Page 76 of What He Doesn't Know

“Talk to me,” Cameron said after a while, once my breaths were a little more steady. He peeled my coat off, tossing it to the floor before wrapping me in his arms again. “What happened?”

“Jeremiah,” I choked out, and Cameron immediately stiffened.

I hadn’t told Cameron aboutthisJeremiah, and I didn’t realize that fact until he reacted the way he did.

“This boy in my class,” I clarified, squeezing him tighter. I needed him to rock me again. “He just… he reminds me so much of our Jeremiah, and I’ve really connected with him this year. He’s so smart, Cam. And so sweet. And he…”

My heart ripped open with the burn of reality again.

“He lost his home to a fire this week. And his mom said insurance isn’t covering it, and they don’t know how they’re going to afford a new home, let alone his tuition. And he just, he deserves to be there, Cameron. At Westchester. He doesn’t deserve to know this kind of pain. Not yet.” I shook my head, more tears pouring from my eyes onto Cameron’s bare chest. “He was a completely different boy today. He was so miserable. I have to do something, but I don’t know what.”

“Shhh,” Cameron soothed into my hair, rocking me again. “It’s going to be okay.”

“I don’t know what to do,” I cried harder, and he kissed my hair, holding me tighter. “There has to be something, I just don’t know what.”

“They’ll handle it,” Cameron said. “Their insurance will come around, and Jer—” He cleared his throat. “He’ll be okay once some time has passed. We all go through tough stuff when we’re kids, and he’ll be stronger for it in the long run.”

I pulled away from him just enough so I could look in his eyes. Cameron had been through more in his childhood than I had in my entire life, so I understood why he saw it that way. But this was just a child, not even six years old yet. This wouldn’t make him stronger.

It would break him.

“This isn’t a childhood pet dying or falling off a bike, Cameron. He lost his entire home to a fire. All of his toys, all of their family photos, every memory he’s ever had — gone. And now, he might not even be able to come back to the only school he’s known.”

“It’s only kindergarten. If he does have to transfer schools, he probably won’t even notice the difference after a few days.”

My hands froze at his side.

“Only kindergarten. What is that supposed to mean? Are you saying what I do doesn’t matter?”

Cameron’s eyes grew to the size of silver dollars. “What? No, of course not. I’m just saying that this… kid, he will be okay.”

“Jeremiah. His name is Jeremiah.”

Cameron swallowed. “Yes, I know. And I understand why his name might make you feel closer to him, but this isn’t your mess to solve, babe. They’re a family, and they’ll get through it. But you’re his teacher. Your job is to help him stay focused in school through all this, you know?”

A foreign feeling rolled through me as he talked, one I wasn’t sure I’d ever felt before. It was like the final thread holding my life in place was being stretched taut, as if one end of it were being singed slowly by a cool fire. Words weren’t Cameron’s thing, and now that he was using them, they were only making things worse.

I stared at him like I didn’t know him at all.

And that’s when I realized that I didn’t. Not anymore.

“Wow. Thanks for telling me my job responsibilities. I’m not sure how I would have ever known that without you saying it out loud.” I stood from the bed, swiping at the tears on my face as I moved toward the bathroom. “I’m going to take a bath.”

“Wait,” Cameron said, jumping up to grab my wrist. “What’s wrong? I’m just trying to help.”

“Well you’re doing a shit job!”

My hands slapped over my mouth in unison, and I shook my head, eyes flooding with tears.

“I’m sorry. I just… I feel like you don’t understand.”

“But Ido.I get it. He’s the same age… and has the same name. I can’t imagine how hard that must be some days, and how confusing it can get.” Cameron pulled me into him again, framing my face with his hands. “But he’s not our Jeremiah, Charlie.” His voice broke a little when he said the name, but he pushed through it. “He’s not our son.”

“I know that, but—”

“Do you?” Cameron searched my eyes, like he was trying to find a woman who hadn’t existed for five years. “If this would have happened to any other kid in your class, would you have felt the same way? Would you have called me like a mad woman and sped home and cried and felt a need to fix it?”

“Mad woman?”