Page 69 of The Teacher
But I don’t hear anything else.
I collapse back down onto the sofa, my heart still pounding. Okay, first thing on Monday, I am getting a security system in this house. One of those systems where if you don’t punch in the code within five seconds of entering, the National Guard will show up at your door. I don’t need Nate.
Really, the only person I wish were here is Jay. I would feelverysafe from intruders if he were in the living room with me. Nobody would mess with Jay. But Jay and me living together is so far from being a possibility, it’s almost laughable.
Just as I’m searching for my phone to search for companies to install a security system, I hear a clanging sound.
I didn’t imagine it this time. It was definitely coming from the kitchen. And now there’s another sound.
Footsteps.
Oh God. There is definitely somebody in this house.
I scan the coffee table, searching for my phone. I don’t see it anywhere. There is a fairly good chance that I left it in the kitchen when I was grabbing the ice cream. And we don’t have a landline, which means there’s no way to call 911 without going into the kitchen.
I should get out of the house. That’s what they say in horror movies, right? That the stupid victim is always running toward the intruder rather than out the front door like a normal, rational person. And yet I feel reluctant to leave. This ismyhouse, and the last thing I want to do is leave it unguarded while I run off without even my phone.
But I don’t want to go anywhere near the kitchen either.
I finally make up my mind. I grab my purse, cursing the fact that I left all my shoes upstairs. All I’ve got by the doorway is a pair of dirty sneakers, which I really don’t want to put on. I only wear them when I do chores out on the lawn. I don’t want to leave the house behind with all my beautiful shoes upstairs. What if somebody steals my Christian Louboutin pumps? If I’m going to make a run for it, can I bring my shoes with me?
Oh my God, how could I be obsessing overshoeswhen there’s a burglar in the house? Maybe I really do need help.
While I’m contemplating what to do next, I hear another sound from the kitchen. This time, I distinctly hear the sound of a girl swearing.
Addie?
Chapter Fifty-Four
EVE
Addie Severson isin my kitchen.
I’m certain that it’s her. There’s no other teenage girl who would be sneaking around my kitchen at nine o’clock at night. She’s already done it once before. Maybe she thinks that Nate is still here and wants to see him. I have no idea if he informed her that their relationship is over, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he hasn’t.
At this point, I abandon my attempt to put on my sneakers. I don’t want to call the police on Addie. She’s already been through it once, and none of this is her fault. This is Nate’s fault for misleading her. For not telling her that a thirty-eight-year-old man has no business kissing a sixteen-year-old girl.
I haven’t been kind to Addie this semester, and now I feel a flash of guilt. She was struggling all semester in my class, and I could have done more to help her. Ishouldhave done more to help her. I resented her, because shedestroyed the reputation of the man at the school who I looked up to the most, but ultimately, it wasn’t her fault.
That girl has been crying for help all year, and I could have helped her. My husband simply took advantage of her.
I’m going to make this right.
I walk in the direction of the kitchen, my footsteps quiet on the wooden floor in my bare feet. I open the door to the kitchen gingerly, not wanting to startle her. Sure enough, there she is, crouched on my kitchen floor. It looks like she knocked over the frying pan I had on the stove, which contained the remainder of last night’s dinner. I must not have cleaned it up, with all the excitement of finding Addie hiding in the bushes.
When she hears the door swing closed behind me, she looks up sharply. She scrambles to her feet, blinking furiously. Addie is a couple of inches taller than I am, with a sturdy build. She looks like she could be an athlete, but she hasn’t joined any teams. In the time I’ve known her, I’ve never seen her in anything besides baggy sweaters and jeans that are a size too large, her face scrubbed clean of makeup. She’s pretty, but in an unassuming sort of way. She does not look like the sort of girl who you would think would be having an affair with her teacher.
And yet I saw it with my own eyes.
“Mrs. Bennett,” she gasps. She snatches the frying pan off the floor and places it down on the kitchen counter. “I…”
I hold up a hand. “It’s okay. I know why you’re here.”
“You do?”
I nod. “I know about you and Nate.”
She squeezes her hands together, her eyes not quite meeting mine. “We’re in love, Mrs. Bennett. I’m sorry.”
