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The Five Wounds(163)

Author:Kirstin Valdez Quade

Amadeo is a father, a grandfather. He’s involved in an adult relationship. His terminally ill mother depends on him. All of these things may be true on the surface, but in the face of Angel’s exhaustion, whatever is going on between Amadeo and Brianna seems very slight and very juvenile.

Brianna plays it off like a champ; Amadeo is impressed by how swiftly she gathers herself. “Hi, Angel! You’re still here? Your dad was just telling me that you’ve been reading a lot lately. I’m glad to hear it.”

“Oh,” says Angel.

Amadeo forces a laugh, but doesn’t manage a smile. “A real bookworm,” he says, though it isn’t true. When would she have time to read?

Angel produces the car keys. “I’m going home.” Without glancing at them again, she crosses the parking lot to Yolanda’s car, which he’d failed to notice.

“See you tomorrow!” Brianna’s countenance is shiny, impenetrable, and Amadeo draws inspiration from her demeanor. He wonders if she actually doesn’t feel bad or if she’s just good at hiding it. But what is there to feel bad about, really? They’re adults, and people meet each other where they meet each other. It’s not like there’s a scandal here. It’s not like he’s Brianna’s student.

“I stopped by to see if you were still here!” calls Amadeo to his daughter. Somewhere behind his sternum, a gnarl of dread is accruing mass, a dark pearl.

Angel unlocks the car, snaps Connor into the back, slams first one door, then the other, starts the engine.

“Go,” Brianna hisses. “Take care of that.”

“Wait!” He looks to Brianna, and mouths, I’ll call you, but she presses her lips and is already turning away, shaking her head.

When he gets in the car, Amadeo stares out the windshield, his hands folded primly across his knees. Somehow he can’t remember how he usually sits. “What’s up,” he says jovially, but it’s not a question. “I can ride home with you, yeah?”

She pulls out of the lot and turns into the stream of traffic.

He doesn’t want to give Angel the opportunity to ignore him, so he scrolls through old texts, as if catching up on much-needed news. In the back Connor whimpers. Her stops are easy and smooth, her turns fluid. He can’t help but feel proud.

“You’re a good driver,” he says, but Angel doesn’t even spare him a snort.

Of course he was going to get caught. Amadeo never gets away with anything. But then, is it such a crime to be sleeping with Brianna? No one’s being hurt, except maybe Angel, who doesn’t have any actual claim on her teacher. She has no right to act all betrayed.

He ventures a glance at her righteous posture. He can’t even begin to imagine what she’s thinking. He should ask, but he can’t muster the courage.

“So,” says Angel, “you’re, what? Sleeping together?”

Amadeo is almost relieved. “It hasn’t even been that long, Angel.”

“Oh, god. You are?” From the blanched shock in her face, he understands that she didn’t, in fact, know this.

“It’s a total nothing. Like, if it was something, I’d have told you. Honest. And it’s over now.”

“Don’t even fucking talk to me. Don’t even say one word.”

Amadeo hadn’t realized how venomous Angel could be. His tongue feels fat and scummy. He makes fists so tight his nails dig into his palm.

If only he knew what exactly she was mad about: the fact of their relationship or the fact that it was a secret. “I mean, we couldn’t really tell you, because Brianna didn’t want people thinking she played favorites. You know, like, that you were her favorite because she had a thing for me.”