Already annoyed, he snapped, throwing down
his pen. “Aren’t you supposed to be smart?
Why are you asking me such a simple
question?”
Lily bit her lip. “But… I’m not the first person
to ask you these kinds of questions…”
She glanced at me pointedly.
I raised an eyebrow, holding up my test paper
covered in red check marks.
Not to be outdone, she retorted, “Rich kids
with designer clothes probably have fancy
tutors. Of course you don’t need Mark
anymore.”
Mark’s face hardened. “Go away. Stop
bothering me!”
Lily, taken aback by his harshness, teared up
and stormed off.
Mark sat fuming, radiating anger, I wasn’t
sure at whom.
He scribbled furiously in his notebook.
The classroom was empty, the overhead fan
whirring, ruffling his hair. It was a typical
summer afternoon.
“Mark.”
I spoke, breaking the long silence between us.
He looked up, startled, a flicker of hope in his
<
eyes, like a lost puppy finding its way home.
I smiled enigmatically.
“Let me tell you a secret. Lily is your future
wife.
Be nice to her. You’ll regret it otherwise.”
8
I’d rarely seen Mark this angry. He looked like
a caged animal, barely containing his rage.
He stood up, crumpling his test paper. “You
don’t need to push me towards someone
else. I’m not a toy to be passed around.”
He’d reacted the same way once during our
marriage. I’d been so furious with him, I
blurted out, “If you can’t stand me, let’s just
get divorced!”
He’d looked just like this, his handsome face
a mask of anger, disbelief, and… vulnerability.
He’d held me tight, his tall, strong frame
trembling.
“Don’t say that. Don’t leave me, Jenna.”
<
Twenty–eight–year–old Mark’s voice had
cracked, just like sixteen–year–old Mark’s
had when he’d come to me the night his
family went bankrupt, filled with fear and
helplessness.
He was such a good actor. Even after his
death, even with all the evidence, I’d
struggled to believe that he’d loved Lily all
those years we were together.
9
After that, Mark and I stopped speaking
completely.
I enjoyed the peace.
Provoking me became Lily’s favorite pastime.
She’d send me pictures of them together.
Mark’s long, pale fingers covering her smaller
hand as they molded clay, the image radiating
intimacy. Mark meticulously preparing notes
for Lily, who was behind in the curriculum
after transferring from Northwood High.
