Free Clearer in the Night by Rebecca Croteau

about you and your mom for a long time. Things have been hard for the both of you for longer than is fair.”
    And that was the understatement of the year. There was something refreshing about being here, about knowing that he already knew the whole story, and that I would never watch as he absorbed the truth of my life, watch as his expression turned from interest to pity. Or, worse than that, fear that a tragedy like that could happen to him, too. And yet, people wondered why I opted for anonymous connections. It was so much easier not to have to explain. To just be a beautiful girl who loved to dance. To never watch that change happen.
    There was no pity in Eli’s eyes, though, no overwhelming urge to comfort. He just watched me, waiting. It was…nice. Safe. “Whatever,” I said. “It’s life. I’m just staying with her for a few days, until she believes I’m not about to die on her, and then it’s back to normal.”
    “Okay,” he said, in the kind of quiet, neutral voice that you use on suicide hotlines and people about to jump off bridges. “Try the book, when you get a chance. I think you’ll find it interesting.” He stood up, brushed himself off, and offered me a hand up.
    “You keep giving me reading assignments,” I said, but I took his hand and let him pull me up. Somehow, I ended up very close to him, and it would have been the most natural thing in the world for him to put a hand on my waist and close the distance, pressing his lips against mine. He didn’t, though, just smiled softly, and this time, his eyes warmed up, just a little.
    “Hard habit to break,” he said. I quirked my head sideways, not quite trusting myself to speak. “I teach. High school math.”
    I was still holding his hand. I was holding his hand, and there was something, passing back and forth between us. My heart was climbing up into my throat, my belly bursting with little sparkles. I took a deep breath, imagined kissing him, hard and hot, and then I let his hand go. I tried to keep the sorrow off my face as the connection faded, and I took a step back. There was no zing. He was not a guy I was allowed to zing for. He already knew too much about me. And there was no point in pretending I was worth caring about, if you knew everything there was to know.
    “I guess I’ll see you around,” I said.
    He nodded. “At church.” It was an invitation and a statement.
    “Sure,” I said. I hadn’t been in years, not since I’d gone to college, and stopped teaching the little kids’ Sunday school class. They said they were open to everyone, but even that had to have limits. I was sure of it.
    I didn’t want to run anymore. But I didn’t want to go home. I walked past him, smiling, and headed down the road. I’d catch a bus into town, and head in to work. I’d explain to Sarah, my boss, what was going on, and beg for a few days off. She’d understand. Probably.
    A dozen steps along the road, I glanced back. I thought he’d still be there, watching me, but no. He was gone to wherever perfect men go when the women who don’t deserve them walk away.

    The barista job I’d come by the usual way, but the job at Rainbow Playschool had been a complete favor, and I’d gotten it through church. When I’d gone to our pastor, Pam, to let her know that I wouldn’t be able to keep up with teaching Sunday School because of my course load at school, she’d given me a sad look that was about way more than Sunday School.
    “Are you sure, Cait?” she’d asked, and I’d forced a smile.
    “Yeah. The kids aren’t getting enough of my attention, and neither is my school work. I need to work to be able to have some spending money, and there just aren’t enough hours in the day.”
    I was lying, and we both knew it, but she was good at her job, and didn’t call me on it. “You get a lot of joy from working with kids,” she said. “And you’re good at it. You know what they need almost before they do. That’s a gift,