Written in the Scars(69)

“It’ll close us down and we’ll go without a paycheck again,” Cord says, tinkering with his flashlight. “I think this thing has a loose cable or something. It keeps going off.” He shakes it in the air and mutters under his breath.

“Shit’s breaking already,” Jiggs laughs as we approach Pettis and Grunt. “You boys ready?”

Grunt makes the sound he makes that means yes, no, and maybe. Pettis nods, eyeing us all warily.

I watch the cart come up the ramp. Grunt and Pettis get in first and descend into the darkness.

“Let’s do this and go home for a couple of days.”





ELIN


“Don’t forget your gloves!” I rush to the door and hand a pair of bright red gloves to one of my favorite students. “It’s getting cold out there, big guy. You’ll need these.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Whitt,” he grins a wide, toothy smile.

I ruffle his hair before he turns and joins the line to head out to recess.

Closing the door softly behind me, I let out a long, tired breath. I tossed and turned last night, finally just getting up around one in the morning. I sat in the living room and planned out how to tell Ty about the baby. It was the excitement of knowing that kept me up. But by the time I fell asleep and woke up, the adrenaline had worn off and I was sluggish.

When I realized Ty wasn’t home yet, the adrenaline kicked back in.

Turns out his crew was working over, which isn’t out of the ordinary. A simple call to the Blackwater Office, something I’ve done a number of times over the years, answered that. Still, it started my day off wobbly and the rollercoaster of highs and lows is taking its toll.

“Ouch,” I mutter, stopping in my tracks. One hand goes onto a student’s desk as I bed forward and squeeze my eyes shut. A rumble, not quite a cramp but not not a cramp either, tightens in my belly. “Breathe,” I tell myself, concentrating on the rising and falling of my chest.

My heartbeat races as much as I try to steady it. “No,” I whisper. “No, no, no.”

I need my husband. I need to hear his voice.

Quick steps lead me to my purse in my bottom desk drawer. Shaky hands tug at the zipper and retrieve my cell.

“Let him be home,” I whisper as another tug rips through my insides. “Please. Let him be home.”

Tears build in the corner of my eyes as I unlock my screen to see no missed calls and no texts. It’s ten o’clock, seven minutes past, to be exact, and I can’t fight the flicker in the back of my mind that it’s odd I haven’t heard from him at all.

I tell myself he’s probably just exhausted and grabbed a shower and fell asleep as I find his name in my favorites list. My finger is on his picture, “My Love” printed across the top, ready to drop and place the call when a knock reverberates through my classroom.





ELIN


My hand hovers over his name and I teeter on the verge of not answering the door and going through with the call. That answer is made for me.

It pushes open and Mr. Walters, the elementary school principal, pokes his head around it. “Elin?”

Blowing out a hasty breath, I sit the phone down. “Yes, I’m sorry, Mr. Walters. Can I help you?”

He steps through the opening.

I suck in a soft breath.

Gloom is written all over his tight features. He clears his throat and stands tall. “I don’t really know how to say this, Elin, but can you get your things and come with me, please?”

“Um, sure. Is . . . is everything all right?”

A million thoughts run through my head—have I been fired? Has someone filed a report against me?

“Blackwater Coal called the office a few minutes ago and asked that you come to their headquarters immediately,” he says softly.

“Why would they do that?”

I’m afraid to ask, but even more terrified of the answer. When Ty got hurt, they called my phone and asked me to meet the ambulance at the hospital. My phone hasn’t rung today. I check it again. No missed calls.

Why would they call the school?

It occurs to me, just as a slight quiver to Mr. Walters’ composure sets in, that I might prefer that question to remain unanswered. My legs go numb, as do my hands that reach furiously for my things.

He’s talking, but I’m mentally removed from this moment. It’s some sort of survival mechanism, I’m sure. If I can just come up with a decent reason, it will make it all right.

Maybe Ty tested positive for drugs and I need to pick him up?

Instantly, I’m relieved at the idea. That we can deal with.

Yes, I’ll pick him up and rip him a new * and make him get professional help this time. Real help, not some self-detox in the—

“ . . . accident, Elin.”

My head jerks to the front of the room.

“What did you say?”

He’s watching me like you look at the family standing beside a casket, like you want to seem all warm and familial, yet you’re afraid in their current state they may completely melt down. It’s a look that’s friendly, yet mixed with sadness, and one I hate. It’s also one I can’t process at the moment because my mind is stuck on that one little word.

“Accident?” I ask, my voice too loud for the room. “What accident? Who’s been in an accident?”