24. Niles

Chapter twenty-four

Niles

W inter in Ontario was a swinging pendulum. Freezing and snowy one day, with low gray clouds and nasty north wind. Mild and slushy the next, with bright skies and rich scents of earth.

The weeks through January and February were filled with lazy weekend slumber parties—at August’s house since he couldn’t leave his daughter unattended—where we stoked a fire in the fireplace to stay warm and lounged in pajamas, reading, listening to our favorite pieces of classical music, and playing duets on the piano. August cooked extravagant meals, we talked long into the night, and spent a comfortable amount of time in bed, sharing carnal pleasures that grew more intimate by the day.

We worried less about the know-it-all teenager down the hall since she’d made it clear our clandestine affair wasn’t fooling anyone, least of all her. It was true. Timber Creek faculty had figured out our secret, but no one had called us on our relationship, and I wondered how August might react if they did.

We went on several dates, to the jazz bar, to a film festival, and once to see the Toronto Symphony play at Roy Thompson Hall. Constance had attended a few doctor’s appointments that involved extensive testing to be sure her cancer was under control, and twice, August had visited Rock Glen Treatment Facility to see Chloé and meet with the team of doctors to discuss her upcoming release plan.

Constance didn’t talk to her dad for a week when he refused her request to join him.

In the classroom, we’d found a balance, teaching side by side and preparing for the spring concert in May. August challenged the band with complex pieces I would never have been brave enough to tackle. August was a stickler for perfection, and his lessons tended to come across harsher than he intended. I wasn’t sure if the students were having fun or were too busy trying to please the maestro.

I’d learned to embrace the ruthless side of August, especially when the well-meant criticism was aimed in my direction, but students had their feelings hurt easily, so I’d needed to mend a few figurative bruises.

We grew closer, as was inevitable. Not only had I bonded with August, but I’d also connected with Constance in a way that went beyond a teacher-student relationship. She came to me with things she should have taken to her father. She confided in me in a way a teenager might a parent. It left me flattered and concerned. Her words from early January were never far from my mind.

He’ll leave us both behind eventually. He says he cares, but he doesn’t. He’s selfish like that.

Constance had suggested that August didn’t know how to love, and although neither of us had shared the sentiment out loud, I was certain we both felt it. My personal barriers had crumbled long ago, but I refused to bear my heart and call it what it was, from stubbornness or fear, I wasn’t sure.

The first of March, Chloé’s official release from Rock Glen, landed on a Saturday. After a feud of endless shouting—“You’re not coming, and that’s final. The court denied her application for a custody review. That means no, Constance. No! That means I’m in charge and get to decide what’s best for you. Seeing your addict mother is a disaster waiting to happen. She almost got you killed. Why is that so hard to remember?”—followed by a toddler-worthy tantrum of thrown objects and door slamming since Constance remained nonverbal, and all the sign language vitriol she spewed went over August’s head since he refused to learn it. I eventually convinced the flustered Maestro to leave, assuring him I would deal with Constance on my own.

“She’s an ungrateful brat,” he yelled into the house as I forced his coat and scarf into his arms and shoved him out the door.

“You can’t call her that.”

“I just did.”

“Grow up, August,” I hissed, getting in his face. “She’s fourteen and misses her mother. She doesn’t understand the complexity of addiction. All she sees is a man who has claimed the role of father and is keeping her away from the only parent she’s ever known.”

“I’m not claiming it. I am her father.”

“Then act like it. You play the game well enough, but your heart isn’t in it, and she’s too smart not to notice.”

August’s nostrils flared, but he donned his coat and angrily hung the winter scarf around his neck, fastening neither. Pacing, he stopped a few feet from the front door, face turned to the cloudy sky. The breeze rustled his hair as he closed his eyes. Good. He needed to cool off.

“I don’t know how to do this, Niles.”

“Yes, you do. You’re just too goddamned stubborn to try. It’s been five months. Stop acting like she’s an inconvenience unless you’re prepared to give her back to her mother or put her in foster care, and I know you don’t want either.”

Beaten and sagging under the weight of stress, August approached, looking for all the world like a kicked dog seeking forgiveness. “She hates me.”

“She’s confused.”

“Am I doing the right thing? Not letting her come with me?”

I didn’t know the answer. As an outsider, I had the unique perspective of seeing both sides. “I believe you’re doing what you feel in your heart is right.”

He huffed. “That’s not reassuring. My heart is a poor compass.”

I straightened his tie—perpetually ill-knotted and askew—and wound the cashmere scarf around his neck, securing it properly, then I buttoned his wool coat and smoothed my palm over the collar. “You look handsome.”

“Give me guidance. Please.”

