“Another hour,” he replies.
“Okay. Get to the War Room as soon as you’re done. You’re getting behind with these detentions.”
“I know, Sir. I’ll be there.” Brandon lifts his pencil and does a great job at pretending he’s working on his paper.
Coach Collins’ gaze then roams across the room and settles on Mariah. “Mariah, can I talk to you for a minute?”
“Sure.”
She’s all too chipper as she prances to the doorway to talk to the new coach who’s fresh out of college. I’ve seen him around outside of school and, much to my chagrin, he comes across as a pretty decent guy.
I want to snatch her up, wrap my arm around her waist and pull her back to me. Whatever he’s saying to her isn’t library-related. There’s nothing about the library that would make her head fall back in laughter like that.
Mother fucker.
My blood threatens to pop the confinements of my veins. My temples throb as I try to appear impassive despite being on the edge of exploding.
Ollie flips on the mixer. The roar of the machine grates through the room, flipping butter and sugar together in a bowl that squeaks every time the paddles turn inside. Gone is the sound of Mariah’s laugh. I can no longer hear broken pieces of their conversation and it’s all I can do not to march over there and insert myself in the middle of whatever they’re talking about.
My phone buzzes beside me. A message bar is positioned across the screen, reminding me to update my dating app.
Pursing my lips together, I look back at Mariah. I wonder if this is how she felt when I was in her office talking to other women? She couldn’t have, not really. I wasn’t seeing her. Not like we have been now. Still, I would’ve felt a variation of this even before I knew she was Nerdy Nurse.
What the hell does that mean?
Coach leans towards her his hand pressing on the wall just above her head. She doesn’t seem to mind as she looks up at him and laughs. It’s too close, too intimate. My hand shakes at my side, twisting into a tight ball, as I watch this asshole think he’s making a move on her right in front of me.
He touches her hand as he talks and I think I’m going to come out of my skin.
“Ollie!” I call out over the roar of the mixer. “That’s good.”
He flips the switch. “But it needs another two minutes.”
“Call it two minutes. Move along.”
The coach reaches out and places his hand gently on her shoulder. I slide off the counter and head to the window before I do something stupid.
The courtyard outside is bright and peaceful. A few birds play in the grass. A heaviness sits in my chest as I realize this isn’t going to get any easier. My reaction to her isn’t going to ease up and other men aren’t going to stay away from her because I’ve somehow invisibly marked her as mine.
“Mr. Gibson?” Ollie says from behind me. I hold up a finger without turning around.
Sucking in a deep, ragged breath, I turn around. Brandon is standing next to Ollie, holding a spoon.
“What are you doing Brandon?” I ask, annoyed.
“He needed help and you ignored him.”
Taking off my glasses, I head across the room just as Mariah finishes with the coach. She’s all smiles as she joins us.
“What are you doing?” she laughs.
“Sifting dry ingredients,” Ollie shrugs.
“You’re wearing more of them than anything.” She pulls him to the side and dusts him off, white flour puffing off his shirt. “Why are we doing this today again?”
“I missed it the first time and it’s a requirement,” Ollie explains.
“Why’d you miss it?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Overslept.”
“Get one of those new alarm clocks that flash color,” Brandon says. “That thing scares the shit out of me every morning.”
“I could sleep through a war. By the time I finish at the farm after school and then put in a couple of hours cleaning carpets with Red Henry, I’m beat.”
Mariah takes a step back. “You work two jobs?”
“Yeah.”
“Isn’t there a law about that?”
“Probably,” he says simply. “I’ll be eighteen in six months. I don’t have a choice, really.”
“I’ll be eighteen next month and I’m not working two jobs,” Brandon chips in.
A ripple flows through my stomach as I take in what Ollie’s saying. Mariah chews on her bottom lip, her eyes meeting mine.
“You won’t be homeless on your birthday either.” Ollie’s statement is harsh, but said with enough kindness that it doesn’t feel as sharp as it is. “As a foster kid, I get some basic government services for a certain time. But I can leave if I want and, well, my foster family is pretty shitty.” He lowers his head. “That makes me sound ungrateful, doesn’t it? I’m not. I swear. I just don’t want things held over my head anymore.”
I think Mariah is going to hug him. She leans forward like she does before she reaches for me, but her arms don’t extend. It’s like she’s not sure what to do. I can’t blame her because I don’t know what to do either.
