Page 107 of Forget Me Not

I don’t know whether to be angry with him or kiss him.

Honestly, everyone knows it would be the latter.

It’s a gloomy day. The sun isn’t shining outside and it’s cooler, warning of cold temperatures coming. We make the best of it, though, painting in the late afternoon while the kids chat animatedly over what they’ve done in the few days since they’ve all been together last.

I’ve got to give it to Judy. These kids seem to love coming in for art class. When she first dropped the idea on me, it seemed like such a lost cause, but now that I can see how much they’re opening up, doing things they wouldn’t normally do, I’m proud.

“Ms. Fischer?” Abigail calls quietly when I’m walking around, checking out everyone’s artwork.

“Yes, Abigail?” I stoop down beside her and she waves her little hand for me to come closer.

“I think Cody’s sad,” she whispers. I peek over her shoulder to Cody, who’s been extra quiet today. I don’t think I’ve heard him speak at all.

Unusual for him.

“Why do you think that?”

She frowns, dipping her paintbrush back in the shade of green she’s painting her mermaid’s tail. “I saw him crying earlier.”

“Well, do you think I should go see if he’s okay?”

She nods solemnly. “I think he needs a hug.”

“Okay, well don’t you worry about it. I’ll check on him.”

She smiles and resumes painting while I work up the courage to have a talk I’m definitely not qualified for.

I continue to make my way around the room, stopping when I come back by Cody who’s not even really painting. His head’s leaning on his hand and he doesn’t seem the least bit interested about what his friends are talking about.

“Hey, Cody. Can you help me grab something heavy from the supply closet? I can’t lift it, but I think you can.”

He doesn’t say anything, merely nodding and following me to the door.

Okay, Nova. Big girl pants. Be the teacher.

I refuse to listen to the voice that reminds me I’m just an art teacher, not a guidance counselor and lead him out into the hall.

“You feeling okay today?” I ask as I lead him to the next room over and pull out my keys.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, standing back while I unlock the door.

“You’re quiet. Want to tell me what’s wrong?”

He just shakes his head.

I wince. I am not doing a great job here.

“Okay. Just so you know, I took two whole psychology classes. I might be able to help you feel better.”

It’s not really a lie. I did take two classes, but I don’t remember anything from them. Nothing that will help an eight-year-old boy, anyway.

“My grandpa died last night.”

Well, shit.

Grief is definitely not my forte.

I open the door, but stop, turning back to him. There’s a tear leaking down his cheek and he angrily swipes it away. My heart breaks for him. Even more so when I don’t know what to say.

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