The Write Place

I laugh humorlessly. “Not exactly. Though he did call me ‘inspirational,’” I admit.

“Does he need more girl power in his life?” She reaches up and runs a hand over the top of her head, smoothing some flyaways.

“I don’t know if girl power has anything to do with it, but I’m starting to think he’s not actually here for research. He’s running from some major imposter syndrome brought on by his publishing team.”

“You sound almost like you actually care,” she teases.

I swat her arm, but she swerves to avoid me. “I do care. I don’t want to see anyone feel like shit about themselves, especially someone so successful.”

“Someone so hot, you mean.”

If I could glare at her effectively while running without tripping over my own feet, I would. “Before you go on about me completely falling for him, I will say that I haven’t completely done anything.”

“But you like him.” It’s a statement and not a question.

“I empathize with him,” I correct her. She looks sidelong at me, and I grunt a little. “Maybe I like him.” I can see her little self-satisfied smirk as we turn a corner. We hadn’t really been paying attention to where we were going, but once we round the bend, we both stop. About a quarter of a mile in front of us is the entrance to the cemetery where Ellie is buried. It’s an unexpected reminder, and I start breathing harder than my easy running would suggest I should be.

“Oh, Mac. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.”

“No, it’s okay. I wasn’t either.”

We’re silent for a minute, standing there and looking toward the cemetery. Jenny puts her arm around my shoulders.

“I wish I could tell her about all of this,” I say quietly.

“I know,” Jenny replies just as quietly, squeezing my shoulders gently. “She would have liked him, you know.”

I lower my eyebrows. “How do you figure?”

She smiles lightly. “Because you like him, and she wanted you to be happy.” My bottom lip wobbles and tears sting my eyes. “And then she would have had a blast trying to get him to buy her a bunch of shit because he’s rich and kind of famous and she would have really loved messing with him.”

I laugh wetly, wiping my eyes and taking in a deep breath. “She definitely would have done that.” And just like that, I’m able to collect myself again. “Thanks, Jenny.”

“Don’t mention it. Should we turn back?” She squeezes me one more time before letting go. I nod, and we head back home.

Once Jenny has eaten a sampling of everything I have in my pantry and fridge and finally gone home, I make my way to the shower. As I’m battling with my tangled bun over the sink, my phone rings.

I answer on speaker without looking at the number. “Hello?”

“I’m writing, Mac. Like, really writing.” It’s Daniel, and he sounds a bit breathless and excited.

My hair tie breaks, hitting the mirror, and my hair finally falls down around my shoulders. I barely even register it. I lean a hip against the counter and wish he could see my grin through the phone. “Daniel, that’s great!”

“Thank you.” He sounds reverent. Amazed.

“Nothing to thank me for. You just had to find it again.”

He practically cuts me off. “I’m not a student. You don’t have to let me feel good about myself. You did this, Mac. Let me say thank you.”

I pause for a minute. I never really noticed that I did that with students, but I do, and his observation disarms me. “Okay. You’re welcome,” I manage. And then it occurs to me that now that he’s feeling more productive, he won’t need the school or me as much anymore, and I’m struck with a sadness I wasn’t entirely prepared for. I catch my smile faltering as I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. “See you tomorrow?” My voice is more hopeful than I want it to be, but his tone is knowing, as if he’s reading my mind.

“I will definitely see you tomorrow.”

Chapter 13

I walk around the room, dropping papers on each group of desks as I pass. The students take it upon themselves to distribute them in each pod. “Similar to yesterday,” I say as I hand out the papers, “we are going to be doing a close reading of a new passage, but unlike yesterday, we are reading a poem.” There is a groan from the other side of the room, but I keep talking. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that, thank you very much Justin.” There is some tittering from his group, but no one voices any more objections. “So, you’ll each need a copy of what I’m handing out right now, and then you’ll need three different colored highlighters.”

I walk back to the front of the classroom and sit on my stool behind my podium. “This is one of my favorite poems. It’s about losing a loved one.”