I’ll Become the Sea (6 page)

“You up for that tea?” Jane stared at the closed doors of the elevator. “I have a splitting headache.”

“Sure. There’s a café across the street.”

The sterile smell of the hospital was seeping into her clothes. She remembered how tiny her own grandmother had looked on the starchy bed at Atlantic General. How pale and fragile in her thin medical gown. It was the smell, though, that had gotten to Jane. The sickly sweetness of the cleaning fluids, or the food, or the equipment—whatever it was that made all hospitals smell the same. As if you would never breathe fresh air again.

The elevator doors opened and they stepped in. Jane moved back against the wall, bringing her palms to her temples. The blood throbbed in her head and she tried to slow herself down, to let the pain go.

David stood beside her, watching her. He reached up, tentative, and laid his hand on the back of her neck. She tensed automatically and then, feeling the pressure of his fingers, went still. His thumb kneaded into the sore muscles, pouring a quick warmth right into the pain. Sighing, without thinking, she closed her eyes and leaned back into his hand.

“Oh. That’s exactly where it hurts.”

She shouldn’t be letting him touch her like this, but she couldn’t help it. His fingers on her skin were warm and sure. She realized she’d been holding her breath all day, ever since Raymond’s fight. Now, with David’s hand on her, she exhaled long slow breaths from her abdomen. She felt her body loosening, the hard ice under her skin melting beneath his hands. The rich clean scent of him drifted over her. How hard would it be, she thought, to lean into him, to bring her body to his, to put her arms around him and let him hold her? How deeply could he make her relax, once she was pressed against him; how easy would it be for him to lower his mouth to hers and kiss her?

She opened her eyes when his hand went still and found him closer than she’d remembered. Much too close. His face, his eyes. For one moment she returned his gaze, long enough to feel the tide of desire rise up and crash down through her body. Long enough to begin trembling, to have to turn away.

Her face flooded with heat and she broke contact, reaching in her pocket for her lip balm, dropping it on the floor. Her lips were suddenly desperately dry. She knelt to pick it up and the elevator doors, mercifully, opened to let them out. She rose, avoiding his eyes, walking with him through the doors and out to the parking lot, headache forgotten. A new kind of pain beginning to spread through her body from where his hands had been.

*  *  *

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” She tried for a smile.

“You look pale.”

Past her side window the lights went out in an antiques shop, the shades sliding down for the night. The tea in her hand was soothing, but it didn’t slow her racing mind.

“Tired, I guess. It’s late.”

“Are you hungry?”

She touched her hand to her belly and bit her lower lip, considering.

“Checking with the committee?”

“It is getting kind of growly.”

“How about dinner? There’s that good pizza place on Main.”

She closed her eyes and felt his hand again, on the back of her neck, pressing down into the pain. She knew she should say no, but she was hungry, and tired, and she didn’t want to be alone. She nodded.

They rode for a while in silence before she spoke again. “My grandma was sick like that, in the hospital, before she died.”

David drove. He looked at her, then turned his eyes back to the road. “What happened?”

Jane leaned back against the seat. “Nobody really knows. She had a stomachache. She was almost ninety. I guess things were shutting down. She’d been in a home by then for a few years, and it was a good one. But a nursing home is still a nursing home. It’s not your house, or your family. I don’t know why she found herself alone in that place at the end of her life.”

David pulled over into the parking lot of the restaurant. He shifted into park and released the key, then turned his body to face her.

“But you went to see her a lot.”

She gazed out the window, feeling him next to her. “Yeah, I did. I was lucky to have so much time with her. But when she died I still felt like I’d been cheated.”

In the silence, night began to gather around them. He waited for her to go on.

“She was the only person in my family where things were simple. When I was little, she made me cookies and played with me and took me for walks. And when she was old, I made cookies for her and talked to her and took her for walks. There were no questions about whether…about loyalty or whether she cared about me or if she was going to hurt me. She was just Grandma. Cranky and funny. And loving. And just about as positive and optimistic as anyone could possibly be, even though she’d had a very hard life.”

“A hard life?”

