Getting Schooled (Getting Some #1)(73)

“Callie!” Garrett calls me again from downstairs in the kitchen.

My footsteps are sluggish as I walk down to him, and I chalk it all up to the packing and busy days—they’ve tired me out.

Garrett stands in front of the open cabinet doors. Those gorgeous muscles in his arms flex tight beneath his short-sleeved Lakeside Lions T-shirt as he reaches up, taking plates down from the shelves. He wraps them in newspaper, with those strong, graceful hands.

And something trips . . . tugs in my chest . . . as I watch him put them in the box.

Garrett catches the look on my face.

“Hey—you okay?”

“Yeah.” I smile—but I have to force it. “What’s up?”

“We need more boxes. I was going to make a run to Brewster’s Pharmacy and grab some.”

Woody’s big furry paws pad into the room, smelling my shoes.

“I’ll go. I’ll take Woody for a walk.”

Garrett leans over and kisses me. “Okay.”

I grab Woody’s leash and load him into Garrett’s Jeep, and drive over to Main Street, parking a few blocks from Brewster’s.

I walk Woody up the street and down the blocks, passing The Bagel Shop and Zinke Jewelers, that old haunted house on Miller Street, Mr. Martinez’s furniture store and Baygrove Park. They’re rebuilding after the fire—with newly planted trees and landscaping, and a big, bright, colorful swing set. I pass Julie Shriver, pushing her daughter in a stroller—she gave Miss McCarthy notice that she’s not coming back to teach at the high school and has gone the way of my sister into full-time, stay-at-home motherhood.

Simone Porchesky’s little brother rides past me on his bike, calling, “Hi, Miss Carpenter!”

“Hi,” I call back.

But still, that sadness, the melancholy fills my chest like heavy sand.

By the time I walk back up Main Street, two hours have passed. I look to the left and see Ollie Munson, sitting in his chair on the lawn, waving to cars as they go by. Woody sticks his black puppy nose against Ollie’s sneaker and he pats his head.

I move closer. “Hey, Ollie.”

He smiles, but doesn’t make eye contact.

“Do you think . . . would it be okay if I sat here with you for a while?”

He nods. And I sit down next to his chair on the grass. The muscles in my legs loosen and relax now that I’m off my feet. For a few minutes I gaze around and see the world the way Ollie sees it.

And I get it—I get how this can be fulfilling for him. Because Lakeside is a pretty interesting place to watch—its own little universe of people, woven into each other’s lives, all different but still the same. I hear Garrett’s words in my head—something he said to me once—in that steady, confident voice.

Growth is painful; change is hard.

And life-changing decisions are scary. It’s easier to cling to the path that’s already there. To the plan we know and have already pictured for ourselves.

But sitting here on the grass next to Ollie, looking as this little town that I know so well hums and buzzes around us—I don’t feel scared. I feel safe. Welcome. I feel known and cared about. I feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. I think about my students—Michael, who’s so smart and kind, and Layla, who’s like a butterfly—just starting to come out of her cocoon. I think about Simone, whose hard exterior protects so much sweetness inside, and . . . David. My stomach shifts and emotions swirl around in my chest like a hurricane.

But then the whirlwind stops. And everything inside me slides into place. And it feels peaceful. It feels right.

A smile comes to my face—a real smile—and energy suddenly bubbles in my veins. Because I know what’s been wrong with me these last few weeks. And I know what to do now—exactly how to fix it.

I stand up, brush the grass off my butt, and grab Woody’s leash.

“Thanks, Ollie,” I tell him. “Thank you so much.”

For the first time in my life, Ollie Munson meets my eyes. His are calm and knowing.

Then a passing car beeps its horn, and Ollie turns away and waves.



~



I march up the front walk and spot the For Sale sign marring the perfect house. And it looks fucking terrible—wrong. I yank the sucker out of the lawn and throw it in the bushes.

I go in the front door and unhook Woody from the leash.

“Hey, you were gone a long time,” Garrett says, setting the box in his hands on the dining room floor with a dozen others. “I was just going to come looking for you.”

“Stop. Stop packing.” I shake my head. “I don’t want you to come to San Diego with me.”

The dark-brown eyes that I have loved since I was fourteen years old crinkle with confusion.

“Babe . . .”

“I want us to live here. I want to quit the Fountain Theater Company and be a teacher. I want to be . . . your wife.” I step closer to him. “I want us to have babies and raise them in this house. I want to teach them to fish and ice skate on the lake, and push them on the new swings at Baygrove Park. I want to take them to The Bagel Shop every Sunday and wave to Ollie Munson every single day.”

“Callie . . . slow down.” He rests his hands on my shoulders, squeezing. “This is a big deal. Have you really thought about this?”