Gemotions

Michael stared at the teacher's name on the class list: Mrs. Gable. His mother, God rest her soul, used to regale him with stories of the woman. They were not complimentary. The woman had been particularly unkind to his mother during her youth. A knot tightened in Michael’s chest, a familiar feeling he associated with childhood disappointments.

He could feel the blood drain from his face, leaving him pale and clammy. His palms began to sweat. He had driven for twenty minutes in the heavy rain to this school. Now his son, Sam, would be in the classroom of the woman who gave his mother grief. He could picture it already: the way Sam, so similar in temperament to his grandmother, would react to Mrs. Gable's sharp critiques.

He wanted to tear up the list, to drive Sam straight home. To hide him, protect him. He forced himself to take a deep breath, the damp air doing nothing to calm the rising tide of…displeasure. He clenched his jaw, determined to find a way to navigate this school year.