Page 32 of What He Doesn't Know
A friend. That was all I wanted to be.
Or at least, that’s what I told myself.
When I turned the corner rounding into her classroom, I stopped mid-whistle, confusion sweeping over me at the sight of Mr. Henderson writing on the white board behind her desk.
“Ah! Good morning, Mr. Walker. How was your weekend?”
I surveyed the room, but there was no sign of Charlie, not even a purse or coat hung over the back of her chair.
“It was just fine, Mr. Henderson. And yours?”
“Oh, I’ve had better. Betty insisted on me cleaning out our fireplace. She’s so sure we’re going to get a bad snow storm here in the next few weeks.” He shook his head with a grin. “The old back doesn’t bend the way it used to.”
“Well, she’s probably right about the snow. I’m surprised we haven’t had anything more than an inch or two since I’ve been home.”
“It’s surely been cold enough to blizzard, hasn’t it?” He hung his hands on his hips with an even wider grin, which I returned as much as I could.
I was done talking about the weather.
“Is, uh… Is Mrs. Pierce running late or something?”
“Oh! Of course, you’re probably looking for her in her classroom, huh? That would make sense.” Mr. Henderson chuckled. “Poor thing, she’s ill. Called me right as my alarm went off this morning. I’m just filling in until the sub can get up here.”
“She’s sick?”
“Appears so,” he answered, and this time his face bent with concern. “Doesn’t surprise me, honestly. The woman hasn’t had a sick day off in the eight years she’s been teaching with us. Probably caught up with her.”
“She’s never called out sick?” I raised a brow, suspicion settling low and unwelcome in my stomach.
“Never.”
“Huh,” I mused. “Well, I picked up an extra coffee this morning. Would you like it?”
“Life saver!” He clapped his hands together before crossing the room to take the extra cup from my hand. “Much obliged, Mr. Walker. I’ll swing by your room later to discuss the spring concert?”
“Sure,” I answered distantly, but my wheels spun, wondering if Charlie was okay.
Maybe she really was sick, it wasn’t like people didn’t get colds or even the flu in late January. Still, the fact that she hadn’t called out sick in eight years and she just so happened to do so for the first time the Monday after we spent a late night together wasn’t lost on me.
My fingers itched to reach into my pocket for a cigarette as I walked the halls back to my classroom, but since I couldn’t find relief that way just yet, I pulled out my cell phone, instead. A friend would check on someone if they were sick, wouldn’t they?
Before I could talk myself out of it, I shot out a text to Charlie.
- Mr. Henderson told me someone’s under the weather this morning. Maybe you couldn’t handle that beer, after all. -
I sent it quickly, cringing a bit at my lame attempt at teasing her. If she really was sick, she might smile. But if she wasn’t, would bringing up that night only upset her? Was she regretting it, spending that long with me, opening up to me the way she did?
Was she feeling guilty?
The thought had crossed my mind. She’d asked me about a night that passed between us so long ago, and we’d been close enough to kiss, close enough to do so much more. But neither of us had crossed a line… had we?
There was no answer from Charlie before first period started, and when I checked my phone again at lunch, I was disappointed that her name hadn’t lit up my screen. By the end of the day, I’d given up.
I hoped, selfishly, that she reallywassick. Maybe she was buried under the covers of her bed, doped up on cold medicine and not looking at her phone at all.
It was an awful thing to wish, but the alternative would have been worse. It would have meant she was avoiding me, the way the sickening lurch in my stomach wanted me to believe. Charlie had let me in, but was she closing me out again, before I even had the chance to get more than one foot through the door?
I could only wait to find out.