I continued down the hall, holding my breath as I passed Cory’s room.
I hadn’t been able to even open the door since I’d been home. I was terrified of what would happen if I did. So far, aside from kind of losing it at the funeral, I was the only person in my family who wasn’t in the midst of a mental breakdown, and I didn’t want to take any chances in that department. So Cory’s door stayed closed.
I locked myself in the bathroom and prepared myself for another day. Another day where I avoided all the emotions clawing away at my insides, fighting their hardest to break their way free of me.
When I went downstairs thirty minutes later, Lucia was standing at our kitchen sink washing dishes. I’d asked her the day before, sometime during the wake, when forty or fifty people were in our house sharing memories with each other about Dad and Cory, to come and sit with my mother.
She’d given me the same response she had for the last two weeks anytime I asked anything of her.
“Of course, sweetheart. Anything you need.” That was always coupled with a gentle squeeze on my shoulder and the saddest eyes on anyone I’d ever seen.
I was so thankful for the Harris family. Lucia and Edward had done so much for my mom and me since the murder, but I needed things to start getting back to normal if I was going to continue to avoid the feelings I was constantly aware of, just in the periphery.
That was also why I was glad it was Lucia in my kitchen, and not McKenzie.
“Good morning, Hayes,” she said quietly just after turning off the faucet.
“Morning.”
“Sweetie, you look terrible,” she said, that gentle yet worried tone in her voice.
“I didn’t sleep much last night. Mom was crying a lot.”
“I see,” she said softly, her eyes moving all along my face, trying to find the part of me that worried her the most. Was it the dark bags under my eyes? My sunken-in cheeks? The red veins in the whites of my eyes? “Whatever you’ve got going on this morning, can it wait? Maybe you should go upstairs and try to get some sleep. I’ll listen for your mom.”
I gave her the best smile I could muster. “Thank you, but this really can’t wait.”
Thirty minutes later I found myself in a situation I never could have ever seen coming.
“Hayes, it’s good to see you. Please, take a seat.”
I shook the hand of my high school principal and took the seat she offered me across the table from her at the only coffee shop in town.
“Mrs. Anderson, thank you so much for meeting with me on a Sunday. I know it’s a hassle, but it’s the only time I could make this happen. Life’s been, well, a little hectic.”
“I am so sorry for your loss, Hayes. Everyone at the school has been reeling from the loss of Cory, and we all extend our deepest sympathies.”
“Thank you,” I said with a nod, the words practiced and rehearsed to perfection in the last two weeks. I could take a condolence like a champ. “I don’t want to take up too much of your Sunday.” That was my subtle hint to Mrs. Anderson to move off the topic of my brother’s death, and on to the real issue at hand.
“Yes, well, I think I have all the information I need. I’ve been communicating with your supervisor at your university and it looks like we’ve ironed out all the details. But, first, why don’t you tell me a little bit about what you’ve accomplished academically in the four years since you’ve graduated from my high school.”
The smile she gave me then was one of pride, which I welcomed. I could talk about school all day long—it had been my focus every day since I left this town. Talking about it now was the most welcome distraction I could have asked for.
“Well, I went into the university knowing exactly what I wanted to do and I didn’t waste any time. All my elective courses were either related to my major, or in my area of study. I took courses all summer every year. I took night classes and at least twenty credits a term and I graduated at the end of my third year with a major in History. I applied to the graduate school of education, was accepted, and now I’m working on my master’s. At the end of the year I hope to have my degree and my teaching certificate.”
Mrs. Anderson looked at me, a smile still wide on her face. “That’s a lot of work, Mr. Wallace.”
I shrugged. “It’s what I wanted.”
“And how has the year progressed for you, academically, up until this point?”