Page 48 of Ghost on the Shore

“I did totally love it, but dealing with twenty kindergarteners day after day can wipe you out. I’m ready for a break.”

“I think I could handle the kiddos, it’s those snobby Fox Chapel parents who would have me hopping the first bus bound for Betty Ford.”

“They weren’t so bad. The parents are way more obnoxious at private schools like Olivia’s.”

In the background I hear Olivia ask what obnoxious means, and laugh to myself as Skylar gives the most complimentary definition she can think of.

“Determined? You mean, determined to drive their precious offspring’s teacher into an early grave?”

“Something like that,” she whispers on a giggle. “So, can you come on Saturday?”

“Who’s going to be there?”

“We invited a few of Leo’s work buddies, two girls that I work with and their husbands, and Sienna and Garth will be here, too.” Before I can answer, she says, “And why do I have to sell this to you, Grace? Talk about obnoxious.”

She’s right, so I apologize and then tell her I’d love to come. “What can I make?”

“Some of those lemon bars you used to bring to school would be awesome.”

“I can’t believe you remember that.”

“I love food, what can I tell you? You used to bring them to our creative writing club meetings and you baked for the dance team, too.”

“I wish I didn’t love baking as much as I do. I wind up sampling the goods way more often than I should.”

“You look fantastic! And you just reminded me, Leo opened the pool last week so bring a suit.”

I’m thinking out loud when I say, “Great,” with no enthusiasm.

Skylar, who has the benefit of being a full decade younger than me, has the nerve to laugh. “Don’t worry, stacked is in style.”

As I end the call, I walk into my tidy little kitchen and pour myself a glass of wine. Classes finished a few days ago, and just last night I stood on stage to help hand out the diplomas. It’s always an emotional evening and it always brings up memories. I imagine it’s the same for all of us teachers and the administrators.

Grabbing a bag of popcorn from the counter, I take my glass and settle onto the couch. But instead of turning on the television or grabbing my tablet to read, I just sit there thinking about graduation.

Hair curled or gelled to perfection, make-up applied with care and neckties worn for the first time, their smiles were infectious last night. The excitement of it all, the promise of good things to come—I felt it, too.

Some of them are going on to community college, some to impressive universities, and some will be entering the workforce. Whatever path they’ve chosen, graduation is a time of change and transition, and it’s a big deal.

I signed my contract for next year with a heavy heart. I’m due for a change too, but I chose to stay rooted in place. I tell myself that I can’t leave, that I have too many loose ends to tie up, but it’s a lie. I used to say that I couldn’t leave Aunt Viv, and while that was true, she did need me to manage her affairs, the woman I knew and loved no longer recognized me. I managed her caregiver’s schedules, dealt with her doctor, picked up her prescriptions and made sure that her grocery order was delivered twice a week, but I used the responsibility as an excuse. I could have left years ago. And now she’s gone, so why am I still here?

The spring semester was brutal. It’s not the kids. I can handle the disruptive students, the emotionally needy students, and I can handle mediating fights, addressing mean girl behavior and consoling my kids when they lose games, opportunities, parents or their first loves.

My discontent comes from within. It’s like Groundhog Day when my alarm goes off in the morning. My life is starting to feel like trudging waist-deep through mud, and I’m finding it harder and harder to hold myself together without screaming.

I want to scream.

I want to broadcast my secrets in the town square or from the pulpit at Sunday Mass. I want to come clean and then live free of this burden that I’ve carried for more than a decade.

Chapter Twenty

Owen

“How does it feel?”

“It fucking hurts.” I wince but then force a smile when I see dismay on the face of Ben’s graduate assistant. “Same way it always does the first week or two. It’s good, I’ll get used to it.”

Ben is crouched down by where my left knee used to be, all but snickering. “You’ll get used to it.”

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