Picking Up the Pieces (Pieces, #2)(90)

Tina and I hoped that the kids were just messing around back there, or that a rabid dog had been let loose, anything but the actual cause. But our worst fears were confirmed when we heard Trish yell, “Stop screaming. You act like you’ve never seen two people kissing before. How do you think you all got here?”

“Oh. My. God,” Tina whispered.

“Come on,” I said as I grabbed her arm and yanked her backstage.

There we found Trish, her clothes thankfully still on her body, though they were clearly rumpled. She was surrounded by kids and behind her, rubbing his face with his hand, was the school’s band director.

Tina leaned in to me. “Don’t you have some advice for a situation like this?”

I knew she was referring to my romp with Max in nearly the exact spot Trish had just been caught by a flock of choir nerds. “Yeah,” I muttered. “Don’t get caught.”

***

Tina and I took Trish home and consoled her as best we could. Unfortunately for her, the principal and the superintendent had been attending the concert. Trish was immediately suspended without pay. I told her I’d contact a union rep on her behalf, but I had a feeling that the next time I saw Trish, it’d be when she was clearing out her classroom.

“Maybe it’s for the best,” Tina remarked as we walked out to my car. “I don’t think she was really cut out for teaching. She would’ve broken under the stress eventually.”

I thought about Tina’s words for a second. “Don’t we all?” I sighed as I climbed in the car and left Trish behind.





Chapter 34: Max


Surprisingly, The Virgin Mary and I got along incredibly well. So well, in fact, that I was beginning to feel a little guilty for putting the words “The Virgin” in front of her name every time I thought of her. She was sweet, kind, and unbelievably generous to everyone and everything. She was the kind of person who would take home a doggie bag of scraps from a restaurant to give to stray cats and squirrels. Correction: She wasn’t the kind of person who did that. She actually did do that. On several occasions.

We did our best to get together when we could, but with her new magazine just getting off the ground, her time was limited. Though somehow, with what little time she had, she still managed to give back to others. Volunteer work. Why the f*ck hadn’t I thought of that when I’d been jerking around (literally) for the past four months?

The truth was, Mary’s philanthropic nature only left me feeling like more of a loser than I already thought I was. If someone so busy could find the time to give back to the community, surely I could at least help her give back. Maybe we’d go pet some puppies at a local SPCA, or organize a beef and beer somewhere. That’s charity, right?

So when I expressed my newfound desire to be Philadelphia’s Mother Teresa, Mary said she was more than willing to show me the ropes. In the middle of April, she planned to go to The Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia to help with an Easter egg hunt. When I arrived with her for our “date,” and laid eyes on the patients, I couldn’t decide if I wanted to stay, or turn around and take the elevator back down to the lobby and run through the streets screaming. I knew that was a douchebag thing to even think, let alone give serious thought to actually doing it.

But despite the fact that a thirty-year-old man shouldn’t be shocked to see a few sick kids, I hadn’t been prepared for what I’d encounter. All of the children on the floor required long-term care. Most of them had already been there for months, and probably had the same amount of time—if not more—ahead of them. Some, Mary had told me, would never come out at all.

The hospital had sufficiently set the wing up to feel more like a home than a hospital. With brightly colored murals painted on most of the walls, several game rooms for kids of all ages, and nurses who treated the children like their own sons and daughters, it was almost easy to forget you were in a hospital.

Almost. What I couldn’t ignore were the IV poles that these kids had to pull with them when they walked down the hall to the game room, or the wheelchairs that needed to be pushed by someone who was bigger and not as weak as they were.

I did my best to have some fun with them, playing PlayStation with a few of the older boys and speaking in a horrible British accent after inhaling the helium from some of the “get well soon” balloons. Though I did manage to elicit some genuine laughs from those around me, I clearly didn’t have the natural connection with these kids that Mary had. One day she’ll make a damn good mother.

With no more than a smile and a slight hug, she could make anyone around her feel loved, including me. Just when I thought I was impossible to love, Mary was slowly changing my mind.

The only problem was, I couldn’t figure out if I’d ever be able to love her back.

***

A week passed, and so did Easter. I spent it stuffing my face with ham, macaroni and cheese, and scalloped potatoes at my parents’. And The Virgin Mary spent hers dolling out ladles of soup at a homeless shelter in the city. Sounds about right.

I was beginning to think that the reason our relationship felt so unbalanced was because it was. Mary had so many things going for her. She and her friend had gotten the magazine up and running, and it was gradually beginning to take off. She’d landed a few solid interviews with some pretty big sports names in town, and her connections in the business were steadily growing.