Page 106 of Above All Else
I’ve never taught a class of thirty before.
My shoulders weighed heavy beneath my coat as he wrapped up.
“This is going to be incredibly helpful. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
The final bell rang, a welcome sound after a long day. I put my notebook and pen in my purse and stood, stretching my stiff limbs.
“If there is anything you need, my email is always open. I’d be happy to help any way I can.”
We walked out into the hall together, the children filing to the front in hordes—their eager chatter spilling into the hallway.
“And they don’t need someone to help them into their cars?”
They raised their brows.
“No,” Principal Carpenter said. “Their parents are here, or they get on the bus.”
“Oh.”
“Is that not how they did that in Avon?”
I shook my head as we walked outside. “No, it’s quite different over there, but I’m a quick learner. I’ll get the hang of it.”
Parents stood outside, some chatting, others waving to get their children’s attention. Kids ran in every direction, backpacks bouncing off their small frames.
I inhaled the crisp breeze, hoping it would clear my head. The school buses lined up along the curb, engines idling, as kids hopped on one by one as I said my goodbyes and walked to my car. I slid into the driver’s seat and closed the door with asigh and started it, the engine and glass muffling the excitement outside. I drew my phone out of my pocket, my eyes growing at the number of missed calls from my mom.
What the hell is going on?
An uneasy rhythm settled in my chest. My fingers gripped the steering wheel, the vinyl cool and slick beneath my sweaty palms. I dialed my mom.
“Hi, this is Susan. I can’t come to the phone right now, but leave a message—“
I hung up before she could finish, my thumb tapping the call button again and again, then called Dad.
Another ring.
Another voicemail.
My fingers tightened around the phone. A pulse of dread crept up my spine.
Mom never let it go to voicemail twice.
Neither did Dad.
I shoved the phone down onto the passenger seat, a familiar coil of anxiety tightening inside me. The drive home was a quick shift of pavement and trees blurring past, my thoughts spinning in circles, searching for an explanation.
Maybe they went out and forgot their phones.
Maybe there was a service issue.
In Philly?
What if…
I swallowed hard.