When the doors started opening about ninety minutes later, signaling the end of the first class, he had her lunch box out and waiting. He saw her emerge, find him, and her already encouragingly happy expression brightened. She started talking to him about ten feet away.
“Did you know that the Constitution came from a document signed almost a thousand years ago? The Magna Carta…”
Since she’d never obtained a high school diploma, getting her general credits to qualify for that was her first step in community college. He’d graduated middle of his class, an indifferent student. Even his friends who were much better students had seen school as a social outlet and the means to get into a good college. The adult students here, working their classes in between work and kids, were climbing a ladder to better opportunities.
How many of them had ever set all that aside long enough to be as delighted as Daralyn was, simply for the chance to sit in a classroom and learn?
Was it the sadism of fate that had put a woman with her intelligence in such a terrible position for most of her childhood? Or had it been a gift of mercy that helped her survive? Who better understood just how amazing flying was, than a bird who’d always been caged?
Didn’t matter if it had been in the cage since hatching out of the egg. Thousands of years of flying couldn’t be bred out of a creature born with wings. It would call to something in their very blood and bone, if they had the chance to embrace it again.
Seeing the world through her eyes, her excitement, was like being able to fly himself.
“Daralyn.” An unfamiliar voice broke her off mid-sentence.
As Rory turned toward it, he saw the teacher of her civics class approaching their table. He carried a slim, dog-eared paperback. “Turns out, I did have it in my file cabinet. This is an old text, but it’s one of the best I’ve found. It examines the historic motivations and environment that existed during the time each constitutional article and amendment was formulated.”
When he offered the book, she hesitated. “That’s so kind. I don’t read very fast, Mr. Reid. Maybe I could look through it when I’m between periods here, so I can give it back to you before I leave for the day.”
“It’s all right. Take it, and take your time with it. I haven’t had someone so interested in constitutional history since I had my own first class on it.” He smiled at her.
Yeah, he was her teacher. Yeah, Rory was glad she was excited about civics. But the teacher had eyes—four of them—and they were all noticing just how pretty she was. A pretty, eager, adult student.
Rory told himself it wasn’t because he was in a wheelchair that the guy hadn’t given him the quick assessing glance any other guy would, if he saw a man sitting with a woman who’d caught his interest. Even so, the ugly thing sitting in his gut said it was. A man with only half a body wasn’t really a man anyway, right? Probably in the “friend zone” at best. Not serious competition.
“Thank you,” she said, taking the book like she’d been offered treasure. Who the hell wouldn’t be fascinated by her? No artifice, just pure sincerity. With deep hazel eyes, shiny long hair and a shy smile that made any guy with balls want to keep that smile turned his way.
“Mr. Reid—” she began.
“Joe is fine,” he assured her.
Not even remotely fine, asshole.
But Rory couldn’t miss the possibilities here. Smart guy, lots of things to teach, with an unassuming, relaxed personality that would work really well with Daralyn.
Plus a whole body. One whose operator wouldn’t have to think twice about how to open a door for her.
Shut the fuck up, he told that pathetic inner voice. Once, it had been his constant companion. Now, not so much, but it liked to surface at annoying times.
“Joe,” she said. “This is Rory Wilder. He’s my friend, and my boss.”
Joe turned to Rory. As Rory offered a hand, their eyes met, a whole lot of messages going back and forth.
Rory tried not to be petty, but he couldn’t help but notice Joe had a limp-wristed handshake. He couldn’t call it a true read, though, since Joe had that typical brief hesitation, as if worried Rory might break if he shook his hand wrong.
“Nice to meet you, Joe,” he said, trying to sound pleasant. “Sounds like you’re a good teacher.”
“Some students remind you that you start this gig wanting to be a good teacher.” Joe shrugged, offered an easy smile. “Thanks for that reminder, Daralyn. See you in a couple days.”
It helped Rory more than he wanted to admit that the second Joe turned away, Daralyn’s attention went a hundred percent to the book she cradled in her hands. “That was so nice of him,” she said. “I’m going to try and read this before my next class with him, so I can return it.”
“It sounds like you can take a little longer if you need to.”
She looked up, glanced at Joe’s retreating form. Then she returned her gaze to Rory and gave him an absent smile, her mind full of all sorts of new ideas.
Rory nudged her lunchbox at her, trying to keep his amiable expression fixed in place. “Go ahead and eat something, since your six-o’clock class won’t let out until seven-thirty.”
“Oh, right.” She set the book carefully out of range of the food, and unpacked her thermos and sandwich. She unwrapped the sandwich and broke off a nibble. “Want half? I won’t eat all this.”
She wouldn’t, much as he wished she would, so he took the other half. Six to six-thirty was apparently dinner time. Some of the students had brought their own, like Daralyn. Others lined up in front of the food court options.
“Is this a lot like high school?” she asked.
He hadn’t looked away from her profile as she took it all in. Now she looked at him, realized he was gazing at her, and smiled uncertainly, making him wonder what she saw in his expression. He made a conscious effort to add warmth to it.
“Yeah. And no. In high school, the people you’re hanging with are your close friends. You have stuff in common, like me and the football team. Or Les and her fellow science geeks. Thomas…he always seemed to be everyone’s friend, but not, if that makes sense. Though I didn’t get why then, I do now.”
“Why?” She chewed a bite of her sandwich slowly, her attention fixed on him.
“He couldn’t be who he was. A guy who liked guys. So it was sort of a mask. He was a nice guy; that part wasn’t a mask. He was good-looking enough to be popular, so those things kept him from being treated like an outcast.”
“Yes. I can see that.” She put down the sandwich, studied it. “My uncle and father didn’t take me into town much, but I knew the rules when we were together. ‘Don’t talk to anyone. Don’t wander off.’ If I broke the rules, they wouldn’t take me back except for church, not for a long, long time, not that we went that often anyway. So when I met people in town I knew, like Thomas or Les, or you, I had to act the right way.”
He swallowed back the anger her earlier life always incited. She didn’t need that. He responded in a steady voice. “How did you feel like acting?”
“Like I wasn’t there,” she said honestly. Her gaze moved to where his hand rested on the table, traveled up to his shoulder, touched his face and moved away. “I didn’t feel real, so pretending I was felt…uncomfortable. Being in town was different from being at home, which was good, but I was afraid, too, which made me think being invisible would be better. If that makes sense.”