The Fire Drill

I don’t know how much longer I can do this.

My fingertips slide over lace, armor for this latest war. His tongue maps my jaw, bitten and sore, with whisper-soft kisses. His breath, sharp and warm, tingles the shell of my ear. I trace a path along the corded ridge of his shoulder, heated under my touch. Tears cloud his sea green eyes and slide down his honey-colored cheek. I catch the drop with my thumb and press my bottom lip to his forehead.

“I’d miss this if you stop, Cassi. ”The corners of his mouth twitch upward, and he kisses me again, just below my lips. “I want to know who you are..”

I count my breaths and inhale to tamp down a swarm of butterflies in my stomach. “You know me. I’m not going anywhere, babe.”

My eyes slip shut. He groans and shudders through what seems like a never-ending release, my name tumbling from his lips, I shimmy away and drape the duvet over my client’s sleeping form, soft snores drift through the dark, frigid room.

In the en suite, I splash my face and stretch my maxi dress over my head and breeze past the vanity mirror. A creak of the mattress, and a slow, heavy exhale halt my retreat.

“You were gonna leave without a good night?” I wither under the spotlight of his wide green eyes.

“I’m sorry.” I drum a chipped nail on my purse strap. “It was good to see you tonight.”

“Do you really need to leave now? We could go out, if you want.” He leans into the scarred wooden headboard, a curious smirk playing on full lips.

Before I can stop myself, I say, “Thank you for the offer, but it’s not a good idea.”

His face falls, and a crease between his thick brows appears. “You do have a boyfriend.”

My stomach bubbles, and I sweep my eyes across dark blue shag carpet. I need to leave now, if I want to shower and sleep before midnight. If I say the wrong thing, and lose him, I’ll have to find a replacement to make up the difference.

“Aren’t you curious tonight.” An itch in my throat blooms, and I look away. “Again I appreciate the thought, but I really should—”

I shrink back at the swing of his feet and rustling of the bedding. “Cassi, I know you may not believe this, but I meant what I said earlier.” I take another step back until my elbow bumps the wall. His palm steadies me, and warmth floods my veins where our skin meets.

“We don’t have a see-you-in-the-afternoon thing here.”

My arm tingles under his fingertip. "But couldn’t we, though?”

I trace a pattern on the table. My temple throbs harder. I need fresh air and a stiff drink.

“I really need to go. See you soon.” The door clicks behind me, and I hurry down the sidewalk, the blink of the traffic signal reflects on the still-scorching pavement. My heels clack a syncopated rhythm with vehicle horns and percussion wafting from the sidewalk, the soundtrack of another late Saturday night.

I’m a block from my place when I feel more than hear the tread of steps just past my shoulder.

“I can walk you home, if you’d like.” I turn and look into the kind, brown eyes of a man old enough to be my father, silver threading his full hairline, a gold band on his ring finger.

I clutch the strap of my handbag and plaster a half-smile on my parched lips. “I appreciate the offer, but it’s right down the way.” I tilt my head toward the opposite side of the street.

He shakes his head, a smattering of crow’s feet appear. “If you were my wife…”

I wave and walk away, a salty breeze swirling on my gritty neck. My key turns the lock of the door to my building, the best sound I've heard all night.

A jaunt upstairs later, I peel off the camisole, not unlike a grotesque disguise I’d run from in a haunted house. I’m grateful for the tepid spray of water that feels like forgiveness and safety.

I wake up two hours later, my cheeks on fire with streaks of bitterness and loathing. I trace my lips, parched yet tender. I never intended to make this a second career. I fear that if I don’t stop, I may not have this one or the other. A chill races down my spine, as the ghost of his fingertips murmurs on my rose-scented skin.

My alarm sounds on Monday, and I rush to shower and dress for work, the second week back from the long break. I’m excited to see them again today, smiles and stories that make it all worthwhile. I bolt down the tomb-quiet stairs and out I can make it if I don’t stop.

A breeze ruffles the hairs beside my cheek, and I glide down the sidewalk, cradled in my tattered high-tops and ankle-length cotton skirt.

When I arrive, I flash my badge and tug the heavy wooden door.

“Good Morning, Miss Stevens. Good to see you.” Marty waves, a grimace on his kind, round face.

