The One Who Got Away

I slowed at the display case.

Down the hall, she wedged a stack of papers beneath her chin. A book slipped, and she caught it against her hip. Pencils struck the floor around her shoes.

I left the glass.

She gathered the pencils before I reached her, but I got to the staff room door first.

“Thanks. That’s very nice of you.”

She smiled as she passed. Her perfume lingered while I held the door. When it closed, I stood with my hand against the push plate until someone behind me asked to get through.

Three weeks earlier, I wouldn’t have known her name.

I’d made the junior volleyball team. After practice, the senior coach stopped me outside the gym.

“Come out tomorrow. Let’s see how you do with the older guys.”

The following afternoon, I sat against the gym wall and tied my shoelaces while two seniors talked beside me. One mentioned a teacher.

“I’d take that class again,” the other said.

They laughed.

I loosened my knot and started over. When they repeated her name, I caught it.

The next morning, I found Miss Shane on a classroom door.

I passed before the first bell and again on my way to lunch. On my third trip, she stood in the doorway with another teacher.

I bent over the fountain across the hall. The water chilled my teeth while I waited to hear her voice.

After that, I took the long way to class.

The day after I held the staff-room door, I stopped outside her homeroom. Student work hung beside the windows. Posters covered the walls, and books occupied one corner of her desk.

I leaned into the doorway to read a notice.

“How can I help you?”

I straightened. She stood behind me.

“Just looking.”

“Looking for somebody?”

“No. Just looking at your room.”

She glanced over my shoulder.

“Come in, then.”

I stepped aside to let her pass.

At first, I stopped by with questions about school activities. Then I came to tell her how a game had gone. By the third month, she called to me before I reached her door.

“How was the game?”

I stopped, though the warning bell had rung.

“We won.”

“I knew our team would.”

In my next class, I wrote the date at the top of my page and nothing beneath it. The teacher repeated her question.

Before home games, I changed into my uniform after phys. ed. and wore it through fourth period. At the bell, I went to Miss Shane’s room.

I had twenty-five minutes before I needed to reach the gym.

Other students perched on tables or crowded around her desk. I took a chair near the front and waited for her to turn toward me. During the day, I saved things to tell her. Sometimes I tried a joke under my breath on the stairs, then forgot how it went when she looked up.

Once, she laughed before I reached the end.

“Back again?” a student asked from the doorway.

I pulled my chair closer to her desk to let him through.

She told me about her weekend. One afternoon, she mentioned an argument at home, then stopped and reached for her marking.

“Listen to me. You don’t have to hear all that.”

“I’m a good listener.”

She smiled and uncapped her pen.

I stayed until she glanced at the clock.

“Don’t you have practice?”

I grabbed my bag.

In the gym, the ball struck the floor beside me.

“Are you playing or not?” the coach shouted.

I raised a hand.

“Sorry.”

I moved into position. Before the next serve, I tried to remember whether she had finished what she meant to tell me.

When summer came, I kept checking the clock at three o'clock.

I opened the fridge, shut it, and went upstairs. From my bedroom window, I could see the road toward the school.

I put on my running shoes.

I ran past the empty parking lot and out toward the edge of town. Sweat soaked my shirt. When the pressure beneath my ribs sharpened, I slowed and pressed a palm against my chest.

I had pushed too hard.

My neighbour offered me a job, and I took every shift.

Crates scraped my forearms as I loaded the truck. By evening, my hands ached when I closed them. I ate, showered, and lay on my bed with the window open.

Downstairs, a woman laughed on the television.

I sat up. I caught myself, then lay back and pulled the pillow over my face.

In September, I stood at the guidance office counter with my timetable.

“That class is full,” the secretary said.

“Can you check again, please?”

She turned back to the screen.

I waited with both hands on the counter.

A week later, I carried my books into Miss Shane’s classroom and chose a seat where I could see her desk.

“Well, look who we have here.”

I looked down and arranged my books until I could trust my face.

That autumn, she volunteered to coach our volleyball team. I read the notice twice before I went to find her.

On the bus to our first tournament, I waited for her to choose a seat. She put her bag on the floor, and I sat across the aisle.

She handed me a bag of snacks.

“You’re going to eat all those before we get there,” I said.

“I have to keep my strength up. Have you seen you boys play?”

I laughed with my mouth full.

Behind us, someone whistled.

She turned.

“Find something else to do.”

I looked out the window. My reflection grinned back at me.

At the next stop, the other coach sat beside her. Their voices dropped below the team's.

I heard my name.

I took my jacket off the empty seat beside me and folded it on my lap. She stayed where she sat.

