Chapter 25 Chapter Twenty Five
That's how long I stood in the hallway losing my mind, wanting the floor to open up and swallow me up for doing something so stupid.
I inhaled, exhaled then inhaled slowly again to try and calm myself.
Thankfully after a while it started to work, I grew calm, and my practical instincts kicked in, reminding me that I was a seventeen year old girl with a job to do and a family to feed and absolutely no business hiding outside a bedroom door like a little kid because of an accidental almost kiss that had lasted less than a second and meant nothing to anyone.
He'd probably already forgotten about it, right? And he’s been weirdly nice to me today, so he wouldn’t torture me and bite my head off, right? I thought to myself.
I smoothed my shirt down, took one more deep breath and walked back inside, prepared for the worst.
The room was empty. His assessment was on the floor, completed, with the pen laid across the top. His phone was also gone from the shelf.
Yes! Thank God!
I crouched down and started gathering the papers, grateful that he was gone and this wasn’t going to be any harder than it needed to be.
Suddenly the door to the adjoining bathroom opened and Jace walked out in a cloud of steam, his AirPods in his ears and a towel around his hips, water running down his body.
I immediately decided the carpets were actually very interesting to look at and kept my eyes firmly fixed on the ground. This couldn’t continue. I couldn’t keep finding my sworn enemy going about practically naked all the time!
"Didn't hear you come back," he said, pulling one AirPod out and studying me.
"I noticed." I kept my eyes on the papers I was stacking. "Sorry about earlier. The, um. That was my fault…. Can we just move past it?”
He didn't say anything for a moment, and obviously, I didn't look up to find out why.
"I finished the assessment," he said. "Well, most of it."
"I noticed, thanks for that. I mean for cooperating."
He was moving around the room now, I could track him by sound alone, the wardrobe opening, the soft thud of something hitting the floor.
I allowed myself one glance upward and immediately regretted it because he was holding a shirt up against himself in front of the mirror, still in just the towel, water drying slowly on his shoulders.
I felt my cheeks heat up again and quickly looked back at my papers.
Snap out of it Lena!
"I have somewhere to be," he said. "Can't stay much longer to hear your thoughts on it.”
"That's fine. I'll just take these downstairs and we can go over then tomorrow." At least he’d obey something and even though it was a hundred per cent, at least he was being on his best behaviour… for whatever reason…
I had everything stacked and was almost at the door, one foot already in the hallway, when he said something that stopped me in my tracks.
"When I get back, you and I are going to have a talk. Got it?”
I nodded at the doorframe and ran out of there before I did something stupid.
While headed to the study to meet Martin, I ran into my mom. I spotted her through the glass as I came downstairs with a cloth in her hand while she wiped down the outdoor table.
She looked up at exactly the same time I did, but I didn’t stay to listen to her make any more excuses, I simply kept walking.
Soon enough, I pushed the door to the study open and walked inside, only to find something strange going on.
Martin was curled into the chair by the window, not the desk, his knees pulled up to his chest, whimpering and sobbing and holding his favourite train in both hands.
He kept picking at his hair over and over, maybe he was overwhelmed or trying to self soothe like many other autistic kids did, I wasn’t too sure.
Mrs Dawson was by the bookshelf with her arms folded, looking frustrated with her son and with herself for being unable to calm him down. Every time she tried to touch him, he would just shrug her off and cry louder.
When she saw me come in, she looked at me and sighed with relief as though I was water and she'd been lost in the desert.
"Good morning, Lena. I’m sorry about him, he…”
"Morning." I set my things down and looked at Martin. "Hey."
He didn’t respond. Slowly, so I wouldn’t spook him, I pulled a chair over and sat next to him and didn't say anything for a moment. Mrs Dawson watched us both, waiting for some miracle to happen.
"You don't have to tell me if you don’t want to,” I said to Martin. "We can just sit."
His hand moved through his hair and he rocked in his chair, mumbling under his breath.
"Or we can work. It's totally up to you."
"I don't want to work," he said quietly. "I don't want to do anything."
"That's fair." I leaned back, grateful that at least now he was talking, "You want to tell me why?
"Rosie isn't talking to me."
"Ah." I kept my voice even. "What happened between you two?"
"I don't know." He frowned with "She was telling me something and I was thinking about the new train model Jace said he wanted to get me, and I missed some of what she said and when I looked up she had that face."
"Which face?"
"Like something was wrong but she wasn’t going to tell me what it wasm" He looked at me, baffled and earnest. "Why do people do that? It makes no sense. If something is wrong just say it so I can apologise.”
"I know," I said. "It's one of the more annoying things people do."
"Then why do they do it?"
"Because sometimes… well maybe sometimes they’re too focused on their own hurt to consider your own.”
He turned that over for a while, the way he turned everything over, thoroughly and without rushing.
"So… do you think I should ask again," he said.
"I'd wait a little while first. Then yes, and since she’s your good friend I’m sure she’ll come around.”
"I didn’t mean it.”
"I know Martin. You’d never hurt anyone on purpose, you’re a good kid and it’s not your fault.”
He looked at me. "Being a good friend is so much work."
"I know, right? People can be exhausting," I said. "Rosie probably thinks you're exhausting too sometimes. That's just how it goes, you know?”
He didn’t seem very convinced, but he nodded anyway. Slowly, his hand had stopped picking at his hair and he’d grown a lot calmer.
"You’ll see, everything’s going to be okay. Now, who wants to do some math?" I asked.
He looked at me sideways, suspicious. "Not reading?"
"Nope, not today. Today we do what you want. What do you think?”
He thought about it for exactly three seconds. Then he uncurled himself from the chair and came to the desk and I pulled out his folder and we got to work.
He was slow for the first fifteen minutes, distracted and making small mistakes, but I didn’t rush him. Instead, I trusted his ability to figure it out.
Soon enough, his pen started moving faster, he stopped second-guessing himself and by the time we hit the fortforty-minutek he was three problems ahead and correcting his own work in the margins with small efficient notes.
I looked at him, my heart bursting with pride so bright I couldn’t help but smile.
Mrs Dawson had taken a chair in the corner at some point, quiet enough that Martin had stopped noticing her. She had a cup of tea and she was watching us both, looking amazed.
After a while, she touched my arm gently.
"Can I talk to you for a second?"
“Alright ma’am” I responded, pushing my chair back to stand, “Martin, I’ll be right back.” He nodded without looking up.
She drew me into the hallway and turned to face me beaming with a bright, grateful smile.
"I've had a lot of people in this house," she said. "People paid to help Martin. Some of them genuinely tried, and most of them didn't last."
She glanced back through the gap in the door. "In two days you've somehow managed to help him get out of his moods. I’m his mother, yet even I can’t manage that most of the time." She looked back at me.
I didn't know what to say to that so I said nothing.
"I think you might be one of the best things to have happened to this family," she said, solemnly. "I hope that doesn't change."
Flashbacks of Gerald in my father's chair passed through my mind, my mother standing still and doing nothing to defend me while he hit me.
I needed this job, now more than ever, and If I ever lost this gig then I would have nowhere else to go.
"I hope so too," I admitted.
And I meant it in more ways than she could’ve ever known.