Page 79 of Past Tents

“These are more fit for public display,” she said, pushing me out the door before I had time to protest. I was too bleary after a week of poor sleep to argue.

As we drove to the center of town, Lucy began a monologue she’d obviously prepared before coming. “I just want to say I’m proud of you.”

She paused and waited for me to ask why. So it wasn’t so much a monologue as a planned discussion. Either way, I groaned at the thought.

“Don’t you want to know why?” she teased, her voice lilting over the words.

“You’re going to tell me either way, right?”

I didn’t have to look at Lucy to know she was smiling, happy she’d caught me in her conversational net. “I’m proud of you for standing up for yourself and asking for the kind of relationship you want. The fairy tale.”

Throwing a hand over my eyes, I cringed. “I’m an idiot. Telling that to Clay was idiotic, and look where it got me. Here, with him running for the hills just like my mama warned me he would.”

Lucy tsk-tsked, waving a finger while keeping her other hand on the steering wheel. “No, he freaked out because of his own baggage, and you did right, telling him to deal with it.” And now I regretted having filled Lucy in on every detail of our breakup.

“But I’m talking about you,” she continued. “You did good. You asked for what you wanted and you should always continue to do that. Whether it’s with him or somebody else.”

“But I want it to be with him,” I whined, finally saying the truth out loud.

“I know, honey, I know. And if that stubborn greyhound removes his head from his ass, it will be. I sincerely hope he does.”

After that, Lucy stopped talking and let me nurse my latte. Nothing else needed to be said.

When we arrived at the community center, I snapped back to reality. Too many people. Too many potential conversations. Too much in general.

And wouldn’t you know, the first person Lucy and I ran into was Rosalie. “Hi, you two. Fancy meeting you here, Lucy Gibson. Are you the one teaching the class?”

“Hey, Rosalie.” My greeting lacked enthusiasm, but Lucy picked up the slack immediately.

“Aw, good for you for getting certified, but I’m just here for fun.”

Rosalie popped her hip out to the side, giving Lucy the once-over with furrowed brows. “Fun? Well, that’s sure good to hear. I was worried this class would be a bore.”

Lucy didn’t have time to respond because the instructor stood at the front of the room in hot-pink scrubs clapping her hands rapidly. Her high ponytail bobbed as she bounced on her toes and greeted us with a smile that instantly gave me a headache. It was just too...perky. “Okay, everyone, find a partner and we’ll get started in a minute.”

The room was empty save for a handful of blue exercise mats in the center and a bunch of folding chairs that had been set to the side to make room for the thirty or so people who were now abuzz with chatter as we partnered up.

“I’m going back to bed,” I threatened, turning toward the exit and running smack into John Witty.

“Oh, no you don’t.” Witty’s hair was slicked back like he’d just gotten out of the shower, and it pained me how many people in Green Valley were up and oh so perky at the frightening hour of...ten in the morning. Okay, maybe slothful, wallowing Ally needed an intervention.

“Why are you here?” I half whined.

Witty grinned. “Ran into Lucy earlier and she mentioned y’all were taking this class. Since you’ve been draying around school all week, and Clay’s taken five personal days for the first time in forever, I decided all teachers ought to know CPR, including this guy.” He pointed to himself with both thumbs.

I couldn’t help it. I smiled at my goofball colleague who’d rather lie about wanting to learn how to do two hundred chest compressions than make me ask for help.

I reached out and hugged him and gratefully accepted his return embrace. “Don’t be a lonely pot when there’s a lid out there that suits you,” he whispered.

Before I could answer, our teacher started barking instructions over the din in the room, pointing to the loosely clothed dummies on the blue mats and telling us to gather around them. Witty couldn’t help himself—he checked inside our dummy’s pants. “It’s a dude.”

“It’s no such thing,” Lucy admonished. Witty shrugged.

“Still not sure why you’re here,” I grunted at Witty, glancing around the room to see if any other high school teachers had shown up, specifically one who taught the senior English seminar. I’d mentioned a couple weeks ago that I was signed up for the course and Clay said he might come along. I couldn’tdecide whether I was relieved or disappointed not to see him here.

Relieved. No, disappointed. No, just exhausted.

“I’m here for moral support. To encourage you to follow your heart while simultaneously being good to yourself.”

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