She met his eyes for the first time since starting the conversation. “You’re a pretty good listener, for a guy.”

He shrugged. “Raised by women.”

“Yeah?”

“Well. My dad died when I was seven.”

“Oh, David.” She reached for his hand. She did it without thinking, opening his fingers and sliding her palm against his.

He breathed in sharply and then, covering it, shook his head. “No, um…it’s okay. It’s a long time now. We had a hard time for a while and then my mom got it together and we were okay.”

“What happened?”

“An accident. At a building site. He was in construction.”

“You must have been devastated.”

“Yeah.”

She looked into his eyes, absorbing what she saw there. A loss she couldn’t begin to understand. “I’m sorry.” She didn’t look away, but held his gaze until he was ready to move on. She clasped his hand tightly in her hand.

He smiled into her eyes. “Come on. Let’s go eat.”

For a moment she was still, and then she smiled back. A warm blast of air filled her chest. She pulled away, reaching for the door.

“Okay.”

*  *  *

Inside, the air was steamy with basil and tomatoes and cheese. Families gathered around small tables with checked tablecloths, sipping their pitchers of soda and hunched over hot pepperoni pies.

David sat down and opened the menu while Jane looked around at the walls. Frank Sinatra, Liza Minelli, James Gandolfini. All apparently big fans of this Jersey Shore dive. And she believed it. The food was incredible.

“You’re not looking at the menu,” David said.

“No, I know what I want.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“Pizza, well done.”

“No toppings?”

“I’m a purist. But I wouldn’t say no to a side of sausage and meatballs.”

“Sounds good to me.” He waved to the waiter, placing their order along with a couple of sodas. The older man came back with a basket of bread to go with their drinks. He nodded at David.

“Pretty girl.” He winked.

“Yes.” David grabbed a sizeable hunk of bread from the basket. “That she is.”

He offered the basket to Jane and she shook her head. Her skin felt suddenly hot. She took a sip of her soda.

“Thank you. I mean for suggesting this. It’s nice to have a good meal after a day like today.”

“You sure it’s okay? With Ben? Not that there’s anything wrong with us going out, but…”

“But?”

He broke off a piece of his bread. “He doesn’t mind?”

“He knows we’re friends. Don’t worry. Ben’s not really like that. Not the jealous type. He has plenty of female friends.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply anything.”

“I know. Besides…”

He looked at her, listening.

“Well…he’s busy, you know, with his project, the film? I don’t think he has time for…worrying about little things like who I have dinner with.”

“Seriously? I’d be plenty worried if I were…” He stopped, color seeping into his face. “Not that there’s anything to worry about here, but I mean, in general…” He cleared his throat. “In general, I’d feel a little jealous if my girlfriend were out with another guy, with me so far away. Maybe that’s just me.”

“Well, like I said…” She had barely talked to Ben in the last few days. He said he was busy, and she had no choice but to believe him. “Like I said, he doesn’t have time to worry about what I’m doing.”

She brought her elbow up to the table, resting her chin in her hand. Unconsciously, she bit the tip of her pinky finger.

David reached out to touch her forearm, to move it into the light.

“Look at this bruise. Did you get hurt in the fight this morning?”

She felt her arm where the boys had jammed their elbows against her. David was running his hand over the discolored skin. For a moment the tips of his fingers met hers.

“They can’t always stop their fists from moving when I get in between them.” She pulled her arm away, rubbing her skin absently.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Just a little tender.”

“Tough guy.”

“I’m fine.”

“It’s dangerous, breaking up fights like that. Can’t you call someone to help you?”

“Who would I call?”

His eyes were full and blue and gazing into hers so intently she had to force herself to look away.

“By the time anyone shows up, the fight’s over or someone’s already hurt. I usually send a kid to the office. But the triage is up to me.” She laughed. “Such as it is.”

“Still, Jane. You could get hurt.”

“Better me than one of the kids. The smaller ones, the ones who have nothing to do with it, they get in the way if it’s a bad fight, just by being there. I can’t let them get hurt. Plus, it doesn’t happen very often anymore. It was bad at the beginning of the year, but now…This fight with Raymond, it’s the first in months.”

