He’d mentioned being divorced, and I’d gathered it was recent-ish, but he never brought up his marriage. I knew he’d had a small business in Seattle before becoming a teacher—a game shop, he’d said once—but he’d offered no details about why he’d left. He’d talked about his childhood and his family. About friends he still had from his college days in Oregon. But I hadn’t put it together until he got all weird about his reunion that he’d never spoken a word about high school—something that generally happened among teachers.
Had he been bullied? Been a bully? Dropped the winning pass in a football game? Farted in class? Played a part in a dramatic teenage love triangle? I’d worked with kids long enough to know it could be anything.
But what it couldn’t be was something that would make me stop caring about James or respecting him any less. Because that was impossible.
Maybe I could help him with his reunion. I felt positive he needed to go. If he truly hadn’t wanted to, deep down, he would have already sent thenoto the RSVP-requesting texts.
I could offer to go with him. Support him. But I knew if I suggested that outright, he’d refuse. He’d think he was putting me out, especially since he knew how much I was looking forward to the Christmas activities in Coleman Creek. Or he’d assume I was offering out of pity, and he’d never allow that, since it was obvious maintaining the façade of being an uncomplicated, laid-back guy was very important to him.
He wasn’t ready to open up yet about his whole life. And that was okay. I could be patient.
But the reunion wouldn’t wait. He’d only get one chance to go, and the clock was ticking.
I looked down the hallway, at the door to the master, the room I still thought of as my mom’s. A kernel of an idea formed in my mind. James needed an incentive to head in the direction of his reunion. And I might have just the thing to nudge him. An offer he wouldn’t be able to say no to.
Chapter six
James
WhenMarleyopenedthedoor the next day, she wore the Elf on the Shelf sweater she’d threatened me with at school the day of the faculty meeting. I didn’t say a word, just reached out and flicked the little bells dangling from its hem, trying not to notice how perfectly the top hugged her curves.
We’d had such a good day yesterday. Being around her was like bouncing around inside a ball of joy. I’d gone home and felt the emptiness of my apartment acutely, even with Bambi next to me. Now, back with Marley, everything felt right again. I watched her lean back against a wall, tapping a finger against her lips as she contemplated the bins we hadn’t tackled yesterday. She popped her hip, drawing my eyes to the soft line of her back and the full heart shape of her ass. I knew it was playing with fire to indulge in my attraction, but it was difficult not to when she was so tempting. Swallowing, I forced myself to focus on our tasks.
One of the remaining tubs contained ornaments. Marley put it aside, reasoning she wouldn’t need it for a while since she always got fresh trees from the PTSA lot and didn’t want to buy too early. She told me her plan to purchase a seven-footer for upstairs and a smaller tree for the rec room—even though she almost never spent time there.
“How come you don’t use the downstairs?” I asked.
“I dunno, really. There’s a bunch of old retro board games down there you might be interested in checking out. Growing up, that’s where we hung out, mostly because it’s where the TV and comfy couch were, but now if I want to watch something, I just do it on my computer in my room. It’s a lot different living in this house with just me.”
I nodded as we sat on the couch untangling lights.
“Do any of the decorations go in the bedrooms?”
“No. Not this year anyway.” Her voice sounded far away.
“Still no plans to use the master?” I questioned gently.
“Not firm ones.”
I didn’t want to pry—especially after Marley had been so careful not pushing me to talk about my reunion—but I was genuinely curious. If there was one thing I’d learned yesterday going through the Davis family Christmas kitsch, it was that Marley’s grieving process for her mom was healthy—like she’d bought a book on how to handle the death of a beloved parent and was mastering the steps one at a time.
That’s why it didn’t track that she hadn’t moved into the home’s main bedroom. Was she keeping it as a monument? Or maybe she was less okay than I’d been thinking?
“I can see your big brain wondering,” she said. “I can’t say exactly why I haven’t moved in there yet. It might be time.” She exhaled heavily. “Do you want to see?”
She surprised me with the request. But I got the feeling she didn’t want to go in there alone. “Only if you want to show me.”
“I do.”
The dogs perked up from their spot in front of the fireplace. We shook our heads at them to stay put.
I wasn’t exactly sure what I’d been expecting when Marley swung open the oversized door, but it hadn’t been an eerily empty room. We stepped into the large space in the center where a bed would normally be.
“I’ve already told you my mom died of Parkinson’s. It wasn’t the shaking kind people usually think of when they imagine that disease. For her, it was more like hallucinations. That last year, she was seeing people that weren’t there. Talking to them. In and out of recognizing me. Insurance paid to have a hospital bed here. Easier for the nurses. Obviously, they took it back after…” she trailed off.
A clear plastic shoebox full of pill bottles, a hairbrush, and a little notepad sat atop a small dresser in one corner. Clothing still hung in the closet. Light came in harshly through the cracks in the blinds, highlighting tiny dirt specks floating in the stagnant air.
“It’s nothing like how it was when she first got sick,” Marley mused. “Mom used to have books and photos and lots of clutter. Over time, after she could no longer read and just wore hospital gowns every day, there was no use for anything other than whatever the nurses needed to make her comfortable. She had a TV on the dresser, but Maureen took it last time she came. Everything else looks like it did when she died. Since Mom couldn’t leave the bed, it’s as though that whole last terrible year all happened in this room. Like the worst part of it got contained in here. I know that sounds stupid—”
