Margaret Walks Across the High School Stage on a Warm June Morning
“You are not alone,” Arthur said, his voice gentle but firm. “But for tonight, you need to rest.”
I thanked him, picked up my purse, and walked out into the late afternoon heat.
The sun was dipping below the Ohio hills when I pulled into the gravel parking lot of the Pine Crest Motel. The red neon sign above the office was already buzzing with a low, electric hum, casting a pale glow over the gravel.
I carried my blue suitcase to room twelve, the metal key heavy in my hand. Inside, the room was small, with a single armchair and a faded green bedspread.
I set the bag on the low dresser, walked back to the entrance, and reached for the knob.
The key turned in the door of the motel room.
Arthur was already sitting in the small armchair by the window when the morning light began to cut through the thin floral drapes. He had his silver-rimmed spectacles in his hand, polishing them slowly with his silk cloth. I had spread three rows of white paper across the green bedspread, smoothing the corners of the school board bylaws and the state education code.
