life till then, Suky had sat to my left at church. Once I started moving around, she was puzzled, but she didnât stop me. She rarely disciplined me anymore; when she tried, I shrugged her off with a poisonous glare.
Mr Brown always looked straight ahead during the service, like a bird dog. His wife was an athletic-looking, serious woman. She seemed preoccupied all the time, never speaking to her husband, and acting as if he wasnât beside her at all. He compulsively stroked her shoulder with his thumb, his arm around her, and occasionally he would whisper something in her ear, which she would listen to, an opaque expression on her face, and nod. I became convinced that she didnât love him. I watched Mr Brown in church for ten months. He was my Unimpeachable Gentleman.
I got an after-school job at the Oakley Academy, working in the kitchen, just so I could be close to him. Every day at four oâclock, I would walk across the green to the enormous, steamy Oakley kitchen, reluctantly tuck my copper locks into the requisite paper bonnet, and start peeling carrots and potatoes, dicing celery, getting everything ready for the evening meal. Then it was showtime; I would serve the kids their grub. At first I was frustrated; all the contact I had with my beloved was saying hello as I spooned mashed potato and meat loaf onto his plate. But I shot him glances as I worked. He ate with his wife every night. Their conversations seemed strained yet civil. He always pulled her chair out for her. He talked more than she did; mostly she nodded, unsmiling, staring into her plate. Directly after she had finished her meal, she stood up, murmured a goodbye, and walked out. Mr Brown would then get himself a cup of coffee and circulate around the dining hall, chatting with the boys. He seemed to relaxwhen his wife was out of the room. He loosened his tie and sat at the edges of the refectory tables, joking with the students. He was reassuring with one, ruffled anotherâs hair, spoke with stiff severity to another. I managed to catch his eye once or twice, but after several weeks I couldnât take it anymore. I had to speak to him.
One night, as he was walking down the hallway after dinner, I threw myself down a short flight of stairs and landed at his feet. I actually sprained my ankle doing this stunt, and he had to hold me up as I limped to the school infirmary. He smelled like talcum powder. At one point, my lip brushed his ear as I hobbled along. He blushed from his neck all the way up to his temples. Thatâs when I knew I was getting somewhere. After that, he called me by my name and always asked how I was when I handed him his dinner. A couple of times I thought I noticed him lingering outside when I came out after my shift. But all he ever did was say âhelloâ in a cordial, distanced way. Mr Brown was unimpeachable.
One night, as I left my job, my eyes dried up from exhaustion, my hands raw from chopping, I saw him walking up the stone steps to the dining hall, taking them two at a time with his long strides. He was about to pass me with a friendly greeting when I burst into tears. There was snot coming out of my nose, my knees went weak. I had to sit down. Mr Brown took out his handkerchief and sat down beside me. I wiped my nose and put my head between my knees. I was so embarrassed, but I was in heaven, too, because I could feel the palm of his hand on the small of my back.
âWhat is it, Pippa?â he asked. âWhatâs wrong?â
âI think Iâm just tired.â
âYou must be. It seems like a lot for a girl your age, a job after school. Are you sure itâs necessary?â
âItâs necessary,â I said.
âCanât you talk to your parents, maybe they can ââ
âItâs not the money,â I said. âI mean, we donât have much money, but I donât have to have a job in the school year.â
âThen quit,â said Mr
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