Page 96 of The Space Between
He hasn’t come by since the night he told me about his wife and daughter.
He hasn’t texted me.
He hasn’t left another note.
He lives in the cabin fifteen feet from mine, but nothing.
I should’ve expected it.
I did expect it.
But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.
Sipping my coffee in the silence, I stare out the window toward his cabin. His truck has been gone every morning since that night. Reece says the tubing crowds have tripled with the August rush, and they’re slammed every day. He mentioned it casually on Sunday when I ran into him in town. I didn’t ask where Gruene was, and Reece didn’t mention him at all… maybethatsays more than anything else.
I told him I wanted more, and it was too much.
I asked for too much.
But I didn’t. And I’m not going to be someone’s bedmate… not even Gruene.
I care about him too much for that. And I deserve more than that.
By the timeI pull into the Juniper Falls Middle School parking lot, my palms are sweating.
The lot is mostly empty except for a few familiar cars and one ancient red Ford Bronco with a Texas flag bumper sticker. The building looms quiet and clean, the sun still low enough to keep the heat from pressing down too hard yet.
Cutting the engine, I sit there for a second.
This is real.
This ismine.
I glance at my reflection in the rearview mirror—neat makeup, low bun, neutral lips, a soft dress with sleeves that don’t show the finger-shaped bruises that only I can still see.
“You’re not her anymore,” I whisper. “You are Blakelyn Walker and you are a damn good teacher. Let’s do this.” Grabbing my bag, I climb out and walk toward the front doors like I belong here.
Because I do.
The day isa blur of handshakes, checklists, laminated signs, and orientation schedules. I’ve met people through setting up my classroom and I met the other new hires at the staff orientation. But today is the first day that everyone is in the building. It’s exciting and a little overwhelming.
My classroom—Room 112—is in the older wing of the original building, tucked between the science lab and a hallway that smells faintly of bleach and floor wax. There are twenty desks. I have four bulletin boards. A chalkboard. A projector. And a whiteboard that ghosts with faint leftover marker from whomever used it last.
I didn’t have much to decorate with, but I was creative with what I was able to scrounge up. I don’t have any personal photos on my desk. There are no framed quotes on the walls. But the room is cozy and welcoming. I think I did a great job with just a few boxes of supplies I picked up with my new-teacher stipend, some finds from the staff closet from things former teachers left behind, a couple of thrift store purchases, and a vase I filled with fresh sunflowers I cut from the riverbed yesterday.
They remind me of Gruene, but I set them in the windowsill anyway.
I greet a few of the other seventh grade teachers I’ve passed in the halls and meet the rest—Mrs. Davenport, who’s been here twenty years and runs the grade like a mafia boss; Coach Mills, who doesn’t know how to whisper; and Miss Keller, who’s fresh out of college and already overwhelmed.
I smile, nod, and pretend like I’m not unraveling a little more every time I check my phone and still seenothing.
After lunch,I head to the office to finalize my last paperwork.
The secretary, LouAnn, is kind and no-nonsense. She pushes three forms toward me, double-checks my ID, and inputs the last of my information into the district system. “Alright, MissWalker,” she says. “You’re now officially official.” She smiles like she knows I need that reassurance. And maybe I do.
I smile back. “Thank you.”
She glances at the clock. “You’ve got about an hour before the final meeting. The door at the end of the hall leads to the school garden and there’s always a pretty nice breeze out there.” She winks. “Go breathe.”
