Will I ever see him again?
The thought shouldn't matter. He's clearly just passing through. By tomorrow, he'll be gone. Him and his daughter, back on the road, heading toward whatever nowhere they're aimed at.
And I'll never get to thank him properly. Never get to tell him that what he did mattered, that it meant something, that I'm not so broken by my ex and my self-doubt that I can't recognize genuine heroism when I see it.
I stare at the ceiling, watching the shadows from the streetlight outside shift and dance across the plaster, and I make a decision that's probably crazy.
Tomorrow. Same time, same place. I'll walk Biscuit past Murphy's Grill, and maybe, just maybe, he'll still be there.
Next Day
I spend the entire day distracted.
My fourth graders notice immediately. Kids always do. They have a sixth sense for when their teacher's mind is somewhere else.
"Ms. Porter, are you okay?" Annie asks during reading time, her little face scrunched up with concern.
"I'm fine, sweetie," I assure her. "Just a little tired."
It's not entirely a lie. I barely slept. Every time I dozed off, I jerked awake, heart pounding, convinced I heard footsteps outside my window. By the time my alarm went off at six, I felt like I'd run a marathon.
The day drags. Minutes feel like hours. I teach fractions and vocabulary words and the water cycle, and the whole time I'm thinking about tonight. About the walk. About whether he'll be there.
*He won't be there. He's probably halfway to the next state by now. This is crazy. You're being crazy.*
But I can't shake the feeling. Can't shake the need to at least try.
Claire texts me during lunch. *Heard about what happened last night. You okay?*
Small towns. Everyone knows everything within twelve hours.
*I'm fine,* I text back. *Scary but I'm okay.*
*Want me to come over tonight?*
*No, I'm good. Going to take Biscuit for his walk.*
There's a long pause, then: *Are you SURE that's a good idea???*
*I'll be fine. Those guys are long gone.*
Another pause. *Okay but text me when you get home. If I don't hear from you in an hour I'm calling the cavalry.*
*Deal.*
The afternoon is somehow even longer than the morning. My last class of the day is doing an art project: drawing their families, and I spend the time walking between desks, offering encouragement, trying not to think about dark eyes and scarred knuckles and a voice saying "she said no."
Finally, the bell rings. The kids pack up their things, file out in their usual chaotic rush, and then I'm alone in my classroom with twenty-five drawings of families and a decision to make.
I could go home. Make dinner. Stay inside where it's safe. Forget about the stranger who saved me and move on with my life.
Or I could be brave. Just this once. Just for an hour. I grade papers until five-thirty, my usual time. Then I pack up my bag, lock my classroom, and drive home with my heart already racing.
Biscuit is ecstatic to see me, like always. I change into jeans and a sweater, grab his leash, and stand in my entryway staring at the door.
*This is insane. He's not going to be there. And even if he is, what are you going to say? "Hi, thanks for saving me, also I'm not a crazy stalker even though I deliberately came looking for you"?*
But my hand is already on the doorknob. Already turning it.