I scraped the plates and had started loading them into the dishwasher when I felt another presence in the kitchen. I looked up to see who it was, and my eyes collided with Nate’s as he leaned against the doorjamb.
“You okay?” I asked, my eyebrows drawn together in concern.
“I was actually going to ask you the same thing,” he replied, walking slowly into the kitchen.
I shrugged. Really, what was the point in lying?
Nate sighed. “Thought so.” He leaned back against the kitchen counter, crossing his arms over his chest. “You know that Liv and I were just friends before anything romantic happened between us?”
“Yes.”
“Well, when we did go down that road, we both knew what was between us was special. Except I didn’t want to admit that because I was afraid of losing her in the long run.”
“Because of what happened to Alana?” I asked, tentatively because Nate rarely talked about his ex-girlfriend. She had died when they were only eighteen and Nate had had a really difficult time moving on from her death.
“Aye. I pushed Liv away and I really hurt her, all because I was too afraid to go there with her. I almost lost her for good, Hannah. There was a moment when I thought my stubbornness had destroyed us. It was one of the scariest moments of my life. And sometimes I allow myself to think about what my life might have been like if I hadn’t won her back. It doesn’t even bear thinking about. How does someone live with that kind of regret?” I felt his hand on my shoulder. He gave it a squeeze and said kindly, “You’re a good teacher, Hannah. I just hope a lesson in regret isn’t something you’ll be able to teach well in the future.”
Nate’s words of wisdom stayed with me through the rest of the day and well into the evening. I returned home that evening with a box from my parents’ attic in my arms. I dumped it on the floor of my bedroom. At first I flicked through the pictures of Marco and me from the last few months that I’d taken with my camera phone. From there, I dug through that box and unearthed all my old diaries.
For hours I pored over the documented history of my teen years, filling myself up with all my old feelings for Marco, and hoping they’d collide with the new and somehow breach the blockade of fear.
Because one thing I did know for certain – Nate was right. That kind of regret was a lesson I didn’t want to learn.
CHAPTER 26
I
knew there was something wrong as soon as I stepped into the school.
There was a hush in the air.
Walking down the first corridor of the English department, I thought I heard sniffling coming from one of the common rooms. I was about to stop to listen harder when Nish called out to me from the open doorway of the staff room.
As soon as I saw her face I knew my gut had been right. Something was very wrong.
“Can you come here?” she asked softly, looking stricken.
I hurried over to her and she gently guided me into the staff room. Eric, Barbara, and two other members of the staff were in the room. Barbara had tears in her eyes and Eric’s features were strained, his face pale. “What on earth is going on?” I asked. My pulse started to race as nervous butterflies took flight in my stomach.
Nish grabbed hold of my hand. “Hannah… Jarrod Fisher was killed on Saturday night. We just found out this morning.”
I stared at Nish blankly, trying to make sense of her words. “What?” I shook out of her grip, glancing at Eric and Barbara. “Is this a joke?”
“Hannah, I know he was a favorite of yours. I’m so sorry.”
“I don’t understand.” I looked back at Nish incredulously. “I don’t… I don’t… no.” I shook my head.
Her kind eyes grew wet with tears. “He got into a scuffle with an older boy. The wrong boy. He pulled a knife on Jarrod. Jarrod died in surgery.”
A knife? Jarrod?
Smart, charming, funny Jarrod, who I’d told umpteen times that he needed to check that short fuse of his. Jarrod, whose mum and wee brother relied on him. Jarrod. A fifteen-year-old boy who had his whole life in front of him.
Gone.
Just… gone?
No more?
It wasn’t possible.
The sob burst out of me before I could stop it and then I was in Nish’s arms, bawling the burning pain of his sudden loss into her shoulder. As I thought about his mum and his little brother and the grief that would gnaw at them, that would ache in every muscle, and hang in a dismal pall over their lives for the months to come, I only cried harder.
The tears finally had stopped. I attempted to catch my breath as I pulled out of Nish’s arms. “I’m sorry.” I swiped at my cheeks, feeling embarrassed for breaking down in school. One look at my colleagues’ faces, though, and I knew they understood. Jarrod had been that kid for me, the one where I really felt I could make a difference in his life. It was hard in our job to feel that way, to feel like what we did mattered. I’d imagined discussing university choices with Jarrod next year, helping him get funding, feeling proud of him and how far he’d come. I’d felt like I saw him when no one else did and I’d hoped that it mattered to him.