Through the Darkness: Of Love and Loss Series Book One

35

A month later, Everett was at school, glancing at the clock on the opposite end of the room. He muttered an expletive when only five minutes had passed.

What started as a typical pleasant day quickly evolved into a miserable one, and over the past hour, he found himself counting down the minutes until Elyria arrived for lunch.

Of their own accord, his eyes wandered to the reason; thirteen-year-old Carson Wagner, sitting at his desk. Second row, five from the back. The young man had raven black hair, a spattering of freckles across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, and green eyes. Carson tugged his sleeves down around his wrists—doing his best to appear unfazed by the growing tension in the air between him and Milo Goodwin, sitting three desks behind.

Only six months separated the two boys in age, but Milo stood a foot taller and was stockier than Carson's spindly frame.

The boys were best friends from the moment Everett accepted the teaching post until the end of the last school year. But something had changed between them over the summer, and Everett had no idea what it might be.

Earlier that day, they'd been excused for their fifteen-minute morning break when Milo instigated a fight—behavior out of character for the fourteen-year-old.

Carson did his best to ignore the jeers and jabs until Milo pushed Carson down and called him a particularly vile name.

Everett rushed from his perch at the side door. He'd shouted for the boys to stop and placed himself between them for good measure when Carson stood up with scraped and bloodied palms.

Rolling his sleeves to his elbows, Carson raised his fists and widened his stance, ready to fight back.

And that's when Everett froze; the reprimand perched on the tip of his tongue suddenly forgotten. His stomach lurched, then sunk to his toes in dread.

Dark purple bruises, sickeningly familiar to ones his father used to leave after grabbing him too tightly, discolored both of Carson's arms from wrist to elbow.

Now, two and half hours later, Everett watched him, wondering how he hadn't noticed the signs of abuse before when they were so glaringly obvious.

Carson's clothes were neat and well cared for, if not discolored and worn. But they did little to hide the faded bruises and scratches evident on either side of his neck.

Dark smudges he'd excused as signs of exhaustion were now clearly seen for the dual black eyes they happened to be when paired with the swollen bridge of his nose. Several other scars and wounds in various stages of healing across his face were all reminiscent of life with an abusive parent.

After Everett's own experiences—and having never cared for the oily-mannered Bertrand Wagner—Everett was more than willing to lay the blame on Carson's father.

But, if he were to confront the man purely on a gut feeling, it would more than likely make the situation worse for Carson.

He needed an admission of what happened at home, which would likely never come, or he needed to catch Bertrand in the act to try and put an end to it. And at the moment, he didn't know how to make either option happen.

Turning his attention to the clock once more, he sighed in relief and stood with a groan. "Please place your papers in the top right corner of your desk and make sure your names are legibly printed."

His thirteen students begrudgingly followed directions. Then, grabbing up his cane, he walked around his desk. Once everyone faced him and sat quietly at their desks, Everett leaned his full weight on his cane and smiled. "It's time for lunch."

Excited chatter filled the room, and everyone sprang to their feet, clamoring to collect their lunch pails before racing outside.

Everett shook his head, his lips curling into a wry grin while he watched them. Then he turned just in time to see Carson stand with a pained grimace. He clutched a hand to his left side and crept out the door without meeting Everett's concerned gaze.

"Sorry I'm late," Elyria said, walking through the main door at the opposite end of the room.

He turned to her with a smile that quickly fell from his lips. "Are you feeling all right? You look pale."

She sighed and nodded. "I'm fine; just a little tired, that's all."

Meeting her in the middle of the room, he took the small basket of food she held in her left hand and led her to his desk. "You didn't sleep well again?"

"Yes," she said before he pressed a quick kiss to her lips. "I didn't wake you up last night, did I?"

"Not at all," he murmured, setting the basket down and opening it up. His brow creased in a frown when he noticed she'd packed a smaller portion than usual. "You're not eating with me?"

Elyria pulled the chair he kept against the wall over to his desk and sat with a grimace, her lip curled in repulsion. "I wanted to, but dinner still doesn't seem to be sitting well."

"That's what you've said the past few days." With mounting concern, he cradled her face in his hands. A knot formed in his gut. The smudges under her eyes were darker than they'd been yesterday, and her regular peaches and cream complexion looked increasingly wane.

She reached up and held his hand, turning her face to press a kiss into the palm before removing it from her skin. "Your lunch break will be over soon; eat."

Frowning, he removed his meal from the basket and sat at his desk. He couldn't take his eyes off her while he ate the entirety of the meal in silence, cataloging and comparing the changes in her appearance.

Before they'd moved here, she'd been a picture of glowing health, the complete opposite of the sickly and exhausted-looking woman sitting beside him now.

Elyria adjusted her position in the chair and sighed, "I'm fine, Everett... please stop worrying."

He swallowed his last bite of food and repacked the small basket with the now empty containers. "Will you go see Doc? Just to make sure this isn't anything serious."

"Yes," She said with a tired smile, "but only if I'm not feeling better by tomorrow."

"Fair enough." Taking her hand in his, he leaned over and kissed her cheek. "What are your plans for the rest of the day?"

"Does walking home and taking a nap count?" She grinned.

He chuckled, but his mirth quickly died. "It might be better if I drove you home if you're not feeling well."

Shaking her head, she stood and put her chair back in its place against the wall. "I am perfectly capable of walking on my own, thank you." She fumbled for the basket, holding it in front of her like a shield. "I'm tired, not an invalid."

"That isn't how I meant it, Peg—"

"I'll see you later," she murmured, leaving without allowing him to kiss her goodbye.

Everett stood there, his mouth falling slack in shock, unsure of what had just happened or how he'd managed to upset his wife in such a short amount of time.

Snapping his mouth shut, he ground his teeth and removed his spectacles to rub his eyes. His day had just gone from bad to worse.