EVE
I AM at the grocery store after school, poking at avocados in the produce department, when I spot him.
Art Tuttle.
He’s wearing a turtleneck, which strikes me as oddly casual. Nate always wears a dress shirt and tie to school, and although Art wasn’t nearly as formal, he did always wear a nice shirt. The turtleneck seems out of place. Plus it’s a little too tight for his Santa Claus belly. And even stranger, he’s got on a pair of open-toed sandals, which he is of course wearing with a pair of white gym socks. He has a plastic bag filled with oranges gripped in his right hand, which also strikes me as odd because I don’t know if I’ve ever seen him eat an orange in all the time I’ve known him. And we have shared many, many lunches together and even a few dinners.
“Eve.” He manages a smile that doesn’t show his teeth, which is strange because Art used to have the toothiest smile I’d ever seen. “Hello. How are you doing?”
“I’m fine.” I smile, although it feels crooked on my face, like I’ve forgotten how to smile. “How are you doing, Art?”
I promised myself if I ran into Art, I wouldn’t say it that way. With a tilt of my head, like he’s somebody I’m visiting in a mental hospital. Like I feel sorry for him.
Except I do feel sorry for him.
The whole mess started at the middle of the second semester of last year. It all started with that girl—Addie Severson. I don’t know the entire story, but all of a sudden, everyone was whispering that Art Tuttle was hooking up with one of the sophomores. The first time I heard that rumor, it was like being punched in the gut. Art was like a father figure to me, especially since my own father and I barely speak. I had heard stories of other teachers behaving inappropriately with other female students, but I didn’t expect it from Art. Never him.
But the evidence was pretty damn suspicious. Addie had been struggling in math class, which doesn’t surprise me based on what I’ve seen so far from her, and he spent several hours of his own free time tutoring her to
help her with the material, free of charge. He invited the girl over to his house for dinner on more than one occasion. And he drove her home multiple times.
Add that to the fact that Addie was a troubled girl. The daughter of an abusive alcoholic who finally drank himself to death during the fall semester. Everyone felt that she was an obvious target for a predatory teacher.
And then…
Well, something else happened.
Addie never technically accused Art of anything. But when all was said and done, his reputation was completely destroyed. He couldn’t work at Caseham High anymore. He’ll be lucky if he can work anywhere.
“I’ve been better,” Art tells me. He coughs into his palm, and it’s a rattling cough, like something’s stuck in his lungs. “I miss the school.”
“We miss you too.” I abandon my quest for the perfect avocado to redirect my attention to Art. “It’s so unfair what happened to you. Did you have to resign?”
He lets out a wheeze. “Come on, Eve. You know I did. Nobody looked at me the same way after that happened. I couldn’t have stayed even if the parents weren’t kicking up a fuss.”
He’s right, of course. But that doesn’t make it less unfair. “Have you found anything else?”
“No bites yet.” He sighs and rubs at his short, gray hair. “I’ve got a bunch of applications out, but the situation isn’t great. If I can find something, I may have to move because it’s not going to be in western Massachusetts. I’ll be lucky if it’s in New England.”
I want to ask him if he’s okay with money, but I don’t want to embarrass him. I have a feeling the answer is no. How can he be okay if he’s out of work and has two boys in college?
“And how is Marsha?” I ask. “Good,” he says.
His wife, Marsha, works for some kind of nonprofit, which means she isn’t making nearly enough money to support them. As far as I know, she believed him that nothing went on between him and Addie, but I wonder what sort of impact something like this might have had on his marriage. They were such a good couple, but these kinds of accusations are enough to rattle the most solid of marriages.
“She’s in my class,” I blurt out. Art’s eyebrows shoot up. “What?”
I wince. I didn’t mean to bring her up, but it’s hard not to address the elephant in the room. The girl who ruined his life.
“Addie Severson,” I say. “She’s in one of my trig classes this year.” “Ah,” he says.
I study his round face, trying to read his expression. Is he curious about how she’s doing? Does he want to ask about her, but he’s afraid it will look strange if he does? As the thoughts swirl around my head, something hits me:
Like everyone else in the world, I’m still not entirely sure Art Tuttle is innocent.
I know he’s good-hearted and not a dirty old man. But there’s something about the whole situation that just doesn’t sit right with me. After all, how could he be so stupid? How could he have that girl alone with him in his classroom every day after school and not realize how it would look?
“She seems nice,” I finally say. “Not one of the stronger students.” Art’s bushy white eyebrows knit together. “No, she’s not.”
We stand there for a moment, him with his oranges and turtleneck and socks with sandals, and me with my shopping cart, which needs one or two decent avocados. We never had trouble talking to each other before, but the awkwardness is almost suffocating. I want to invite him and his wife to our house for dinner, but I can’t quite make myself extend the invitation.
In any case, I can understand why he felt that he had to resign. “Anyway,” I say, “it was good seeing you, Art.”
“You too, Eve.” He nods at the avocados. “The trick is that when you push your finger into the skin, you get a little bit of give with gentle pressure but not too much.”
“Thanks.” Even now, he’s still trying to teach me. “And…good luck.
With everything.”
I turn away, returning to the mountain of avocados. I pick one off the pile that is brown and feels like it has a slight give under my fingertips. Just as I’m about to test it, fingers close around my upper arm. It takes me a second to realize that Art is still behind me and has grabbed me. His chubby fingers bite into my bare skin, and all I can think is if we weren’t in the middle of a grocery store, I would scream.
“Eve, wait,” his voice hisses in my ear. “You need to listen to me. Right now.”
