Page 98 of Loving at 40

When my phone buzzes in my palm, I nearly drop it, fumbling the device as if I don’t recognize the vibration at first. Eventually, a quivering thumb hits accept on the call I’ve been waiting on.

“Jenna.” My name is a breath of air.

“Archer, where are you?”

“Where are you?” he asks, ignoring the panic in my question. Quickly, I tell him the meetup location. “Stay.” The connection drops, and while I could be upset at his one-word command, I’m not.

Within minutes, I see Archer limping quickly across the empty field, heading to the corner where I stand with Leon, Tricia, and the milling students. Everything in my head says run to him, yet I’m frozen in place. My heart races, but my brain keeps me stationary. I’ve shut down while processing I should be moving. Then my eyes catch on his forehead, where a large bandage covers half his skin. My focus fixates on that bandage, white and bright with a deep red-colored center.

Soon enough, Archer is before me, stalking into my personal space and cupping the back of my head to bring me in for a searing kiss. Despite students. Despite Leon and Tricia. He kisses me, and everything in that kiss tells me what I most need to know.

He’s alive. He’s okay.

His hand slips down my neck and over my sweater, pausing where just above my left breast, feeling my heart racing. He isn’t close enough. I need his hands on my skin. I need to feel the connection between us.

“What happened?” I ask when he pulls away and rubs his nose along mine. He looks at me, still holding the back of my head, and my eyes leap to the bandage. Shaky fingers reach for it, but I’m afraid to touch him.

“You shouldn’t stay here.” His eyes shift left and right, noting the students within hearing range. My thoughts race with more scenarios than I should consider. Archer’s hand catches my fingers, lifting them to his mouth. He breathes warm air over them before he mutters. “You’re fucking freezing.”

The cold is slowly hitting me along with relief and shock. I’m trembling uncontrollably. I can’t seem to take my eyes off the bandage on his forehead.

“Let’s get you out of here,” he says, tugging me forward.

“Wait.” I tug back. “The kids.” Some don’t want to leave, lingering even in the presence of their parents, hanging about to offer comfort to one another without even knowing what’s actually happened. However, they need to vacate the area for their safety. Plus, I can’t leave until they clear out.

“Time to head home, guys,” Archer calls out. “An email with information will be coming tonight.”

“What happened?” Leon demands, stepping closer to Archer. His large leather jacket is draped around Tricia as well as his arms.

“I need to get back.” Archer tips his head toward the school. “But I want you to go home.” He directs to me before looking up at Leon and Tricia. “Take her home for me.”

Leon gives Archer a long look before nodding once.

+ + +

Almost an hour later, Archer arrives at the house. I’ve hugged my girls a hundred times in those sixty minutes, almost afraid to let them out of my sight. I need to remind myself over and over again it wasn’t Talia’s elementary school, and Rosie was at the sitter’s.

Leon and Tricia join me in my living room after having taken their kids to her mother’s. Archer falls into a small chair in the room while Tricia and I remain on the couch. Leon has Tricia tucked tight to his side.

“You know I shouldn’t be telling you anything as he’s a minor, so I’m sharing in the strictest of confidence,” Archer begins. His gaze falls to Tricia and Leon for a second, silently accepting they won’t tell anyone what has happened. “It was Brad Collins. He pulled a gun on the social worker.”

Tricia gasps. My eyes well with tears.

Before I can ask the W-questions, Archer continues. “I’d taken him into the library. They had us meet in this tiny little room that felt more like an interrogation room than a place for a mentor and student to bond.”

Tricia and I glance at one another, knowing the room well enough. The former closet is cold and unfriendly and used for sensitive cases.

“I walked him up to the desk where she sat, but something made me look back before I left the library. He aimed directly at her.”

Tricia grabs one of my hands while I cover my mouth with the other, fighting the bile rising in my throat. Mindy Tarlosa is so sweet, and she works hard to help our students. She’s had some difficult cases in the past ten years as teen suicides rise and the number of students with depression increases.

“How did he have a gun?” Leon demands.

We don’t have metal detectors at our school. We didn’t want them despite a major school shooting years ago. We trusted in our system.

“It was in his laptop bag.” Archer’s voice drops to incredulous while he shakes his head disapprovingly.

“After warning the others in the library, chaos ensued. I’m surprised how many kids dove under tables, flipping them as barricades. It’s almost sad how these future adults knew what to do as if they were on a battlefield,” Archer adds. “Brad didn’t seem as concerned with them. His aim was the social worker. Keeping calm, I tried to talk him down, telling him he didn’t want to do anything rash. He didn’t want to risk more trouble. He didn’t want to go to jail.”