Page 73 of Teacher of the Year

“I can run home and back quickly. I can be back for dismissal.”

“Marvin, go. I’ve got you covered,” she says, and for the first time, probably ever, Dr. Tori Knorse lets a smidge of her humanity peek through her tough exterior; all it took was seeing a student and teacher smothered in blood.

As I sit on the towel Gwen loaned me for my car seat, my pants squish a little from the not-quite-dried blood. I begin driving, finally the urgency of the situation behind me, and I realize I remained calm the entire time. Teddy needed me to be steady for him, and I rose to the occasion. Why can’t I do this for myself in times of extreme stress? Why can’t I take care of myself the way I take care of my students? Why can’t I let someone else take care of me? I feel my throat thicken, and it’s hard, stuck, and cold when I swallow.

I do that alarming thing where I’m driving and paying enough attention to not crash but not completely thinking about where I’m going, and without realizing it, I’m heading to Olan’s house instead of my apartment. Covered in Teddy’s blood, I look like I’m ready for my stint as an extra in a gory flick as I park my car and stride up to Olan’s front door.

Chapter24

“Marvin, oh my god. What happened? Are you okay?”

Clearly confused by me standing at this door when I should be at school with his daughter and my entire class along with appearing as if I’ve just committed a heinous murder, Olan inspects me.

“Can I come in?”

“Of course.” He moves to let me in, and even as I stand in his foyer, I’m not sure why I came here.

“What happened? Are you hurt?” Olan asks with concern.

For a quick moment, I forget why I’m afraid to be here. Olan’s eyes survey me and I look down at my polo. The blue fabric and blood have combined to create a shade that resembles dark burgundy wine. My head fogs with the memory of Sunday. Olan. Recovery.

“Oh no, I’m fine. It’s Teddy. He slipped and split his lip. He’s fine, or he will be. I just need to change.”

“Come in. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Of course, Olan would take care of me. That’s why I came, right? He’s become a safety net. My heart knew where to go, even if my mind didn’t. Without blinking, he stopped whatever he was doing to help me.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt or disturb you. I shouldn’t be here. I’ll go home,” I sputter, turning toward the front door.

“Marvin, come.” He grasps my hand – my disgusting, sticky hand – and my fingers tingle with his touch.

He guides me to his bedroom and straight into the bathroom. It’s easily four times the size of my tiny bathroom, and the spa-like soaking tub and separate shower big enough for four people are accented by deep coffee-colored tilework.

“We need to get these off you. This okay?” Olan asks, taking my shirt in his fingers.

I nod, hoping he doesn’t notice my heart pounding.

Carefully, he helps me undress, and though I didn’t come here to be naked in front of him, somehow, the care and tenderness Olan uses makes me view him in an unexpected way. He turns on the shower and waits for it to get warm, gives me a soft kiss on my chin, and leaves me to clean myself.

As I stand under the rain shower, dizziness overtakes my brain. What am I so damn afraid of? The memories of my childhood, my mother’s benders, the feeling of being alone and scared – it all comes flooding back. But I’m not a child anymore, and Olan is not my mother. Thank god for that. He’s been nothing but caring and patient with me, and I’m acting like a shmegegge. And my mother. She’s been trying so hard for so many years. I feel foolish for holding on to the past and letting it impact me. Making space for healing with her has to be a priority too. My eyes sting with thoughts of how I’m failing people who care about me.

The water runs crimson at first and slowly turns pinkish before flowing clear. The blood permeated my clothes and apparently was not only smeared on my face but matted my hair. The hot water warms my core, and washing with Olan’s soap, smelling his woodsy freshness on me, standing where he typically washes, I’m overcome with deep affection. I’ve asked him to wait until the weekend to chat about his recovery. About us. Until after the Teacher of the Year visit, which, holy crap, happens tomorrow, and yet, here I am, literally naked, calmed by the sound of water around me. We need to talk now.

Back in the bedroom, a giant gray towel wrapped around my waist, a white T-shirt, green sweatshirt, and a pair of gray sweatpants await me. With my few inches on him, his pants might be a little short, but they don’t resemble remnants from the set ofCarrie. As I approach the bed to get dressed, Olan appears in the doorway.

“Clothes are in the wash. I put them on a heavy-duty cycle, so they might take a little longer, but I can get them to you later.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll wait downstairs. You get dressed.” He steps back into the hallway.

“Olan. Wait.”

I walk over to him and put my right hand on his cheek, cupping his face. His dark eyes furrow, and I glimpse a tinge of hope.

“Thank you,” I say.

And because I’m human and Olan Stone stands in front of me, so close I can smell that damn cherry ChapStick, I lean over and place my lips on his. He kisses me gently and pulls back.

---