I affix the clip of my badge on the edge of my polo, still crisp in the humidity. “How was your weekend?’

He shrugs and waves in a parent with a pig-tailed toddler on her hip, a sibling with a Hello Kitty backpack weighing her down. “Can’t complain. Caught the game. Yankees lost again.”

“They’ll get ‘em next time. Have a good one.” A pair of girls from the room next door to mine rush past, the clink of charms and clang of hydro flasks startle me.

Marty lays a warm fleshy palm beside my neck. “Fire drill this morning.” His whisper caresses the shell of my ear, and my heart thumps an uneven note, an echo of the night before. A bead of sweat pops out, rolls past my collar. My knees buckle as I remember his lips.

“Are you OK? Acacia?” Marty grasps the knob of my wrist.

“I’ll be fine.” I wave at him again, and weave my way to my open door.

Five minutes brings about a booted-up device, a sheaf of papers fanned across crayon-streaked tables, and an agenda for our day listed on the whiteboard, smudged and filled with new words read by my sweet-faced cherub charges.

Squeaky giggles follow pledges and affirmations. I feel my cheeks widen as I drift through the space, and my heart swelling with pride and affection at every sweet word and hug.

I can’t imagine doing anything different.

I’m knee deep in construction paper creations when the acrid scent fills my nose.

3, 6, 9, 12, 15, 16, 17…but I don’t get to 18.

“Class, where is Joseph?” I sweep my gaze to the corkboard with their ID tags. His lanyard is missing, but I can’t remember seeing him during greeting time. The squawk from the alarm throws the tiny bodies into controlled quick motion.

“He was here, Miss Stevens, he was at the table, but Mrs. Turner came in.” Susie, my mini-me in braids, teeters in pink high-tops, a pinch between her bushy-worm brows.

“OK, sweetie.” I grab my emergency binder and pen from the clipboard affixed to my bunker wall. “Remember to walk, friends.”

I crack the door and lead them toward the flow of other kinder classes to the courtyard.

“Caci, are you OK?” My neighbor, Marcia, an ageless wonder of a beloved grandma-type veteran, brushes my arm. “Joseph missing again?”

I shake my head. “Why do they pull him and not tell me?”

Marcia chuckles. “You know them. Go check, I’ve got them.”

My shoes slide across the waxy buildup and catch myself before I fall. Our principal appears, with my student, his polo shirt askew and tiny shorts, wrinkled and spotted, and another figure that sends my heart into a double-time sprint.

“Acacia, I’ve got someone here I think you probably want to see.” I nod, but my eyes drift to the visitor in the turnout gear, his saucer-wide sea green eyes blink slowly like when we’re in bed.

My throat burns, and a small plume of smoke behind the trio catches my eye. I take a sip of heavy air. “I was reading with my group when I noticed him missing.”

“Because Joseph has been busy this morning.” Mrs. Turner tilts her expert coif to the fire fighter. “We’re grateful for Captain Leeland and his crew taking care of us this morning.”

She releases Joseph, who hides in the folds of my skirt. “I’m sorry, Miss Stevens.”

I grasp his elbow and head outside. I feel more than hear the captain move behind me, the heat from his body flowing through me as I exit to join my class.

“Miss Stevens?” His smooth voice, honey over cool rocks, trickles in my ear. I quicken my pace, and Joseph’s fingers slip from my hold.

The drum just beneath my eyes and heat in my cheeks crave the comfort of his fingers, and the cool swell of air offers a small reprieve. I turn in the doorway. “Thank you very much, sir. I appreciate your help.”

I sway, and press my feet in my shoes to steady myself under his gaze. His smile is the most beautiful one I’ve ever seen, the crinkles around his eyes more pronounced, adding to how good he looks.

“Well, I guess I can’t say I’m not happy to see you again.” He steps closer, and I hold my ground.

“I really should get out there.” I tilt my head toward the courtyard.

“We should talk? Meet me later, after school?” I don’t miss his wink.

A glance across the array of teachers with their classes, shushing and counting them, brings me back to the present. Marcia tugs Joseph to the head of the line, and she points at him, a knowing smirk on her full lips.

“Miss Stevens?” A shard of fear lands at the bottom of my stomach.

