I Knew You'd Be Lovely by Alethea Black Page B

hibernation. For a while, I suppose I was waiting for her to come back. But at a certain point, I imagine one’s supposed to give up.” His face had a vulnerabilityshe’d never seen in it when he was her teacher. “I guess I just never knew when to give up.”
    He seemed about to say more, but then he stopped. He pressed his lips together.
If I see this man cry
, Ginny thought,
it will break me. If I see him cry, I will break in two
. But instead of attempting to say more, he just smiled—a broad, apologetic smile—as if he were laughing at his own predicament, at how funny it was to have been through such heartache.
    â€œThat was five or six years ago now,” he said, sitting up. “The interesting thing is, I stayed friends with her father. He lived right up the road. I used to go over and help him out with repair-type stuff around the house, things he was too weak to do himself. Sometimes we’d just sit and talk. But we never mentioned Isabel. One day, one of the last times I saw him before he died, he looked at me and said: ‘Arthur, God answered all my prayers. All my prayers in life—except for one.’ I knew he was trying to help me.”
    Ginny didn’t know what to say. She wanted to help him, too, but she didn’t know how. She felt terrible then, terrible that she was considering leaving teaching, terrible that she was such a failure.
    â€œI’m sorry if I let you down,” she said softly.
    Mr. Hennessey shook his head. “You didn’t let me down. You could never let me down.” He lifted her chin. “You were my Julia,” he said. “You were my quiet ace.”
    Ginny closed her eyes. “ ‘Suddenly I realize that if I stepped out of my body I would break into blossom,’ ” she said, and kept her eyes shut, afraid to open them, afraid of everything.
    â€œJames Wright’s ‘A Blessing.’ Of course. That would be the perfect poem for you,” he said. Then he leaned in and kissed her, respectful and slow at first, then in a way that let her feel his hunger. She kissed him back, raising her hand to his neck. The simple act of touching him with tenderness made the hair on her arms stand up.
    When they stopped kissing, he pulled her into a hug, both arms locking her against his body, tight. Then they both started to laugh—real, deep laughter—and the more they laughed, the more they wanted to laugh. It was as if they had just heard the funniest joke in the world. It was as if they
were
the funniest joke in the world. When they stopped laughing, Ginny felt as if she might start to cry again. She stared at the vertical row of buttons on his shirt.
    â€œI can’t remember what I used to think was beautiful,” she said.
    â€œYou’re beautiful,” he whispered. “You just might be the most beautiful thing.”
    â€œYou’re drunk,” Ginny laughed. “And insane. Both.” But her giddiness quickly evaporated. She didn’t want to hurt him, not Mr. Hennessey, not this great, invisible love of her life.
    â€œI should get going,” she said, releasing him and glancing at her watch.
    â€œI’m not sure you’re medically fit to drive,” he said. “Besides, I was just about to offer you the guest room, and suggest we make pancakes tomorrow morning, then lounge around all day reading books.”
    â€œReading books, eh?”
    â€œOr engaging in stimulating activity of one fashion or another.”
    Ginny smiled. “I told you, I’m no good at the love thing.”
    â€œI’m willing to wager you’re better than you think. And who said anything about love? I said pancakes.”
    She stalled for a moment. She knew she should leave. She knew her pattern, her tendency to leave a broken heart in her wake when she returned to her solitary ways.
    â€œArthur—”
    â€œStay.”
    She reached for her purse. “I