After the season ended, I kept going to her room. When the semester changed and I no longer had her class, I still knew when she would sit at her desk with marking.

At dances, I left my friends near the gym doors and walked the edge of the floor until I found her. If she needed chairs moved, I carried them. When she stayed to clean up, I stacked chairs until she picked up her bag.

One afternoon, she reached across her desk. A stone caught the light.

“Are you engaged?”

She glanced at her hand.

“Yes.”

“When’s the wedding?”

“We haven’t set a date.”

“Why not?”

“We just haven’t yet.”

She reached for the paper I had brought her. I opened my book.

That night, I lay awake with the part of her answer I wanted.

They hadn’t set a date.

Through the next summer, I worked and ran. Before bed, I crossed another day off the calendar.

When September arrived, I visited her room before my first class.

She stood at her desk with a stack of papers.

“Did you have a decent summer?”

“Yeah. Worked a lot. You?”

“I got married.”

Her hand rested on the papers. A narrow band fitted against the ring I knew.

I tried to draw a breath. She kept talking, but I lost the words. I pressed my thumb into the edge of my binder until the cover bent.

“What is it? You okay? You seem a bit pale.”

“Nah, I’m just feeling worn out.”

“Want to sit?”

I pulled out the nearest chair. She offered me a tissue, and I wiped beneath my eyes.

“I can’t come after school today.”

“That’s okay.”

“I’ve got to go now. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay. See you tomorrow.”

I left before she could get another look at my face.

By the time I boarded the bus that afternoon, the bent corner of my binder had split. I worked my thumbnail beneath the loose plastic and peeled a strip away.

She could have told me.

I pressed my forehead against the window. At each stop, voices rose around me, then settled as the bus moved on.

I had another year of high school. She knew that. I had told her what I wanted to do after graduation and where I might go.

I rubbed my face.

She had never asked me to wait.

At home, I kicked off my shoes and carried my books upstairs. My brother and sister had moved away. Their bedroom doors stood open as I passed.

I put on music and worked through my homework. When the phone rang, I reached for it without my eyes lifting from the page.

Kieran had the car.

“You want to go out?”

“Yeah. I’ll need about half an hour to forty minutes. My parents aren’t home yet.”

“I’ll call you.”

I finished the last question as the front door opened.

“Hey, Mama. I’ll be right down.”

“Okay. I have to change my clothes anyway.”

Her footsteps climbed the stairs. Drawers in her room opened and closed, then she appeared at my door.

“Son, how was your day?”

“Not bad. Yours?”

“Had to write someone up.”

“That’s lame.”

“Uh-huh.” She leaned against the doorframe.

I rolled my pen between my fingers.

“Miss Shane got married over the summer.”

My mother looked at me.

“It stings.”

“Aw, kiddo.”

I folded the corner of my homework sheet.

“I know you thought the two of you would get married when you graduated. But I think that was wishful thinking.”

I pressed the crease flat with my thumb.

She stayed in the doorway a moment before she saw my books.

“Homework done?”

“Yeah. Kieran’s coming to get me.”

“Okay. Have a good time.”

When Kieran called again, I went outside. My father turned into the driveway as we pulled out, and we waved through the windows.

Kieran headed toward town.

“I’m considering graduating this year,” I said.

He glanced over.

“And going to Costa Rica for a year.”

“Get out.”

“Yeah. I need to get to know the world.”

“You have enough credits?”

“I do.”

“Cool. I wish I’d thought of that.”

I rested my arm on the window ledge.

“I’ve outgrown a few things here.”

Kieran nodded and turned up the radio.

Over the school year, I gathered what I needed to leave. I checked my credits and made plans for Costa Rica as information accumulated on my bedroom desk.

I still passed Miss Shane’s room. Sometimes I went in. When she asked about the trip, I told her how the plans stood and watched her face.

By June, I had a departure ahead of me and two diplomas to bring home.

At the graduation after-party, I sat at a picnic table with the diplomas beside me. Someone offered me a drink. I shook my head and moved the papers away from a bottle.

Two teachers crossed the yard.

Miss Shane came toward the table.

“What are you doing here?”

“I came to see if I could find you.”

I looked at the teacher behind her, then back at her face.

“Me? What for?”

“I thought I’d rather spend time with you than go for drinks with the staff.”

I slid along the bench.

“Well, you found me.”

“Thanks. I can see that.”

She sat beside me.

People came to the table and left. I answered when someone spoke, then turned back to her. Beneath the table, my knee touched hers. I moved it, and a few minutes later she shifted closer so someone could pass behind her.

Later, she asked, “Will you be home tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

“Can I come over?”