“Yes ma’am?”

Mrs. Turner turns to him. “Thank you, Captain. Joseph’s parents will be contacted, and I assure you this will never happen again.” She looks between us, then says to me, “Stop by at your break. A quick word?”

“I will, Mrs. Turner.” When she’s down the hall, I look up at him. “I’ll message you a place. 5 ok?”

I nod and don’t watch him walk away, as our principal compliments the swift evacuation.

My charges reappear, led by Marcia, and a few teachers sweep their gazes across the tableau of brave firefighter and demure kindergarten teacher slash part-time sex worker in deep conversation as they pass us.

Marcia sidles up to me when she leads my class to me. Joseph clutches my hand, his eyes red and brimming with unshed tears.

“I’m sorry I lit the matches, Miss Stevens.” His voice rises barely above a whisper.

I squeeze his palm. “I know, and I’m glad you’re safe.”

Marcia inserts her wide frame between Joseph and me, “So you’re not gonna tell me?”

I squint and stop beside my door, and the children squirm and chatter. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Your new guy.”

“He’s just a friend, nothing more.”

Marcia clasps my elbow. “Doesn’t look that way to us, especially me.”

I chuckle, a desperate attempt to hide the way my heart kickstarts. “It’s not serious.”

“For you.” Marcia squeezes then releases, and sashays toward her corner, her class in perfect formation behind her.

The rest of the day becomes a blur of songs, artwork, and games. I love my job, because I adore this place, light and love infused into every tile and heart.

The other thing—it’s just for me, or at least it started that way. Care and comfort by another name, to help my clients release their fears and worries.

But now, with him, it’s something else, and I’m sick with guilt about my choice.

I’m almost out the door at 4:00 when I remember. My steps resound as I hustle to my boss’s office. She’s on the phone and beckons me to sit. I inhale and count my breaths.

“Acacia, I just want you to know. You’re not in trouble, but I’m concerned.”

I press my hand against the arms of the chair to ground myself. “I didn’t realize he was with you, just kinda distracted today.”

Mrs. Turner shakes her head. “You were teaching and I took him. That’s not what this is about.”

My eyebrows twitch, and my stomach bubbles, in fear or hunger. “OK.”

She rises, her jacket flying behind her as she eases the door closed. Then, she sits beside me, her citrus scent a reminder of what my sister wears. “Acacia, how are you doing? Really?”

An itch of recognition creeps across my back. “I guess I’m tired, it was a long summer.”

She nods and leans forward. “I saw something earlier, with our visitor. Of you.”

I close my mouth and cross my ankles. Is this really happening? Did he tell her? Did he….?

“I caught a glance of an image on Mr. Leeland’s lock screen, of you, in a very revealing bit of attire.” She folds her hands and holds my gaze. “Whatever you do in your personal life is yours, as long as it’s separate from what you do here.”

“I understand.”

“Just be careful, dear.” She lays a warm hand on mine, and my shoulders sag in relief.

When I leave a few minutes later, my phone chirps. Meet me at Lucy’s?

I pocket my device and start my walk home. Halfway down the street, the phone rings.

“Are you coming?” A rush of adrenaline surges through me.

“Kyle, we shouldn’t do this. My principal saw the picture you took on your phone.”

A slow exhale. Snatches of conversation play over the whoosh of wind around him. “I know you’re angry, but I miss you. I snapped it so I could see you. I apologize, Cassi.”

“My name is Acacia, and you don’t really want to know me.” I pause under the awning of the cafe across from my building.

“But I do. My lips are sealed— I’d never tell anyone about what’s happened between us. You are the best part of my week. Please meet me.” The desperation in his tone is compelling. If any other client had done that behind my back, I’d drop him in a heartbeat.

But I won't do that. I’ve known what this is for sometime now. Somehow, I’ll need to learn to stand the sight of myself, unmasked and unafraid.

I cross the street and see him leaning against the door.

Kyle drops the phone to his side, shoulders suspended in a shrug. My pulse slows when his fingers graze my hand. “I didn’t follow you, Acacia.”

Our eyes meet, and I'm done with pretending. I can’t help the grin as it spreads across my face.

I don’t know if I can do this, but I want to try.