I Remember You by Holly Schindler

Author:Holly Schindler
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Holly Schindler, LLC
Published: 2018-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

25.

Geena’s eyes blurred as she tried to read yet another student essay. Usually, grading final essays was delicious. She knew other professors at her university considered it something of a burden—it was understandable, really. At that point, so late in the semester, everyone was worn out. They were ready for a breather, not a stack of term papers that stretched from the floor to their knees.

But Geena considered it a reward. Here they were, four classes of students who were writing better, thinking more clearly, understanding what they read in a new way. It was the sign of time well spent. She had made her mark. Her students would go on to write better papers in whatever discipline they’d chosen to major in. Maybe go to grad school, like she did. Go on to teach their own classes and see proof, at the end of each semester, of their own time well spent.

She especially loved that last idea.

This semester, though, she was sitting at her childhood kitchen table. The house was uncomfortably still. Eerily quiet. It would never be unquiet. Her thoughts kept pinballing, making it hard to concentrate.

Her father was dead. It was still hard to wrap her brain around that fact. He wasn’t gone for a week. He wasn’t upstairs sleeping off a double shift. This was the beginning of a new life, a life minus her dad, the police officer and all-around tough guy who would take care of…well, anything, really. Without a second thought or grumble.

Here she was, alone, on the tightrope of life, without a net or a long pole for balance.

The funny thing was—if funny was even the right word—she hadn’t realized how much she had still been depending on him. Here, well into her forties, a grown woman on her own. In the back of her mind, she had always known that he would be there in case. Should she have a legal problem or a boyfriend problem or even not get a teaching contract renewed. She could always come home—which was exactly what she’d done during one particularly disastrous semester at the height of the recession, claiming to be on “sabbatical” when the truth was that no one was hiring profs with her particular expertise. She’d stayed up in her old room, working morning to night, seeing no one but her father, writing new papers to submit to journals, snagging freelance editing jobs, and networking, networking—constantly networking, until finally landing a position in Vermont.

Her father had been there for her that fall. He would, she’d always known, be there for her again.

Until now.

The phone rang. Geena checked the clock on the computer, shocked to find that it was dinnertime. Her mother always called the house at dinnertime.

“Hey, Mom,” she greeted.

“Geena,” her mother said, sounding a little breathless. “How are you, dear?”

“I’m—fine. Lots of papers left, so—”

“You’re still grading?”

“Yes, so I’d better—”

“You’ve never taken this long to grade final essays.”

“Which is why I need to—”

“I’m flying up there.”

“Oh, Mom, please. That’s unnecessary. I—”

“Geena. You can’t be comfortable all by yourself in your father’s house.

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