Page 90 of Teacher of the Year

“But Marvin, the thing is, I see how happy you make Olan. Truly happy. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile so much. You’re good for him. No, make that exceptional. He’s come so far since his drinking became a problem in college, and now, here, with you, it may not be how I thought things would turn out but seeing him this captivated pleases me.”

She lowers her head and presses her palms against her cheeks. Isabella’s honesty catches me off guard. I’m not sure why, but I was expecting her to lash out. Her support for the idea of Olan and me together is surprising. Sharing about Olan’s past seems to torment her, and I reach out and place my hand on her arm.

“I’m so sorry. That had to be difficult. I totally understand.”

“When he was drinking heavily, it was scary.”

“I bet.”

“He wasn’t the person I knew. There were some horrific moments in college. Junior year, his roommate found him unresponsive in his room. They had to take him to the hospital and pump his stomach. Once he started drinking solo, that’s when I knew he was in trouble. I was scared for his life.” Isabella stares at her hands. She returns her gaze to me, and there’s a dampness in the corners of her eyes.

Her words pinch at my chest. It’s hard for me to imagine Olan out of control. I know it was a long time ago, but my anxiety gurgles at the thought of him drinking, passed out, and the connections to childhood memories of my mother flash hot in my head. This, whatever we have, maybe it’s too soon for him. I couldn’t handle it if he relapsed, and I’d never forgive myself if it was my fault. Is handing my heart over to this man wise? Isabella looks at me with soft eyes, and I take a deep breath trying to center myself.

“I know you might find this hard to believe, but I actually want him to be happy. We may not be together, but I’ll always love Olan and want the best for him. He’s a wonderful father and his health means a lot to me. I’m grateful he found you. Clearly, Illona worships you, but more importantly, you seem to ground Olan. So, thank you.”

Suddenly, I feel like a dolt. I assumed she’d find some reason to detest me. Swoop in and cause chaos. Instead, she’s been kind and supportive. Color me dumbstruck.

“All set.” Olan rushes in. “I’m sorry, she wanted to read me a story. How are we doing?” He plops down between us, ever so slightly closer to me, and rests his hand on my knee.

“We’re fantastic,” Isabella says.

“I probably should get going. Long day and all.” My chest tightening, I force a yawn.

Isabella’s words replay in my mind. I never imagined hearing about Olan’s past, his drinking, would impact me in such a severe way. My skin feels tight, itchy, cramped, like it doesn’t fit me anymore. The urge to flee takes over, and I do my best to appear calm as I attempt to escape.

I stand, forcing my legs not to wobble. “But thank you so much for having me. Isabella, I’m so happy you could fly in, and we got to spend a little time together. Safe travels home.”

“Let me drive you.” Olan pushes himself up.

“No, it’s so lovely out. I want to walk.”

My body hums with anxiety, my heart thumping into a knot. I worry a panic attack isn’t far off, and the second that thought enters my mind, I feel my dinner creeping up. I can’t get away fast enough.

Chapter29

As I stumble outside into the darkness, my head thick, I do my best to move my feet rapidly, attempting to put space between me and the house. The impending tunnel vision and ringing in my ears let me know I’m going to need to sit soon to get my bearings, but not here, not now. My legs swing back and forth on autopilot. A foghorn in the distance cries out, and I focus my eyes on the light from the few streetlamps. Each time I pass under one, my shadow, long and daunting, follows. With each step, I take huge gulps of air to center myself. Isabella couldn’t have been sweeter and more understanding. I know she was only trying to connect and help me understand how far Olan’s come. But picturing him out of control burrowed deep and touched a raw nerve. In an instant, I’m twelve again, in that dingy apartment, with all those same feelings of panic and fear crashing over me like waves. Drowning me.

My chest rises and lowers with ferocity. I walk a few blocks and spot a stone wall bordering a large home with gorgeous landscaping full of shrubs and coastal flowers, and plop down. The moment my butt hits the flat rock, I close my eyes, and the opening guitar riff and the do-do-do-do’s of the Miracles wash over me. The drums and tambourine kick over the low bass guitar, and when the honeyed voice of Smokey Robinson starts singing about being the life of the party, my heartbeat begins to regulate, and somehow, through the miracle of Motown, playing “Tracks of My Tears” in my head helps me actually not cry.

By the time the blaring horns of the first chorus end, the pressure in my chest welcomes a large hand on my back, rubbing small circles. The smell of crisp-mountain-spring soap mixed with coconut confirms the owner. I open my eyes to find Olan sitting, his leg pushed up against mine, his breathing matching the snare drum in my head.

“Hey.” The word fumbles out of my mouth.

“What happened? You bolted. Why are you freaking out?”

“Nothing happened. I’m not freaking out.”

“Marvin, I know your freaking-out face.”

“You don’t know me.”

“Actually, I think I do. Did Isabella say something to upset you?”

“No, she was lovely. She’s wonderful. I can see why you fell for her. I mean, I can see why anyone would fall for her.”

My feelings for Olan have bloomed. I know he’s a magnificent human, our chemistry explodes off the charts, and I’ve never felt this way with anyone. Most importantly, he’s a complete mensch, so why can’t I focus on the present and not his past?

“It’s fine, I’m just tired. It was a long day.”

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