Page 29 of The Love Syllabus

“Stop it!” Kerry touches my arm, a silent plea for civility. as she explains to me, “If you must know, Mr. Nosey, Dr. Watkins has been kind enough to continue seeing me off the books since I can’t afford the sessions anymore.”

The raw honesty in Kerry’s voice pierces through me. Her usually bright and confident expression dims slightly as she looks away. With a subtle movement, she brushes a strand of hair behind her ear, her eyes downcast, showing her discomfort and embarrassment. I feel guilty for my thoughtless behavior upon realizing the depth of the financial struggle she’s been facing despite the smile she wears on her face.

Feeling like a complete fool, I gently lift her chin with my finger, encouraging her to look at me. “I’m sorry, Kerry. I didn’t mean to get jealous or pry. I know I have a lot to apologize for, and I promise to do it with both my words and actions. I’ll never make you feel embarrassed or uncomfortable again.”

She parts her lips to speak, but no words come out. The atmosphere grows tense, unmistakably heavy with unspoken thoughts, until Dr. Watkins clears his throat, reminding us of his presence.

“Well, Mr. Grimes,” He says with a slight chuckle. “it was a pleasure meeting you. Ms. Kind, same time next week?”

Kerry nods, but before he departs, she remarks under her breath, “Do you see what I mean now, Doc? Freakin’ melting in his hand.”

A soft chuckle escapes me, and even Dr. Watkins smiles, acknowledging her bashfulness with a knowing smile before he walks away.

However, once he’s gone, Kerry’s demeanor shifts. “What do you want, Mr. Grimes?” She asks, her tone suddenly firm.

Her straightforwardness catches me off guard and stirs a bit of desire within me.

“Well, that’s a loaded question, Ms. Kind,” I reply, smirking. “But to start, these are for you.” I raise the bouquet.

She attempts to maintain a stern facade, but I watch it melt away as the seconds tick by. “They’re beautiful,” She admits, taking in it’s scent. “But flowers aren’t going to get you off the hook that easily!”

Kerry snatches the bouquet and turns to walk into her house. I can’t help but watch, captivated by her grace, until she pivots to face me with a composed expression.

“You comin’ in or not?”

I smirk. “I don’t know. May I?”

She nods, a suppressed smile playing at the corners of her mouth as I follow her inside. Her home is warm an inviting, and the air rich with the smell of freshly baked sweet potato pies.

As I wander through, I take in the walls adorned with photographs chronicling Kerry’s life—from her childhood through her school years. From snapshots capturing her at Sunday school, in beauty pageants, dance competitions, and piano recitals to spelling bee competitions, prom, graduation, and town festivals, I’m given a visual journey through her life. Each frame tells a story, and she shines through as a true Southern belle, roots clearly planted deeply in this small town. It feels warm and comforting, yet, nothing showcases her joy quite like the pictures with her students. Her face lights up in those pictures, radiating a love and dedication that seem to transcend the simple frames they’re in. Through these captured moments, her compassionate spirit seems to reach out and touch me.

“Oh, God! I look awful in those photos,” Kerry suddenly interrupts, her laughter breaking through my thoughts. “My parents have practically documented every moment of my entire life, even my career.”

She gently takes a framed photo from my hands, our fingers brushing momentarily, sending a jolt of electricity through me that I can’t ignore.

She holds the photo toward me, pointing out a vibrant, albeit slightly messy, classroom. “This picture was my first day as a teacher. Look at my classroom. I swear my decorating skills have gotten much better since then!” Her giggle is infectious and pulls a smile from me.

I watch Kerry as she fondly reminisces about her early days of teaching, her voice filled with nostalgia and longing. The passion in her tone is unmistakable, and it draws me in further, deepening my understanding of who she is. “How much do you miss it?” I find myself asking, genuinely curious.

Her smile fades a bit as she contemplates my question. “More than anything in the world,” she admits, her voice tinged with a sadness that suggests the depth of her lost dreams.

She continues, revealing more about her past, “I was going to transition into administration a few years ago, but my ex-husband begged me to wait, to let him lead the way. So, I did. He became an assistant principal and then principal, with the promise of me following shortly after. Husband and wife running a school together—a power couple, he’d say.” Her chuckle is hollow, and I detect a hint of regret in her eyes.

“So, what happened?” I gently probe, sensing there’s more to her story.

“I found myself at a crossroads—either remain a wife clinging to empty promises or become a divorcee brave enough to leave a marriage that threatened to break me.” She confides with a hint of something unsaid, an undercurrent of memories she’s not quite ready to share.

She quickly shifts the topic, distancing herself away from her raw emotions. “Nevertheless, it was for the best. His promotions only proved that he never wanted us to succeed together. He wanted me to watch him rise, not join him at the top.” Her voice hardens with the recount of betrayal.

As she delves into her past, my disdain for her ex-husband deepens with each word, fueling a protective anger inside.

“Anyway…that’s neither here nor there,” She says in a more gleeful tone. “Are you gonna tell me why you’re here, or are you just gonna keep prying into my past?”

Regaining my focus, I guide her to sit beside me on her couch, but the unexpected softness of the cushions catches me off guard and sinks in deep. “Damn, what is this made of? Air?” I blurt out, a little more discomposed than I’d like to admit.

She bursts into laughter, retorting, “Shut up, rich boy! My parents have had this couch since I was a baby. It isn’t as firm as it used to be, but it’s comfy, and that’s all that matters.”

“Comfy, huh? You like to sit on waterbeds. Noted,” I tease back. “At any rate, you were amazing with my daughters last week, and I loved what you did to their classroom.” I begin, trying to steer the conversation toward my purpose.

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