I tipped my head to the side. “So wait. If you’re getting paid in the summer, but it’s money you earned during the nine months you were teaching, that means you aren’t getting paid for the extra work you do in the summer.”
He touched his nose. “Ding-ding, you win the prize,” he said, laughter filling his voice. “That’s being a teacher. Sure, if we’re doing heavy curriculum writing, we will get a stipend to do that, but for the most part, all of the other stuff we do during the summer to prepare for the next year isn’t paid.”
“I had no idea,” I said with a shake of my head. “Like none. I always thought teachers got paid to do nothing in the summer.”
He laughed, but it wasn’t his usual laughter. He wasn’t amused, which was easy to hear. “You aren’t alone. The majority of people think the same. The truth is, we don’t have the summer off,” which he put in quotation marks again. “We aren’t on family vacations and frolicking in the water all summer. The thing is, I love it enough not to care. It is super annoying when people yell loudly about teachers making all this money to sit on their butts all summer and do nothing. If only they knew what we do, the programs we plan, the classrooms we organize and stock from our own funds, and the planning and collaborating we do during those twelve short weeks. Teaching always has been and always will be a thankless profession, which is okay by me. My job satisfaction comes from knowing my students will go on to do great things.”
“That’s true,” I agreed, holding the cake on my lap, but not eating it. “I’m sure that’s a perk every teacher appreciates as the years go on.”
Another clap of thunder hit, and I jumped up, nearly tossing the cake into the fire before he caught it, bringing it into his chest. A raindrop landed on my nose as a jagged bolt of lightning streaked across the lake.
“I want to go inside,” I said, my voice shaky.
“It’s just a little summer storm, Amber. It will pass.”
“I want to go inside,” I said, louder this time and with less stability in my voice when more thunder and lightning filled the air. “I want to go inside! I want to go inside!”
The rain came down heavier now, and he grasped my elbow and helped me up the rickety steps of his deck. “I’ll go home!” I said over the sound of the thunder rumbling overhead.
“Get inside,” he ordered, sliding the patio door open and pushing me through, then coming in behind me to close it just as the wind picked up. He set the cake plate on his small dining room table that was circa the 1980s and eyed the yard. “I want to make sure the fire goes out,” he explained as the rain came down in a sheet.
The wind started to howl, and I backed up toward the front of the house, fear filling me. “I want to go home. I have to go home. I have to go home now.”
He turned away from the door and shook his head. “Not wise. Better to stay here until the storm blows over. It shouldn’t be too long. The good news is, the fire is out.”
He was teasing, but my heart was pounding as the rain drenched the front of the patio doors. I kept backing up into the room and fell over the arm of the couch rather ungracefully. I was on my feet again instantly when another clap of thunder shook the house.
I had my hands over my ears now, my whole body consumed by fear. “I want to go home!”
He held his hands out while he walked toward me. “I finished my man cave in the basement the other day. Would you like to see it?” he asked, opening a door and flipping on a light.
I nodded, afraid no words would come out if I tried to speak. I walked toward him, and he grasped my elbow. “Be careful going down. The stairs have carpet so they can be slippery.”
All I wanted to do was run down them, but my hands and legs were shaking, so I took them as slowly and carefully as I could until I made it to the bottom. I was grateful when Bishop followed me down the stairs after shutting the door. I was also thankful that the small windows in the basement didn’t let in much evidence of the storm raging outside.
My legs were shaking so hard I had to sit, or I’d fall. I sank onto the L-shaped couch that lined one side of the room, glad for the coolness that grounded me. It was leather and enveloped you into the soft, buttery cushions. I put my hands to my ears and leaned over my knees, my body rocking slightly. The cushion depressed next to me when he sat, his hand rubbing my back up and down. After a few minutes, his hand chased away the shaking and calmed me down enough that I could breathe again. The thunder was lessening, which meant the storm was moving out and away from us. My hands slowly slid from my ears, embarrassment likely tinging my face a bright red.
He kept his hand on my back but motioned at the room in front of us. “Do you like it? It’s kind of a movie room, man cave, and guest room in one. I have the projector set up for movies, and back there,” he said, pointing at a wall, “is an extra bed for guests. I have a second bedroom upstairs, too. I have that set up as the main guest room for when Athena comes to visit. There’s also a large loft room on the top floor. I’m just using that for
