“There, see?” Hazel cooed. “That’s better.”
Amy was getting sick of everyone saying things were better. That word was tossed around so much lately, it had started to lose its meaning. Better than horrible could still be pretty awful. Better than dying could still be dead.
Amy didn’t want better. She wanted normal, to go back to the life she’d always known and once truly loved. But would going back be disrespectful to her mother’s memory?
So many questions swirled around her brain, and not a single one of them came with an answer.
“I’m sorry,” she told Nichole again, and this time she knew she meant it. “I’m just having a hard time with all this.”
Hazel turned to look over her shoulder. “We all are, but we’re here for each other. We’re here for you.”
“It’s okay. Are you worried about going back to work, Ames?” Nichole asked hesitantly. It took a lot to disturb the resident group cynic, but apparently Amy’s little outburst had done just that.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. Honestly, it was tough to know what she felt these days. It all changed so rapidly, like a kaleidoscope of negative emotions. One second angry. The next, devastated. Afraid. Sad. Round and round her feelings turned, never producing the exact same pattern again.
No wonder it was so hard to keep up.
Hazel nodded as if this all made perfect sense to her. “You’ll feel better once you get back into your routine.”
Nichole silently grasped Amy’s hand and gave it a squeeze.
“Well, there’s only one way to find out, I guess,” Amy said at last.
As bossy and pedantic as she found Hazel to be sometimes, she desperately hoped her friend was right. She just couldn’t keep living like this.
Amy would be back at school in a little more than twenty-four hours, and that was exactly how long she had to figure things out. She needed to commit to being strong, kind, the same person she’d once been. She’d liked that person.
This new Amy, though? She wasn’t so sure.
Chapter 5
Monday snuck up on Amy awfully fast. Had it really been a year since Amy last arrived at school ready to guide her students through a new semester?
Yes, an entire year had passed, during which it had been her only job to care for—and then mourn—her mother. She felt strange now as she clomped through the halls in her new winter boots. The new dress she wore had bright fish and bubbles patterned on the skirt. She’d paired it with navy leggings and a wooly cardigan. At least some part of her would appear cheerful for the children as they adjusted to their new teacher and figured out the new layout of the room.
Do it for the kids, she reminded herself for the hundredth time that morning. She didn’t have any more time to grapple with her personal issues. The children needed her to be at her best, and they needed that now. Today.
Meanwhile, what Amy needed was a lesson plan for life, or at least for overcoming grief. Maybe she could grab some of her lunches with the school counselor this week, but right now she had a job to do—a noble one at that.
She’d already dialed back her usual enthusiasm, but she had plenty of time to crank it up again. As long as she did a good job from the start, she could do a great job when she was ready to offer more of herself.
For example, each semester Amy decorated her classroom according to a unit they’d be studying in the coming months. Normally, she spent weeks planning the theme and hunting local dollar and craft stores for the perfect supplies to transform their otherwise plain four walls into something spectacular. This time, however, she hadn’t been able to do anything more than string some sparkling fairy lights around the reading corner and adorn it with two new bean bag chairs she’d snagged on clearance at the local Target.
It’s okay to need time, she reminded herself again as she surveyed the empty classroom. She’d already missed so much. The year was halfway through, and these children were still strangers to her. By now, she should have built up a special rapport with each of them, understood their unique learning styles and where they each needed a bit of extra help.
There was no going back. Amy knew that painfully well by now. She’d just have to do the best she could with the time they had left.
One by one, the children began to arrive and find their desks. Some regarded her warily; others smiled brightly. Their eyes all focused on her, watching, waiting. The substitute teacher had explained her situation, but still Amy wondered how much they actually understood. At seven and eight years of age, most of the students shouldn’t have been confronted with any losses in their own immediate worlds. That would make Amy’s experience strange and puzzling as they tried to wrap their young minds around it.
As much as it pained her to talk about losing her mother, Amy suspected she’d need to address it head-on and give her students the opportunity to ask questions as part of getting to know one another. Hopefully, she wouldn’t break down in tears after sharing.
Strong. Confident. Capable.
The last of the children slipped in just before the final bell, and Amy took a deep breath and rose to her feet. “Good morning, class,” she said in the special voice she adopted only when speaking in front of her students. “I’m your new teacher, Ms. Shannon, and I’m so excited to meet all of you today.”
A skinny boy in the front row raised his hand high in the air and shook it around. “Where’s Mrs. White?”
“She’s moved on to teach other students,” Amy answered with what she hoped was a winning smile. “But I promise to make sure we all have lots of fun while learning this semester.”
The little boy popped his mouth shut and settled back in his chair.
Amy waited for a moment to see if there would be any other outbursts before continuing. “Since we’re just meeting each other for the first time, I’m going to tell you a little bit about myself. After that, we’ll go around the room so you can each introduce yourselves and tell me something about you. Okay?”
Some kids nodded and whispered to one another excitedly. One or two groaned, as was to be expected when dealing with a group this young and so early in the morning following a long weekend.
“Okay!” She clasped her hands together and began the same speech she gave at the start of each year—usually in August instead of late January.
“I’m Ms. Shannon. I’m twenty-nine years old, and my favorite food is chocolate-chip cookies. I have a cat named Belle, named after my favorite princess, and one of my favorite things to do is read stories with dragons and castles in them.” She paused here to consider whether she should say anything more. Hmm. Perhaps it would be okay to tell them about her mother later. No need to start their relationship off on such a low note. Besides, sharing now would only make her sad.
“Now, why don’t you tell me about you?” She motioned toward the boy who had inquired after the sub earlier, and waited with a smile.
“I’m Kyle, and I like chicken nuggets and Iron Man. I don’t like girls.”
Some of the other boys snickered at this.
Amy shook her head and said, “For this exercise, let’s focus on the things we do like. Thank you, Kyle. It’s nice to meet you.” She marked his name off on the attendance sheet and wrote his name on the classroom map she’d carry with her for the first few days until she remembered everyone’s names without needing assistance.