Walking on Broken Glass - Christa Allan [84]
After the meeting ended, I found Rebecca at her usual post, rinsing out coffee pots and setting them up for the next meeting. I tapped her shoulder to get her attention. “I hate to interrupt. I know cleaning is your life, but could I talk to you for a few minutes?”
She looked over her shoulder. “Sure, kiddo, give me a minute. Almost finished. Unless, wait, is the bus ready to go?”
“No, Matthew told everyone before we left that we’d leave late tonight. Take your time. I’ll just sit at the back table,” I said.
This was the last meeting of the night, so people tended to hang around. Fellowship. A word I’d learned when I’d started church shopping before Alyssa. We’d only attended four or five services between the time she was born and the time she died. After her funeral, I devoted as much attention to church and God as I thought had been devoted to us—none. Otherwise, I’d still have my daughter and not have to visit her in the Little Innocents Cemetery.
Fellowship at AA meetings wasn’t all that much different from the few I’d experienced in church, except we didn’t bring covered dishes. Old-timers always said what happened before and after meetings mattered as much, maybe even more, than the meetings. At last week's meeting, Nolan B. said fellowship was how he knew AA wasn’t a church. “If this was a church, we’d all be trying to leave early and kill each other getting out of the parking lot.”
Someone had left a schedule of Al-Anon meetings on the table. As I folded it to shove in my purse, optimistic that Carl might be interested in going to at least one meeting, a man pulled out the chair next to me and sat. “You probably don’t recognize me,” he said, and pushed away from the table a bit to face me.
I hadn’t looked at him when he first walked over. Just figured he needed a chair. I didn’t think he’d sit. Didn’t really want him to since I wanted to talk to Rebecca privately.
He recognized me. Great. It never occurred to me anyone would ever know me here. This was an unexpected embarrassment. Can’t pretend I’m just here for the coffee. No, dummy, but he can’t either. Thank you, voice of reason. I slipped the paper into my purse, pushed it aside, and turned.
Dark-brown hair parted on the side. John Lennon glasses. Stubble-faced. U-shaped jaw. I scrolled through the photo-file in my brain. Got it.
“You were in the Social Studies’ department for a year, right?”
“I sure was. Wasn’t sure you’d remember. Spring Creek has so many teachers. I’m an assistant principal at the new school, Woodville High. I’ll start my third year there this August,” he said. “Didn’t you teach English?”
“On a good day, yes. I taught freshmen and juniors, but really, they were great,” I said.
“Sometimes I miss the classroom. I don’t miss grading papers, of course. Being on the other side now—” he shook his head “—I’m dealing with kids, teachers, parents, the school board. Some days I wonder if the pay increase was worth it.” His cell phone shimmied across the table. “Sorry. Probably my son sending me a text.” He picked up the phone and grinned. “Wants me to stop at Dairy Queen on the way home for Blizzards.” He slipped it in his shirt pocket. “I am so rude. I just realized I didn’t tell you my name. I’m Ethan.”
“Leah.” I checked Rebecca's progress at the sink. She was drying her hands, talking to Matthew. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ethan look in the direction I had.
“Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to take up so much of your time. You were the first person I saw here that I actually knew.” He paused. “I’m probably not supposed to be so excited about that, huh?”
We both laughed.