Page 68 of Tutored in Love

As a last-ditch effort, he did a five-senses assessment, hoping it would finally lead him to sleep.

Five things I see:

•white-painted ceiling

•wiring running up the wall

•unlit fluorescent light bulbs

•dark-blue curtains moving in the breeze

•gecko on the windowsill

Four things I hear:

•snoring

•crickets

•someone rolling over

•my breath

Three things I feel:

•hard floor

•soft pillow

•breeze on my face

Two things I smell:

•sleeping bag

•Grace’s hair

That one couldn’t possibly be accurate, but there it was. In his nose, in his mind, tormenting him with sweetness and kindness and patience, bringing back the knot of anxiety that had barely begun to dissolve.

What can I possibly say to her to make up for how I behaved?

He finished the exercise, but it only made things worse.

One thing I taste:

•fear

Chapter 35

May Day

Noah woke at the firstsign of dawn, anxious for the day to begin. It was Friday, the first of May—their last full day with the children and his last chance to talk to Grace.

He had spent all of Thursday worrying about how to approach her and what her reaction to his apology would be, only to have zero opportunity to act. His earlier wish to be mostly separated from her was coming back to haunt him. He had been assigned to the building crew again in the morning, and Grace hadn’t.

The afternoon had been spent with a slightly different combination of children at a beach a short drive away, after which the children were taken home and the volunteers had gone to a local taco stand for dinner. Noah had ended up in a different mini-group than Grace for the driving and the eating, but she’d caught him watching her several times throughout the evening. He’d tried to convey with a look the gratitude he felt. She’d smiled a time or two in response, but there had been no chance for the kind of talking he needed to do. They arrived back at the orphanage late, and Grace had gone straight to bed. Falling asleep was once again a monumental effort for Noah, his worry warring with frustration. Fatigue had finally taken over in the wee hours, allowing some semblance of rest.

Now no one else stirred. Twenty minutes passed in slow motion before his nervous energy forced him out of his sleeping bag. Quietly, he collected his toiletries and took them to the bathroom. Lacking another occupation, he showered and shaved, nicking himself with an unsteady hand. He snuck back to his corner, put everything away, and grabbed the magazine he’d purchased on their long drive south. It was light enough that he might be able to read—or pretend to read—in the courtyard. Staying in the dorm and watching Grace until she woke up might send her running.