Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 138981 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138981 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
“Toolbox.” I set the big busted-up fishing tackle box I use for my tools down at my feet. I keep the smaller box from the hardware store tucked under my arm, shifting it to my hands. “Figured I’d take care of that ratty step while I’m here, and then put in an alarm for you.”
Her head pops around the kitchen doorframe again like a little meerkat—in and out, only this time she’s holding a can of coffee grounds in one hand. The lid is already popped off and the aroma wafts toward me.
“You don’t have to do all that.”
I answer with a shrug, making myself look away again.
Because goddamn, the way her neck curves into her shoulder is murder.
“Felt like I had to do something to make it up to you after bickering so much with Ollie. Needs to be done anyway, right?”
“I, yes, but...” She trails off.
Pink stains her skin, darkening her cheeks. She gives me a look that’s almost consternation, and I try like hell not to smile.
There’s her little thing with accepting help again.
“Thanks,” she manages.
Then she vanishes right back into the kitchen again.
“To answer your other question,” I call after her, smiling under my breath, “I’ve got no idea what a teaching residency is. Always thought residencies were for doctors.”
“They are,” she calls back, mixed with the sounds of running water and something clattering around. “But that’s what they call it for teachers now, too. You’re basically an assistant shadowing real teachers to find your footing, then you graduate to teaching unsupervised.”
“So how’d that land you a fancy gaming system?”
“One of the kids in my last residency—her Dad worked for Sony. It’s all she ever talked about and her parents generously donated a system to the school. When his daughter found out I wasn’t planning to stay in New York forever, she cried and said maybe I’d stay if he gave me a PS5.” Her laughter spills out of the kitchen, fond with memories. Not her usual cynical bursts of quiet laughter. “He gave it to me and said, ‘I know a bribe won’t work and you’ll go where you want to anyway. But it makes her happy to give you something, so please take it. For her.’ So I did. Mostly because I knew it would make Roger mad. He accused me of sleeping with the guy. I threw one of the controllers at his head.” She snickers. “I’ve barely played it for more than a few hours, honestly. I like games, but I just haven’t had the time.”
“Maybe you’ll find some now, New York. Smaller classes, less work outside school hours.”
I scan the room, and this time the detail that jumps out isn’t connected to Delilah’s little firecracker body.
It’s the area just inside the entryway, on a direct path to the hall leading into the back.
One spot in the living room without a single thing piled on it or spilling over it.
Could just be she left that spot clear so she could make her way through the house while unpacking.
I wish it was just that.
It hits like a sledgehammer when it sinks in.
That’s the spot where we found Emma Santos.
“Hey, Delilah?” I swallow, shifting my mind to another topic.
“Yeah?”
“If they wanted you to stay in New York, why did you come out here?”
She’s quiet for a minute. There’s nothing but a gently growling coffeepot percolating and that ever-stronger coffee smell.
Then she leans around the doorframe, folding her arms over her chest, graceful as she props her shoulder against the wood.
She nibbles at her lower lip, wearing a thoughtful frown.
“I won’t lie,” she says softly. “Some of it was money. Full room and board covered, plus a good salary? That’s hard to pass up. I’ve never had that much security in my life. But the rest of it, well...” Her eyes darken. She looks past me toward the front windows, her gaze pensive. “I guess I was afraid of being used up before I had a chance to find myself and settle into what I really love about teaching. The schools in New York—they’re brutal. Just one impossible situation after the next. All those poor kids and teachers trying so hard to make something out of what they’re given, but you can’t really make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear when the whole system’s designed to fail.” There’s guilt in her eyes as they finally shift to me, stars swimming in midnight-blue, making constellations of emotion. “Call it cowardly, maybe. But I’ve seen too many fresh-faced, hopeful teachers wind up broken and disconnected. Then they’re just tossed aside once they’re drained.”
“Damn,” I whisper.
“Yeah. I didn’t want that to be me. I wanted to go somewhere where I could actually do something for the kids. Maybe one day when I’m more experienced—when I’m stronger—I’ll go back. Then I’ll know how to make things better. Or if I don’t, at least I can use what I’ve learned to fight for something better for kids everywhere.”