Chapter 74 In a minute
Her gaze drifts to the floor tiles. “At a restaurant. She’s a waitress.”
There’s something in the way she says it — not shame exactly, but awareness. Awareness of what that means. Late shifts. Variable income. Exhaustion that doesn’t end at midnight.
“That’s a lot,” I say quietly. “For both of you.”
She shrugs, but her fingers are white around the strap now.
“She manages,” Chloe says.
Not ‘we manage.’
She manages.
“And you?” I ask softly.
That makes her look at me. There it is again, that flicker behind her eyes. The one that tells me she’s carrying more than she should. That she’s bracing for impact even in conversations that aren’t attacks.
“I help,” she says.
Simple and final.
Help can mean homework and dishes. Help can also mean sitting up through the night listening for breathing patterns. I keep my voice even. “With what?”
Another beat.
“Just stuff,” she replies.
And the vagueness is almost loud. I nod slowly, letting the silence stretch just enough for her to feel I’m not letting it go, but not enough to corner her.
“Okay,” I say finally.
But the word doesn’t mean agreement. It means I’m thinking, because there’s a legal line somewhere in all of this. A threshold. A phrase. A specific configuration of facts that turns concern into obligation. I know that.
And this....this is still a gray area.
Gray like test results you don’t want to interpret too closely. Gray like the space between “I’m fine” and the truth.
I clear my throat.
“Chloe,” I say carefully, “I’d like you to meet with Ms. Reynolds.”
Her head lifts slightly.
“She’s really good at helping students balance a lot at once. Academics. Home. Everything in between.”
Chloe looks at me for a long second. Then she shakes her head. “That’s not necessary,” she says quickly. “I’m fine.”
There it is again.
I nod once. “You might be.”
She stills.
“There’s a chance that this is all in my head. That I’m overreading things. That you’re just tired and I’m....projecting.”
That word hangs between us longer than I intend. “But,” I add quietly, “there’s also a chance I’m not.”
Her jaw tightens.
“And that’s a chance I’d rather not take.” Silence presses in around us. The faint echo of lockers slamming down the hall.
“I’ll let Ms. Reynolds know. You two can figure out a time that works. It doesn’t have to be a big thing.”
Chloe’s expression shifts. Cornered. Not angry.... exactly. But something like betrayal flickers across her face. Her shoulders draw in protectively. “I’ve gotta go,” she says.
Before I can soften it further, before I can explain that this isn’t punishment or exposure or dissection, she turns. The backpack shifts heavily on her shoulder as she walks out. The door closes behind her. And I’m left standing there, in the quiet, wondering if I’ve just done the right thing.
Or the necessary one.
And whether those two are ever the same.
I sit down afterwards, just for a second. The edge of the desk presses into the back of my thighs and I let myself sink onto it, elbows braced on my knees.
The room feels heavier now. Like the air thickened while I wasn’t paying attention.
And there’s that fog again, not cinematic....just a slow, creeping blur at the edges of my thoughts. Like someone smudged the corners of the world with their thumb. Like I’m still here, still upright, but slightly misaligned inside my own body.
I remember this feeling. It’s the space between doing and collapsing. Between performing strength and feeling it drain out through your fingertips. I press my palm to my forehead and inhale.
‘You did well,’ I tell myself.
The class went well. They were loud and alive and they missed me. Chloe didn’t shut down completely. I intervened, I acted. That has to count for something.
I shake my head once, sharp, as if I can physically dislodge the haze. I glance at my watch. No more lessons today. All things considered, this went well. I’ll grab my briefcase. Order a ride. Go home. When Michael asks how it went, I’ll smile and tell him it went well. Because it did. Because that’s the part that matters.
Then tomorrow, I’ll come back. I’ll stand in front of that room again. I’ll threaten them with quizzes. I’ll ask Chloe how she’s doing. I’ll keep showing up. Because this classroom, this rhythm, this fragile normalcy.... it cannot be taken from me.
Not yet.
I push myself to my feet. For a second, I just stand there.
‘What was I doing?’
My mind blanks in a quiet, hollow way. Not panic. Just absence.
Right....
Staffroom. Briefcase. Ride home.
I nod to myself like that’s enough to anchor it. The walk back feels longer than it did earlier. The hallway stretches in that unpleasant way, fluorescent lights humming overhead. My steps are slower now. Heavier. My legs feel vaguely borrowed. Students pass me in clusters. Their voices blur together. I focus on putting one foot in front of the other.
Staffroom.
Briefcase.
Ride home.
I reach the staffroom and push the door open. It’s empty. The quiet inside is almost startling after the corridors. No coffee chatter. No printer whining. Just stillness. I walk to my desk and sit down. The chair creaks softly under me. I drop my head back for a moment, staring at the ceiling tiles. My hand drags through my hair. It feels thinner lately. Or maybe that’s in my head too.
I glance at my watch again.
It’s still early. School’s in session for a couple more hours. Plenty of time left in the day. I’m just... tired. The kind that sits quietly. The kind chemo plants deep and waits to harvest later.
A short nap wouldn’t hurt.
Just ten minutes, Fifteen maybe.
I’ve done enough today. I showed up. I taught. I intervened. I made decisions that matter. Surely I can allow myself something small in return. I lean forward, folding my arms on the desk. Resting my forehead against them.
Just for a minute.
The fog presses in closer now, softer but heavier, like deep water settling over a diver who meant to stay near the surface. It’s not sleep exactly. It’s surrender in increments. And somewhere, distantly, I know I should text Michael before I close my eyes. But the thought drifts.
Staffroom.
Briefcase.
Ride home.
I’ll get up in a minute.....Just a minute.