I sighed. “I don’t know what to say. From my perspective, you need to sort yourself out. You can’t make excuses forever. Life may have thrown you multiple curveballs, but you can’t keep passing blame. You’re the father to a beautiful, intelligent young woman who is going through a lot right now. Battling cancer, accepting a physical disability, losing a mother to addiction, and living with a father who has never been part of her life.

“She’s moody and angry and will drive you up the wall daily. The likelihood is she doesn’t know why she feels the way she does. And yes, she’s targeted you. She unjustly blames you for all of it. In her mind, you’re the adult who waltzed into her life and turned it upside down, but you’re also a safe person, the one to whom she can vent all that anger. Give her grace. Give her time.”

August stared at the front door to the cottage. “I don’t know how long I’ll be.”

“I’ve got this.”

His attention returned to me. “We should do something tonight.”

“See how you feel when you get home.” I kissed him, and August leaned into the connection, resting a hand on my hip as though needing the security, the stability.

“Thank you,” he breathed against my mouth.

“I haven’t done anything.”

“You’ve done more than you know.”

I returned inside once he left and ventured down the hall to Constance’s room, knocking. “He’s gone. I’m going to scramble some eggs for breakfast. There might even be bacon. Do you want to join me?”

She opened the door, eyes red-rimmed, cheeks damp and flush. Her lower lip wobbled once, and before I could prepare, she launched into my arms, sobbing silently against my chest. With Chloé’s release, the illusion had shattered. Constance’s mother hadn’t been away on a holiday. She wasn’t coming home to rescue her daughter from the father she barely knew. Chloé was a sick woman who had made grievous mistakes, and sadly, the people suffering most were the ones who didn’t deserve it.

It took an age to calm Constance. Once the tears stopped, I guided her to the kitchen and made hot chocolate. Instead of eggs, Constance requested cinnamon French toast. I wasn’t a chef like August or Koa, but it was simple enough that I whipped it together in no time. We drowned it in maple syrup and gorged until we were stuffed.

“Are you okay?” Our plates were empty, and Constance’s eyes shone brighter.

She nodded, focusing on her sticky plate as she drew pictures with the fork’s tines in the remaining puddle of syrup.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She remained silent. I waited, but after a time, decided it was best not to push and stood to clear the table.

A dorm room opened up. They offered it to me.

I sat back down, a flutter of anticipation sending my heart off rhythm.

Constance looked up. He didn’t tell you?

“No.”

He’s going to leave now. Mom’s out of rehab, so his obligation to her is over. The judge granted him indefinite full custody, so that’s settled. With a dorm available, he can return to Chicago early. It’s what he’s been waiting for.

Choosing my words carefully, I reached out and took Constance’s hand. “I don’t believe that’s going to happen. Not yet. He’s going to be sure you’re settled first. He won’t move you into the dorm and run. Plus, he’s been planning for the spring concert since he showed up. He’s not going to abandon that responsibility.”

Autumn, I’d told myself. August would stay until September. He couldn’t leave at the start of summer because school was out and Timber Creek closed its doors, including the dorm rooms. Constance would have nowhere to go. No. He would stay with her at the cottage until the start of the new school year.

He would stay with me because…

Because why?

He could easily jump ship early and abandon the concert. Abandon me. He could bring Constance to Chicago over the summer and forget the upheaval I’d caused in his life for good. He’d never made promises. He’d never admitted to falling in love.

For months, we’d pretended at a relationship, but I’d known all along it was temporary.

Constance looked as miserable as I felt. I didn’t know what to do, for her or for myself. A sick wash of shame turned the food in my stomach. I was a fool to have believed in anything more.

Constance wasn’t the only one waking up from an illusionary future.

“I say we forget about the dishes and go to the bookstore or the mall. I don’t know about you, but I need some retail therapy. My treat.”

A weak smile turned her mouth, and she nodded.

***

August returned in the late afternoon looking like a man beaten. He requested time alone with his daughter. “We have things to resolve. Do you think she’ll be open to having a conversation?”

He glanced down the hallway to Constance’s room, where the mellow tone of a sweet violin piece filled the air. Instead of a bookstore, we’d ended up browsing three different music stores in town. Constance had selected a few new compositions and had been eager to play when we got home.

“She was upset this morning, but she’s in better spirits. I may or may not have spent a fortune cheering her up today.”

August turned a smile in my direction. “Oh? Buying her affection, I see. I’ll never win at this rate.”

“It’s not a competition. Besides, shopping will cheer up any teen, provided you select the right store.”

He chuckled. “New music?”

“Yep. How did it go today?”

The smile faded, replaced by exhaustion. “As well as I expected.”

