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herself.
    Later, Jenna learned, that Susan had taught at Sequim High. A quick note had been published in the local paper, along with a picture taken on the first day of school years prior. Susan smiled up from the paper in black and white scale. Her hair had been long, pretty waves cascading down her back, her arm casually draped over a smiling student in a classroom that looked inviting and tended. She had been plump, motherly, and womanly with wide hips contained in an ankle length skirt. The article mentioned the strides she’d made as a teacher, encouraging a love of literature with books and poetry and field trips, someone who believed learning shouldn’t be confined only to the classics or the classroom.
    Jenna was struck by how much she liked Susan Taft, the teacher and the woman, and wondered if they had met at the grocery store or carpool line, if perhaps they wouldn’t have grown to be good friends. A scholarship fund had been established her name to promote the things she loved and championed during her short life.
    When she died, the students came out in force to mourn her, a testimony to how many lives she touched and futures she effected. She had left more than tapes behind, she had left a legacy, and Jenna had fiercely hoped her boys knew that. The students asked for donations so they could plant lavender bushes around the property of the school in her memory. Jenna had asked Ginny to drop off a check with a note, thanking the students for their effort.
    This must have been how Susan felt, Jenna considered, sitting on the floor of her office now. The hopeless realization that life will go on without her. She dabbed her eyes with the sleeve of her robe and climbed to her feet. Life going on, moving forward, those would be good things, the way it should be. Gabe should know that was what she wanted for him. Jenna wondered idly if Mr. Taft had ever remarried, if he’d ever met someone and fallen in love again. If he’d loved that new someone enough to bring her into his family, to help him raise the sons he’d had with Susan, maybe even have a few more children. She wondered if he was happy again, a different type of happy, changed, but still happy nonetheless.
    Could she be strong enough to want that for Gabe? Her Gabe. The man she married on a sweet balm day in the middle of summer at a small Justice of the Peace off the 101. The man she’d taken inside herself, loved for the good and the bad. Her husband.
    The idea of that stung, and she doubled over under the pressure of the pain. It felt like the worst sort of infidelity; they loved each other so much, they had made promises and they had plans. She should always be his, he should always be hers, they’d sworn it. Never in their marriage had he looked at another woman; even when Jenna closed herself off to him and grew inwards, he still told her she was beautiful, smart, funny and brilliant. He still reached for her and was everything she needed him to be. He loved her, she was sure of that. Thinking of him feeling that way about someone else stole her breath. She couldn’t breathe, it hurt too much. But, would it hurt her more to know that, in time, he would grow lonely. That’d he’d never have someone worry about his day, or fix his meal, or celebrate the holidays with him?
    Mia would grow up, she’d get on with her life and leave. Maybe those things would take her across the country or across the world. Maybe she’d only be able to call every so often, but not nearly enough. She’d do the right thing—the normal thing: she’d start her own family, and gather all the distractions that came along with that. And then there’d be Gabe, alone. Eating his meals, watching his shows, washing his dishes.
    He was still young. So full of life and charming, charismatic and warm. She didn’t want him to spend the rest of his years by himself. Picturing that hurt her more than imagining him with someone new. She loved him enough to want a secure and