I set down my bottle.

“Sure.”

After she left, my friends gathered around the table.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“Come on.”

I picked up my diplomas.

“Nothing happened.”

The next morning, I carried a cooler into the yard before I started my parents’ chores.

I spread a blanket in the shade and checked the food. Two glasses rested inside the cooler beside bottles of red and white wine. I didn’t know which she preferred.

By ten-thirty, sweat ran down my back. I pulled off my shirt and threw it over a branch beside the towel.

The stump still wouldn’t move.

I drove the shovel under another root and put weight on the handle. Soil cracked around the blade.

Tyres crunched on the driveway.

She stopped beside the yard. I raised my hand, and she drove toward the house before she parked.

From the road, the house hid her car.

I wiped my hands and went to meet her.

“You’ve been working.”

“A bit.”

I led her to the blanket and took the food out of the cooler.

“You did all this? For me?”

“I thought you might be hungry.”

She sat beneath the sunshade.

“Red or white?”

“White, please.”

I poured a glass and set the bottle back among the ice.

“Is the music all right?”

“Leave it on.”

I lowered the volume and sat beside her.

When I checked my watch, she had only just arrived. I took it off and put it in my pocket.

She stayed through lunch. As the shade moved, I shifted the cooler and made room beside me on the blanket.

Before she left, she invited me to dinner that evening.

“I’ll cook. You just show up.”

“At your house?”

“Yes.”

“And your husband?”

“Out of town for the weekend.”

I pulled a blade of grass loose and split it with my thumbnail.

“And you’re sure you want me to come?”

“Yes, I am.”

“What can I bring?”

“Nothing. Just you.”

I walked her to the car.

After she got in, she lowered the window. I bent toward her, expecting her to say something.

She kissed me.

When she drew back, my hand still rested on the window frame.

“Here’s my number.”

She handed me a card with her name, number, and a note.

I looked at it, then at her.

“I’ll see you tonight.”

“Yeah.”

I stepped away so she could leave.

Back at the blanket, I put the card in my shirt pocket, and then I gathered the plates. Her glass still held a little wine. I carried it upright to the house.

That evening, I changed my shirt several times. Before I left my room, I transferred her card to the pocket of the one I chose.

Downstairs, my mother called out.

“Where are you going?”

“Out with friends.”

I took the car keys before she could ask which ones.

I bought white wine. At the counter, I checked the label again before I paid.

Outside her house, I sat with the engine off and the bottle against my leg. I ran my thumb beneath my collar, then got out.

She opened the door before I could knock again.

“Come in.”

I stepped past her. The door closed, and she kissed me before I could hand her the wine.

I held the bottle away from us until she stepped back.

“What are we doing?”

She looked at me.

“I mean, tonight.”

“I honestly don’t know how to survive without you.”

I searched her face.

“Then when I come back, could we continue this?”

“I don’t see why not.”

I set the bottle on the table.

At dinner, she asked about Costa Rica. I told her what I could, though the trip I had spent months planning now sounded too long.

She reached across the table and covered my hand.

I turned my palm beneath hers. Her rings pressed against my fingers when I closed my hand.

Before I left for Costa Rica, I packed her card between the pages of a book.

During the year away, I took it out often enough that one corner softened. Each time I put it back, I chose a page I could locate again.

When I came home, I called.

I sat on the edge of my bed with the book open beside me and the receiver pressed to my ear. Her voice came through, and I stiffened.

We talked about the trip. I waited for her to mention dinner.

When she didn’t, I asked.

There was no invitation that day. On the calls that followed, I kept waiting for her to suggest a time.

Afterward, I sat with the receiver in my lap until the sound from the line made me hang up.

I left the card in the book.

At night, I returned to her table. I placed the wine bottle beside our glasses and felt the edge of her ring against my finger. I went through what I had said, and then what she had said, searching for something I had failed to understand.

Had I made the trip sound more important than she was?

Should I have stayed?

I could still hear her answer.

“I don’t see why not.”

Years passed. Across restaurant tables, other women told me about their lives. I listened until a hand reached for mine or a familiar note of perfume caught me as someone passed.

Then I had to find my way back to the conversation.

One night, I got out of bed and went to the kitchen.

I opened the fridge. Its motor hummed, and cold air spread across my bare feet. I stood there until the light hurt my eyes, then shut the door without taking anything.

“I can’t sleep.”

In the spare room, I found the book on a shelf. The card lay where I had left it. I carried it to the kitchen and sat beneath the light.

Her name. Her number. The note in her hand.

I placed my palm over it, then turned my hand upward on the table.

I stayed there until the fridge motor stopped.