One month ago...
"Hey, Mr. Diaz, it's Ms. Peters. Christopher's teacher. I'm sorry to bother you, I just wanted to reach out to you and see how our little guy is doing? I noticed he's missed three days of class now. I tried calling your wife, Shannon, but have only been able to get her voicemail. If you don't mind, I have a packet for you to do with Christopher. I can run it by your place if you want. I just don't want him to get too far behind in class, you know? Alright, well call me back when you get a minute. Thank you! Bu-bye."
Something tells me there's a story there. A sad one. But I don't want to push too much. I tell myself Eddie will reach out when he's ready, that things are probably fine, but it feels like a lie.
Meatloaf nudges my leg sensing my distress. The eager little pup grips his leash between his crooked teeth and stares up into my soul. Those big brown eyes communicate everything all at once, demanding my attention. They're so willful, so pleading. I'm a sucker. God, his tiny wrinkly face kills me every time! And that nub of a tail- I'm melting like butter!
After puffing out a long, deep breath, I finally concede and take the leash. And Christopher's folder.
I know. I know- it's insane to be so concerned about one student. Like or not, the boy can't afford to fall even more behind. All of this drama with his mom coming back into his life has really done a number on his academics. Poor kid. I can't even begin to imagine the confusion. The frustration. The unknown.
I'd fight for a kid like Christopher. I'll never understand why Shannon left. A man like Eddie doesn't come around often, and a kid like Christopher is the dream.
I sigh and walk Meatloaf in the direction of the Diaz's place. Maybe it's a little creepy that I'm doing this, but I've made plenty of at-home visits in my career. And this is just another one of those, right?
Meatloaf grunts as if reading my thoughts. "It'll be fine." I coo. He snorts. I puff out steam.
I want this to be fine. And not weird. But I can't shake this gnawing feeling that something's off. Something's deeply and terribly wrong. And maybe it's my nosy nature or the way Meatloaf waddles along the sidewalk nearly out of breath, but a very strong part of me is telling to turn the other way. Abort mission and be patient. But that nosy part of me is fierce, and I'm locked in.
With every step, I'm more empowered. More
as I approach the small house, I can't help but notice a long line of cars leading up the drive. Loaf stalls, anxiety leaks into my veins. I swallow hard. My brows knit tight across my forehead. Beads of sweat clutter along my hairline. My heart begins to slow, and then all too suddenly it speeds back up.
Everyone is wearing black.
They're spilling out of the home in clusters. Each face strained and distressed.
Weepy.
And my first thought is Eddie. A fireman lost in the line of duty. My mind goes wild, replaying every interaction with him in slow motion. I focus on that bright smile. Flawless is it stretches across his olive skin. The same wide and toothy grin his son shares. His gruff laugh fills my mind with butterflies. And then I think of the loss. Of everyone he's left behind and how my Christopher will be so empty and lost without his superhero father guiding him along the way. My eyes water. My heart wrenches, and I realize a little too late that I'm visibly shaking.
I cup my loose hand over my mouth unsure of how much further my feet are willing to go. All I can do is stare dead ahead, my dog close to my side, watching people funnel in and out of the door. And then he steps into view. Waving people out of his door as I slowly clamper on.
Okay.
So, not Eddie?
Then-?
No.
Oh, God! Please! Please, no! Not Chris! Not him, please!
A whole new wave of emotions crash over me. Relentlessly tuging and pulling me in every direction. My knees- they buckle, threatening to toss me into the unforgiving pavement. My eyes blurr the world around me, sheilding me from the truth I don't want to let myself believe that this poor child who'd spent most of his life in and out of hospitals might have had an unknown complication take him in the middle of the night.
Tears burn all the way down my face. Loaf whimpers beside me, pawing at my trembling legs wanting so badly to help me but being so incapable of alievating this gut wrenching pain sucker punching me in the heart. God, no!
Not my sweet, Chris.
Any time a young life is lost is hard, but this- this is different. This is cruel. And I am broken!
Eddie notices me, tear-stained face, and freezes. I weakly wave the folder, unable to vocalize my worry as I make the climb up the driveway.
The confusion is clear on his face, he tightens his jaw, holding the heavy door and quirks a brow. I'm like lead trying to roll up the driveway, just a mess of a person.
Christopher nudges past his dad and screams for me. And suddenly I can breathe again. Meatloaf barks and gallops forward. I rush over to the boy, and my dog and I envelop him into our arms.
"Ms. Peters!" He cries. "Ms. Peters!"
All I can do is hold him tight as Loaf laps up his face, barking with excitement.
Eddie places a hand on my shoulder and squeezes tight, nonverbally asking what I'm doing here. I stagger to my feet. "He's missed so much school," I try to explain, "I've called, but-"
"My mom died." He states as-a-matter-of-factly. My jaw drops. I snap my head back to Eddie.
"It was unexpected." He explains quickly. "It was...hard."
I don't know what to say. What to do. I'm so, so...
Numb.
"Hey, did you bring my book!" Chris' bright face is the only thing keeping me bursting into tears. He's beaming, eyes shimmering and sweet. I wonder if he's grasping what's happening, or- "Ms. Peters showed me a great book, dad. I left it at school, can I read it to you?"
"A book?" The poor widowed man is trying to keep a strong front, but he's breaking. "Sure, bud. Whatever you want." He's looking at me. Looking at Meatloaf. And the two of us are frozen idiots. "Ms. Peters?"
"Oh, uh, right." I scramble for his homework packet, hoping that my face doesn't show the horror I'm feeling rising inside of me. I take a second to look at Mr. Diaz, letting my heart shatter as he smiles down at his son. Chris happily takes the bag and wastes no time rifling through it for the book. "He really loves Dorian Gray," I find myself saying, "we're going to try new things, though. Right, Christopher?"
He pulls out Oscar Wilde's legendary epic then finds the other novel I slipped in unnoticed. "The Giver?" The boy reads flipping the well worn paperback book over. I can see the confusion sweep clear across his face.
"It's just as thought-provoking," I whisper croutching to his level, "and whimsical." I straighten my back and smile at Mr. Diaz, "It's also not as adult."
"Thank you." He grins. "I'm sure we'll love it."
"Oh, you absolutely will," I state confidently, "and I have plenty more recommendations for after you finish."
Wonder strike's the boy's face. He hugs both books tightly into his chest letting his walking sticks fall slack at his sides. I roll my shoulders back a few times and clear my throat, pivoting slightly to face Mr. Diaz again. "I'm so sorry about intruding," I wheeze, "it was extremely inappropriate for me to drop in like this. I-I was just concerned, and I-"
"Ms. Peters, really. It's okay." I chew back my words and watch the tears well up in his dark brown eyes. "Look at him. This is the first smile I've gotten all day. You made that happen, Ms. Peters. You and your books."
A slow burn crawls across my face. My heart chokes up in my chest sending a lump swelling up in my throat.
Chris plops down on the ground letting Loaf slather his face in wet kisses as he vainly attempts to thumb through the rest of his work.
Mr. Diaz and I stare at the two of them allowing ourselves to feel a spark of joy as the boy falls back and erupts into laughter.
It was never my intention to stay, but I found it hard to leave Diaz's home after wandering into the tragedy. I find myself amongst his loved ones. Their family and friends, and-
"Buck? Wh-what are you doing here?"
The rest of his crew.
118.
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