Page 28 of For Your Own Good
“Oh, no. I think it’s great. Are you an artist?”
She smiled. A real smile. Not like the ones he saw later, when she was angry. “Funny,” she said. “I’m a nurse.”
“I didn’t know nurses raised funds like this.”
“I didn’t, either. But it’s my first year, and apparently we all have to do it the first year. Well, we don’thaveto, I guess, but it’s recommended.”
“Like extracurricular activities in school,” he said.
“Just like that.”
“I’m a teacher.”
“I’m Allison.”
He laughed. Teddy didn’t laugh a whole lot, certainly not while he was working, but it took this woman less than a minute to crack through that wall.
“I don’t mind it, though,” Allison said. “The children really do need new toys. The ones they have are just sad.”
He reached for his wallet and pulled out what little cash he had. “I have a twenty. Will that buy some toys?”
She snatched the bill out of his hands. “Of course it will. I’ll write you a receipt for your taxes. It should save you a whole twenty-five cents.”
Again, he laughed. Probably much harder than he would have if she hadn’t been so cute. He started thinking maybe she was what he needed. Someone who made him laugh. He couldn’t remember dating anyone who could do that.
Teddy nodded toward her book. “I teach that book in class,” he said.
“Really? First time I’ve read it.”
“What do you think?”
She shrugged, tearing off a receipt from the book and handing it to him. “It’s not bad. The Socs are real assholes, though.”
That’s when he knew for sure. She was exactly what he needed.
18
RIGHT AFTER THElast bell, Teddy leaves the school and heads home. It’s not often he does this. Usually, he has meetings to attend or someone to see, but today his schedule is clear. He treats himself by taking off as soon as he can.
The house looks the same when he gets home. Same overgrown garden and weeds, same dilapidated porch, same weathered siding that needs to be painted. Nothing out of order.
Until he walks inside.
It’s the scent. Fresh and clean, like laundry right out of the dryer. So familiar, and so wonderful.
“Allison?” he calls.
No answer.
“Allison, are you here?”
When he still doesn’t get an answer, he runs up the stairs to the bedroom.
It’s empty. The bed is unmade, just as he left it, and his pajamas are still thrown over a chair. On the nightstand: a stack of books, several empty glasses, a blinking alarm clock he never reset after a power outage.
The scent is stronger here.
“Honey?” he says.