“Well, you must be doing something right.” He laid his hand over her arm. “Just be careful, okay?”

“I will be.”

The warmth of his hand flooded into her skin. “There’s something more, isn’t there? That this bruise reminds you of?”

She moved to draw her arm away and he held her there. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He ran his thumb over the center of her palm. She felt the tremor stab through her and bit her lip to stop it.

“Jane…”

The kitchen doors swung open. Their waiter burst through with two steaming trays.

“Look! I think that’s ours.” She broke contact with David. Tucking her hands under the table, she held her own fingers where his had been. They were trembling, and she willed them to be still.

The waiter swept over, setting the trays down.

Jane forced a smile. “Thank you. I’m starving all of the sudden.”

“Enjoy.” The waiter patted her on the back and disappeared behind the kitchen doors.

Avoiding David’s steady gaze, she slid a slice of pizza onto his plate and pushed the platter of sausage and meatballs over to his side of the table.

“Thanks.” He watched her reach for a slice, fold it and take an enormous bite. He handed her an extra napkin.

Jane wheeled her bike into the school lobby, parking it outside the main office while she signed in. She squeezed past the other teachers at the counter to the time cards, smiling good morning at the school secretary as she passed.

“Ms. Elliott, you’re running late today.”

“Oh, yes, I know. So are you. Only an hour early instead of two.”

“Well, this payroll isn’t going to finish itself.”

Jane laughed. “Have a good day now.”

“You too, dear.”

She stepped out to the hall, bumping into another body on her way through the door. “Oh! Miss Sims. I didn’t see you.” She smiled at the neatly pressed and perfumed science teacher.

“No, of course not, who sees me? I’m just the out-of-classroom teacher, don’t mind me.”

“Um. You okay?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine. It’s just that the principal seems to think I can be two places at once. Down here doing breakfast duty with the kids and upstairs in my room getting ready for, I don’t know, my classes or something. But I forgot, my classes don’t really matter, do they? It’s just science, right? With the fourth grade exam coming up? Don’t worry about me. I’m just here to do everyone’s bidding!”

“Well. That sucks.”

“Tell me about it!” Miss Sims glanced up and seemed to register for the first time who she was talking to. “Ugh. I have your class today. Kill me.”

Jane paused, considering the many responses she could give to that invitation. “Poor thing.”

“Don’t you make fun of me.” Miss Sims narrowed her eyes. But she smiled. “Those kids are out of their minds. Do you know how many of them brought their notebooks last week? Eight. Eight brought their notebooks, out of thirty-two kids. It’s May, for God’s sake. They’ve been coming to my class for nine months. Nine months! You’d think that’d be long enough to give birth to the idea that you’re supposed to bring your notebook!”

“Miss Sims…I’m sorry. I have to go get ready for the day. I’ll remind them about the books.”

Miss Sims swatted Jane’s leg with her grade book. “Oh, yeah. You run off! Leave me with these wild hooligans in the cafeteria.”

“Have a wonderful day, Miss Sims.”

“Oh, stuff it. Tell those kids of yours to behave for once.” She wheeled around and stomped off toward the lunchroom, waving her hand as she went.

“Yikes.” Jane chuckled.

She walked to the staircase and carried her bike up the three flights to her classroom.

Upstairs, she cleaned the blackboard, prepared her charts for the day and went over her lesson plans. They were starting one of her favorite units today, on the Civil Rights movement. She organized her supplies and sat down to collect her thoughts before class began.

In five minutes, the bell rang. She washed her hands and headed downstairs to meet her class.

Outside, the schoolyard was a jangle of bodies jockeying for position. Students pushed and pulled at each other, knocking themselves down to the ground. The sound of screaming and cursing echoed through the early-morning chill, bouncing off the concrete and the brick walls of the school building.

Lord, Jane thought. Imagine what the high school must look like.

She found her class grouped around their line-up area, forming a loose zigzag inside the painted stripes on the pavement. She stepped in front of them and gestured, tightening up the line. She brought her finger to her lips to quiet them while they waited for the assistant principal to get the yard under control.