He offered no more information, so I let it go. His connection to Chloé was a sore spot, and he’d had an especially trying day. I wanted to ask about the dorm room and his plans, but it wasn’t the time, nor was I ready to hear the answer.

I left August’s house and drove directly to Koa’s, my insides twisted and my head full of anxious thoughts.

Jersey answered the door, glass of wine in hand. The second he saw me, relief filled his face. “Oh, thank god. Here.” He shoved the wine in my hand and ushered me down the hall. “He’s in the kitchen and ranting about something… existential. It could be about a book. I’m not sure. Is satire a book?”

“Satire? Koa doesn’t gravitate to satire.”

“No, wait. Sartre? Is that right?”

“That makes more sense. Sartre is a philosopher and author. He wrote essays about existentialism and—”

“Stop. No more. I’ve been nodding and smiling for close to twenty minutes on the subject already. Koa’s onto me.”

Chuckling, I gratefully sipped the wine. “You signed up for this, Jersey. I paid my dues.”

“At least you understand that crap. I swear my brain shuts off the minute he gets going.”

Jersey snagged my shirt sleeve, halting me before I entered the kitchen. “Can you grab me a beer from the fridge? Slyly hand it to me, and I’ll slink away.”

“You should be ashamed.”

“I am. Now save me.”

I found Koa at the kitchen island, a spread of papers I recognized as students’ assignments in front of him.

“Reading satirical essays, I hear.”

Koa guffawed. “I would never.” He tapped one of the papers. “We’re studying existentialism.”

“That unit never fails to give you grief.” I slipped onto the stool opposite. “Why do you allow your students this level of suffering?”

“Suffering? It’s me who suffers. Listen to this nonsense.” He plucked a page from the pile and put on his reading glasses.

“No. Stop.” I removed the paper from his hand. “Forget your students for five seconds. It’s my turn to have an existential crisis. I didn’t come here to listen to you gripe about how misunderstood Dostoevsky is.”

“We’re studying Nietzsche.”

“Same difference.”

Koa managed to look aghast and insulted simultaneously.

“Beer,” Jersey hissed from the hallway. “You forgot the beer.”

“Get your own damn beer. I’m not your maid, for god’s sake.”

“There is no god,” Koa said. “And in what universe are Nietzsche and Dostoevsky the same? The two men were—”

“Stop. Can we please focus on my problems?” I circled my face with a finger. “Right here. Twenty-first-century existential crisis in the making. Study me, not them. Please. I need help.”

“You aren’t having an existential crisis.”

“I am. You don’t know the half of it.”

Jersey slinked in and retrieved a beer from the fridge. Koa eyed him but turned back to me once he left. “Is this about the undying love you can’t admit harboring for the maestro?”

“That’s not fair. I’ve tried really hard not to fall for him.”

“And it didn’t work.”

“No.”

“Shocking.”

“Shut up, Koa. I’m the post-Christmas Grinch with a heart too big for his chest. It’s my fatal flaw.”

“Unusual. A fatal flaw typically—”

I waved a hand, shushing him. “Stop being an English teacher for five seconds. I beg you.”

Koa, seeming almost amused, sipped his wine. “What’s the issue?”

“I’m in love with August, but he has one foot out the door. I’m forty-four, and I can’t have my heart broken again. I won’t survive it. Only, I don’t know how to keep him.”

“He’s not going anywhere. His daughter is—”

“Moving into a dorm room. When he leaves, this is over, and I’m shattered. Again.”

“Why would it be over?”

Koa didn’t know the half of it, so as I finished Jersey’s wine and helped myself to a fresh glass, I told him everything I’d withheld about August’s fear of being out, about his fragile relationship with his daughter and her conviction that he wasn’t sticking around, about his nonexistent past relationships.

“Does he love you?” Koa’s words stabbed a tender part of my soul.

“I think so. More than you ever did.”

“Has he told you?”

“No. Men seem to enjoy making me suffer.”

Koa couldn’t meet my eyes. He glanced at the spread of assignments on the table, wearing an expression of guilt and sorrow.

“Is there something wrong with me, Koa? Why is it that the men who love me can’t properly love me? Am I destined to be alone forever? To be constantly heartbroken?”

It wasn’t fair to voice these thoughts to Koa. He had never pretended to love me. He had never lied.

In fact, neither had August. He’d been honest about his position and plans from day one. Not once had he promised to stay and love me back. Not once had he suggested canceling his return to Chicago.

I slid the half-empty wine glass away and stood. “Never mind. I gotta go.”

“Niles,” Koa called as I made my way to the front door.

I ignored him, grabbed my coat, and left.