Page 8 of Rain or Shine
Then, when he finished, he went cold. Didn’t even bring up the fact that the condom broke. I hadn’t either. I couldn’t. Not after he told me we needed to get dressed. His cold, distant voice had been a slap to the face I hadn’t expected.
I spent the entire night after I’d gotten home thinking over everything and whether I should take the Plan B pill as a preventative. I thought about it until I was blue in the face, unable to think of anything else. I should have put his mind at ease that I was on birth control. I had been for a while until I didn’t get my prescription renewed before moving back home. I hadn’t taken the pill in a month. I was waiting to get in with my new doctor here in town to get a new script.
God, I’m an idiot.
Foolish even.
I figured everything would be okay. It’s not like I’ve even seen him around town since that night. Granted, I’ve not had to go around town that often. Saddle Ridge is pretty small, where everyone knows everyone’s business. A part of me wishes I’d gotten a place to live in the next town over, but I wanted to live close to the school so I knew I wouldn’t be late for work.
I shake off my thoughts as I pull into my driveway and groan at the sight of my brother’s bike parked out of the way. What’s he doing here?
Shifting the gear into park, I twist the key off and climb out, making sure to gather everything I need. Tomorrow’s open house at the school. I’d gotten everything in order for the classroom, but I still wanted to get the kids’ welcome to school packets together for them to take home and go over with their parents.
Arms full, I head to the door, and Dustin is there to open it for me. “Thank you.”
“What’s all that?” he asks, eyeing the bags.
“I have to finish getting ready for tomorrow. I’m putting packets together for all of my kids,” I tell him as I step inside. I slip off my shoes and make a beeline to my couch, dumping everything onto it.
“You make them yourself?”
I turn to face him, hands on my hips. “Yes, I make them for my students. I also have a tote bin that I put together and keep stocked in my class with snacks, water, and juice.”
“Why?” he asks, looking baffled.
“Because sometimes a child forgets to bring lunch. Sometimes families can’t afford to send their children to school with lunches, but are too prideful to sign up for free lunches. Then there are those who don’t get to have anything to eat, period, because they don’t have the money for it. I like to be able to help the kids who are simply hungry without pointing fingers or calling them out. So, the bin is there for them when they feel they need a little something extra.”
“Why doesn’t the school board pay for food for the kids?”
I roll my eyes at his question. As good as it is, it’s also idiotic. “Some counties actually do provide free meals to students. They even run summer meal programs where they bring the meals to the child’s home, but that’s not the case here. Our school district isn’t what they classify as a ‘poor economy’ area. The school board would never approve it. They want to put funds into other resources. Which is fine, but I do agree they should try to do better for the students.”
Dustin nods and moves to the bags, peaking inside. “You get the kids all this?”
This being the daily check lists, magnets, markers, erasers, stickers, and so on. “I like for my students to have everything they need to start learning task organization. If they have whatthey need at home to help them, they’ll be prepared for when they’re in class.”
I’m sure some parents won’t use what I send home, but my class last year seemed to thrive off the system.
Again, my brother nods, watching me closely. “You love what you do.” He needlessly points out.
“I do very much love working with my students.” I loved teaching. I don’t make a lot doing it, but it’s rewarding in a lot of ways.
I watch my brother closely for a moment and clear my throat when he doesn’t say anything else. “So, what brings you by?”
“Wanted to check in on you.” He shrugs and sits on the edge of the couch. “Got here before you, came in, got a drink out of the fridge, and found the pregnancy test in the trash can.”
I close my eyes at the mention of the test. A test I’d taken this morning when I knew I missed my period.
“You got something to tell me?”
“What would I have to tell you?” I ask in return.
“Didn’t pick the thing up. Saw it but didn’t look at the results. You pregnant, Laney?”
“Yes,” I whisper. I’ve refused to allow myself to think about it all day. I planned to discuss it with my doctor. Confirm that I was before giving it any more thought.
“Who’s the father?”
“That’s none of your business,” I snap, leveling a glare in his direction.
