Page 14 of She Wolf

The phone rings only once before she’s answering—like she knows before I know that I’m going to call her.

“Good mornin’ my sweet girl. Are you okay?” she says, her sugary southern drawl never fading. She may have lived in upstate New York for nearly thirty years, but you would never know it.

“Hey, Mama. I am so good, just dropped Jack off at school. I have something to tell you. Is Daddy there?”

“He is. Just a second.” A shuffling, static sound comes through the phone followed by my mom’s voice. “Jack. Jack honey, Coralie wants to talk to us.”

A few seconds pass by until I hear anything. “Coralie, we’re both here on speaker. Everything good?”

“Yes, Dad. I wanted you both to know that I received word from my attorney. Nick signed the papers. I don’t know what got us over the last hurdle and I need to check the paternal rights and make sure that it’s a done deal, but otherwise, we’re free. It’s over.”

I’m finishing the sentence through blurry eyes as hot, wet, tears fall. I listen as my mom and dad tell me how relieved they are. After a few minutes more and when both Mom and I have calmed down, Dad says goodbye leaving only her on the other end of the phone.

“Coralie, I am so proud of you for holdin’ your head up high throughout all this. You say you’re free, but you understand you were always your own person. Your time with Nick doesn’t define you. I wish I knew then what I know now. Protected you somehow.”

“I thought I was in love. I—I was so stupid.” I hiccup, desperately swiping at my eyes as I try to watch the road.

The gut-wrenching feelings of shame, failure, and guilt wash over me like always when I think about what this whole thing has done to my parents. To my brothers. Thank God for Jack, for the joy he brought to us all.

She lets me cry for a few minutes more before she speaks again. “You weren’t stupid Coralie, just young. And now I hope you’ll give your heart to someone who deserves it. Someone who looks at you like you hung the moon and the stars. Someone who can love your son as fiercely as you do.”

“Mama,” I sigh as the tears lessen and a smile tugs at the side of my mouth. She’s not all that subtle. Gillian Madden is a straight shooter—always has been, always will be. Says exactly how she sees it and judging by the glee in her voice I can tell she wants nothing more than for me to be happy.

Happy with Gunner.

“Don’t let fear of the past hold you back, Coralie. He’s not the same. All a mother wants is for someone to look at their child the way Gunner does.”

“I know Mama.Heis something entirely different. It’s not me who hung the stars, it’s him.”

She chokes up again. “Then go get him, sweet girl.”

“I’m kinda…I mean, me and him, it’s…” My words get stuck as I try to say them. “I just need some head space first.”

“That’s my girl. Take some time out for you. Although if I was a bettin’ woman, I’d say Gunner is about to sweep you off your feet. He’ll know you need to take it slow. I love you. We’ll see you real soon, baby.”

“Thank you. I love you too, Mama.” And with that, I end the call.

I spend the rest of my drive to work, daydreaming about Gunner. And his chest. His lips. His hands.

Usually, I’d be thinking about something cute he’d said or done with Jack.

Maybe a kindness he’d shown me, or I would wonder what he was like with women—were they on the receiving end of one of his shy smiles? Or was he confident?

But this time I get to re-live, rather than imagine, what it’s like to be kissed by him.

It’s still early, granting me the privacy I need to pull myself together and reapply some of the makeup that wore off from my crying. High school kids don’t need the person they confide in to show up to work a total mess and it’s not lost on me that people already think I’m young for a guidance counselor.

I know some might ask what advice I can give if I’ve hardly lived, but my qualifications and love for the job make me good at it.

I make a note to speak to my own therapist, promising myself I’ll call her office before the end of the day. After not seeing her for a while it would probably be best to book in a session now there has been a turn in events.

Dying for my second—okay—third coffee, of the day, my heels click through the wide locker-lined corridor on my way to the staff room. Mrs. Timberly, one of the oldest teachers I’ve ever met, greets me as I enter, asking how Jack is getting on with math. She may be ancient but she’s still sharp as a tack and wicked good at math.

“He’s doing great thank you. Really getting to grips with addition facts now.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

“Would you like me to make you a drink?” I ask as I press the latte button.

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