Britney stood at the front, tugging on Jane’s sweater. “Ms. Elliott!”

Jane shook her head. “Not now, Britney. No talking.”

“But Ms. Elliott. Raymond…”

“No. Hush now.”

They waited for several minutes while Jane patrolled the line. In the back, Raymond stood behind Tyrell, the hood from his jacket pulled hugely over his head, his eyes on the ground. He was kicking his foot at a pebble on the pavement. Kicking repeatedly, making a steady thumping noise.

“Raymond. Stop that now.”

He went still, turning away from her.

She bent to look at his face, to see if he was okay, but the whistle blew, calling her attention away. She looked up to the assistant principal.

“Ms. Elliott’s class,” he bellowed through the megaphone. “You may go upstairs.”

Jane nodded, calling to her line leaders to move forward. They walked to the door, quiet, through the bustling movement of the yard. Britney held the door while the lines moved up the first flight of stairs. Jane went ahead to the staircase to monitor them. “No talking, please. Move all the way to the right.”

They knew the drill. They could do this in their sleep by now. The line was silent, students standing straight with their heavy book bags hanging on their backs. She heard a scuffle at the back and turned.

“Get off me!” Tyrell pushed Raymond away by the shoulder.

Jane stepped down. “What’s going on?”

“He keeps grabbing my bag and pulling me backward.”

“Raymond,” Jane said. “What’s the matter with you?”

He grunted and turned away from her again, facing the wall.

“Keep your hands at your sides. Tyrell, just give him some space.”

He nodded and she walked back up to the front of the line. “Step up.”

She watched her students move up the stairs. Raymond and Tyrell brought up the back of the line to the landing. She was taking the first step up the next flight, calling to her line leaders to continue, when she caught Raymond’s movement out of the corner of her eye.

He pushed Tyrell, as hard as he could, against the wall.

“What the fuck, man!” Tyrell bounced off the concrete and came back at Raymond, hands out. He pushed him back and Raymond, recovering, leaped forward and punched him square in the stomach. Jane heard the slam of impact in Tyrell’s abdomen, heard the air gush out of his lungs.

Tyrell slapped Raymond across the face and suddenly they were locked together, wrestling, half standing, half on the ground. Raymond reached for Tyrell’s braids and pulled, his face twisted into a grimace, his knuckles stone white.

“Raymond!” Jane moved toward them, gesturing for her students to clear the way. “Back up! Get up the stairs!”

They moved back, dead silent, watching the fight. Above them another class was hanging over the railings on the third floor, shrieking.

“Oh, shit!” someone yelled. “Fight!”

Footsteps rained down the stairs. The class above them began to chant and laugh. Raymond was hitting Tyrell in the gut with all his force.

“Raymond!” She shoved her arm between them, trying to pry them apart. She pushed her shoulder against Raymond’s chest, and he kept on hitting, right into her belly now, as hard as before. The wind was knocked out of her. All three of them swiveled around on the landing, swept in a half circle by the force of their fight.

“Stop.” Jane tried to keep her body between them. “Stop!”

Tyrell reached around her, struggling to get loose. He freed a hand and pushed Raymond in the face. He stumbled backward and the two boys separated. She held out both arms to keep them apart.

Turning to face Tyrell, she tried to tell him to step back. She started to say the words. She almost had them out. Then Raymond was barreling through her, the impact of his body knocking the breath from her chest.

She was at the top of the stairs. He was rushing full force toward Tyrell, both hands out. He didn’t see how close she was to the edge.

By the time he was halfway there she was already slipping, tumbling chest-first down the stairs. He turned in time to see her fall, to hear the sickening thud of her body against the bottom landing, the sharp crack of bones breaking.

“Oh, my God.”

She looked up at him, her face against the cold floor, saw the panic race over his eyes.

Her students rushed down the stairs around her. She heard the banging echo of their feet coming toward her just before the curtain came down over her eyes.

Raymond
, she thought. Then nothing. She closed her eyes.