Into the Sunshine: Of Love and Loss Series Book Two

3

Later that morning, Everett stood with his back to the classroom, inwardly counting down the last ten minutes until lunch. He glanced at the book in his left hand while writing the beginning of a phrase on the chalkboard his students were to copy. But the words bled together one minute, and he'd lost his place the next.

Muttering an expletive, he closed his eyes, breathed through his nose, and tried again. The book was comprised of sentences in simple English for the younger students. Surely, his adult brain could follow along. Provided he found his place.

Grumbling another expletive, Everett gave up the attempt, erased what he'd started writing, selected a different sentence in the book, and began once more.

However, when a tap tap tap sounded from behind him, the chalk fell from his numb fingers. He hadn't heard the beloved, long-missed sound since Elyria had been ordered to bed rest during the last several months of her pregnancy.

His heart lurched to his throat and then dropped to his toes.

Was this the moment where he'd awaken and realize Pegleg hadn't hemorrhaged to death on their bed, and he'd been living in a twisted nightmare for the past two months? Or had his grief finally driven him to insanity and conjured her there? Slowly, Everett turned around and scanned the classroom, searching for the source, hoping...

When he saw fifteen-year-old Milo Goodwin belligerently reclining in his desk third from the front, despair mingled with white-hot rage, promptly snuffing out the softer emotion. Milo's left leg extended into the aisle, and pencil drummed another staccato beat. Was the rebellious teen mocking him or simply oblivious to the weight of his actions?

"Milo," Everett snapped, his voice shaking with barely restrained fury. He wanted to rail against the heavens and demand Elyria be returned alive and healthy or allow him to join her. But the heartbreaking thought of his children's fate, should the latter wish be granted, intruded., making him promptly retract it.

Leveling one of his best Captain Rattlesnake glares and gaining the boy's undivided attention, Everett embraced the anger exploding through his veins. "Must I constantly remind you that you are an example to the younger students? Pencil down and sit up straight. This is not your personal sitting room."

Flushing beet red, Milo's features contorted in startled disgruntlement. But after a moment, he huffed and reluctantly obeyed, his defiance giving way to Everett's authority.

Everett grunted, struggling to rein in his temper as he set his book on his desk and glanced at the clock. Finally, some of today's misery was at an end. "Please legibly write your names in the upper right corner—Andrew, Ginny, face forward. I have not excused you yet... Hand your papers to the front of your row."

He waited until all the students did as asked, looked at him with expectant, slightly wary eyes, and then gave them the five words their hearts yearned to hear: "You are excused for lunch."

Everyone clamored to gather their lunch pails and rush to play outside as Iris entered through the main classroom door at the back. Once the last child darted the room, yelling, "HEY! WAIT FOR ME," Iris walked down one of the aisles toward Everett's desk at the front.

"I'd forgotten it's like trying to wrangle a pack of savage kittens when it's this close to summer break," she said, a sad smile bending her lips.

Everett attempted to smile in return, but his lips ignored the weak command. His throat tightened, and a tight knot formed in his chest. He wanted this day to be over. Or to scream until the agonizing weight filling his chest lifted, and his voice grew hoarse. But most of all, Everett wanted to weep while someone held and convinced him all the anger, loneliness, and despair suffocating him from the inside out was normal.