It occurs to me that we haven’t even ordered dinner yet, and I’m already looking forward to being done with this meal.
“Listen,” I say, “you should be careful around Addie. You saw what happened with Art Tuttle. He was just trying to be nice to her, and look what happened.”
Nate’s eyes darken. “If you think Art Tuttle isn’t a creep, then you’re blind.”
I feel a flash of irritation at his comment. Art is not a creep. When I started working at the school, he was the first person to help me. And he never did or said anything inappropriate. He was just a good friend to me. I knew he was tutoring Addie and even saw them getting in his car together after school, but I truly never thought anything of it. Nobody did.
That all changed when a neighbor saw Addie skulking around the back of Art’s house and called the police. It doesn’t look good for a middle-aged teacher when your fifteen-year-old student is found outside your house late at night.
But in the end, nobody could prove any wrongdoing on his part. As silly as it sounds, the only thing Art was guilty of was “caring too much.” He knew Addie didn’t have money for tutoring, so he was trying to help her through math class on his own. He gave her a ride home a few times because it was raining or snowing and he didn’t want her to have to bike home in inclement weather. And the dinners were about as innocent as it could get—he invited both Addie and her mother to dine with him and his wife.
As for Addie being found outside his house, that was one Art couldn’t quite explain. When he and I talked about it, he hung his head. I was trying to be nice to her because she lost her father recently, and I think she just got too attached. She became fixated on me.
I didn’t doubt him. It’s exactly the sort of thing that could happen to a troubled teenage girl.
“I’m just saying,” I murmur to Nate, “the girl is troubled. She recently lost her father, and she will cling on to anyone who gets too close to her.”
“So basically, we should keep her isolated?”
“That’s not what I’m saying at all!”
I am forced to pause my rant while our waitress interrupts to bring us our water glasses. Our waitress is young and attractive, like all the waitresses here. She spends what feels like half an hour telling us about the specials, and every time Nate asks a question, she lays her hand on his shoulder. I have to say, I’m getting sick of women hitting on my husband right in front of my face.
“I’m just saying,” I continue after the waitress has finally left us alone again, “the girl needs friends her own age—not a teacher who is pushing forty. Just be careful.”
“Noted,” Nate says through his teeth.
But I can see on his face that his mood has soured. I don’t know what he’s so upset about though. I’m just trying my best to protect him from ending up like Art Tuttle.
OceanofPDF.com
Chapter Twenty-Five
ADDIE
AFTER MR. BENNETT comes into Piazza, it’s basically all I can think about.
Like, there could be a Lil Nas X concert happening in the corner of the room, and I would not even notice. That’s how distracted I am. And my mom is getting annoyed, because she keeps trying to talk to me, and I keep saying, “What?”
“Addie!” she snaps at me.
“What?” I say again.
She lets out a long sigh. “You’ve hardly eaten any of your food.”
I look down at the plate in front of me. I got a tomato and pesto flatbread, although it’s not very good. Usually, though, I would have scarfed it down by now. Instead, I have eaten only a teeny tiny slice of it.
“I’m not hungry,” I finally say.
Mr. Bennett ordered some sort of ravioli. I can’t tell what it is from here, and it’s not like I could go over there and ask. I’m curious what it is though. Is it plain cheese ravioli, or is it the one with mushrooms? Does Mr. Bennett like mushrooms? Or does he think that it’s weird that people eat fungus, the same way I do?
I’m trying not to call attention to the fact that I’ve been staring at him through the entire meal ever since he walked in. But it’s hard not to. I mean, he’s handsome enough that I’m sure I’m not the only person looking at him in this place. The waitress is definitely flirting—at one point, she had her hand on his shoulder, and I thought he looked annoyed, but I wasn’t sure. I was glad that he wasn’t charmed by the boobalicious waitress.
The other thing I can’t help but notice is he’s not having much fun with Mrs. Bennett. She’s not my favorite person, if only because math is my weakest subject and she doesn’t make it easy, but I assumed he likes her. I mean, he’s married to her. Plus, she looks irritatingly pretty tonight, with smoky makeup lining her big eyes and a red dress that emphasizes her cute, trim figure. So I would think he must like her, but they have been sitting together for at least twenty minutes now, and they have barely said two words to one another.