My mind starts racing, trying to figure out how to fix this.
“So you just … what?” Brandon asks, walking back to the kitchenette. “You live in a box?”
“I won’t because I have some money saved.” Ollie sprays a pan. “But if I didn’t, maybe.”
“That’s a bunch of shit.” Brandon looks at me. “How’s this true, Mr. Gibson?”
I can’t find the words for a minute, nor can I find the gumption to get on him for his language. “I don’t know,” I admit. “Ollie, if you need a place to stay, tell me.”
“I’ll figure it out.”
Mariah walks to the counter where I was sitting, her back to us. I want to go to her and hug her. Make her laugh like she did with Coach Collins. Instead, I take in the two boys from very different backgrounds looking at me for answers.
“This isn’t fair,” Brandon insists. “This is so far from fair it’s fucked up and I know you’re going to tell me to watch my mouth but that’s the only way to describe this.” He looks at me, at Mariah, at Ollie, and back to me.
I think back to my life growing up, a semi-charmed one in comparison. How we took vacations and had pets and didn’t have all the things we wanted, maybe, but we always had enough. I think of the accident and the way it tore our lives apart. How Britt left and then my parents died and how I worked for years to protect myself from any sort of pain or from causing pain to someone else. And how now I’m in love with the woman I’m more or less sure was created with me in mind. It must’ve been a version of me who didn’t go on that gravel road back in the summer over a decade ago though. Because now the life we could’ve had, the one I know we would’ve had, should’ve had, is impossible.
“Life isn’t fair, guys.” I hold the bowl while Ollie scrapes the rest of the batter into the pan. “You’re born with a hand of cards.”
“Like in poker?” Brandon asks.
“Kind of. And each year you go through life, your cards change. Let’s say Ollie was dealt a shittier hand than you, Brandon. That doesn’t mean he can’t play his cards smarter than you and in ten years be sitting on a royal flush while you have eights and nines.”
Ollie likes this, smiling as he puts the cake in the oven.
“Or maybe Ollie makes a bad call and wipes himself out and has to rebuild at twenty. That can happen too,” I add. “The key to life is to play your cards smart. Don’t take anyone else’s and don’t trick them into playing theirs by lying or cheating the system.”
My mouth is dry as I look over my shoulder at Mariah. She’s looking at the spot where my phone lays.
What cards do I play now?
“Okay,” I tell the boys. “Get those dishes washed up and let’s make the icing.”
Twenty-Six
Mariah
After drying off my hands from the dishwater, I check on the stir-fry finishing off on the stove. It smells spicy and delicious. I don’t make it often because I hate cutting all the vegetables and chicken, but it seemed simple enough to make before Lance shows up for dinner yet complicated enough to be semi-impressive.
I’m not sure when he’s coming. He said he had a few things to do before he could make his way over here, but I had some time and figured we could re-heat it. He seemed as surprised as I was that I invited him. I think I was so shaken from seeing the app still on his phone and listening to Ollie’s story this afternoon that I just needed some comfort.
I haven’t been able to shake Ollie from my mind all evening. There are kids worse off than him—I know that. I’m not oblivious to it. But to think a kid right under your nose, in the same school that you work in, has no parents. No one to love him. No one to make sure he doesn’t starve to death or have a dry pair of socks once he hits eighteen is just heartbreaking.
There have been a lot of accomplishments I’ve achieved on my own. Applied and got accepted to college. Paid off my car loan. Found a house to rent and got a job at a high school that was my first choice. Those all felt like huge burdens to bear at the time, but not compared to what Ollie faces.
As I flip off the burner, I think back to the discussion Lance and I had as we straightened the Family and Consumer Sciences Room after Ollie and Brandon left. He insisted his brothers would be able to help him find Ollie housing and a job. Apparently, they’re connected around town. I promised to help with the deposit if needed.
Lance’s face as we talked about this caused my heart to swell and sink at the same time. I love that he cares so genuinely about this kid. The way he was so gentle with Betsy this past weekend, yet so firm with Brandon makes him feel so … sturdy. Like a man.
“What do I know about that?” I scoff, setting the spoon down. My phone blares from the living room and I jog that way to answer it. It’s a number I don’t recognize and having just told Ollie to call me if he needed anything, I worry it’s him.