I've been working on this story for months. It has become a labor of love. Being a middle-aged man, I like stories where an older man and younger woman fall in love, and that's what this story is about. But I will also admit, I'm also a sucker for romance, and that's where this story could also be. Finally, there is love making in this story, but I think it is far less graphic than my other stories have been. It's important to the storyline, but it's not the main focus.
I do hope you enjoy it, and I'll apologize upfront if it's a little emotional in places. It would appear that I also like a little bit of tragedy in my stories.
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Steve Adams was just pulling out of the grocery store parking lot on his way home. It was the first weekend in June. School had been out for a week, and he had decided to grill up some nice steaks that evening to celebrate finishing another year. He had mixed feelings about it. When he was married, they would have several friends over for an end of the school year party. He loved to cook and grill for his friends. Now that he was on his own, he didn't really want to spend time with anyone else. This year he had planned on a quiet evening with a nice steak and a beer. He would save the other steaks for leftovers.
He had only driven a half-dozen blocks when he saw a car pulled over to the side of the road, with a driver that was obviously upset. A young woman was standing behind the car with the trunk open and her face in her hands, clearly crying.
Steve had been raised to always help out anyone that was in trouble. As he passed the young lady's car, he pulled over to stop. He wasn't sure how he would be received, but he knew he had to try to help her. He stepped out of his car, and started to walk back to see what he could do.
"Miss, are you okay? Can I help you?"
Her head snapped up at his voice, but she couldn't get out any words. She continued to cry as she dropped her face back into her hands.
He stepped closer, reaching out to touch her on the shoulder. "My name's Steve. What's wrong miss? Is there something I can do? Someone I can call?"
Suddenly the girl was in his arms, crying on his shoulder. She was blubbering as she cried. He couldn't understand most of what she was trying to say. The only things he could catch between sobs were "Oh, Mr. Adams," "don't know what to do," and "flat."
He let her cry for a few minutes, holding her as she soaked his shoulder with her tears. He was stroking her hair, trying to calm her, "It'll be alright. Don't worry. I can help change your tire, and then we'll get you back on the road."
He carefully extracted himself from her grasp as he asked, "Which tire is it? Let me take a look."
She continued to cry, her body shaking with each sob, but she managed to point toward the front, right tire.
He walked around the side, saw the tire, and said, "Well, it's definitely going flat. It's probably fixable, but you can't drive on it. I can change this in no time, and then you can take it to a garage to be fixed. Let's see what you've got in the trunk."
She was finally starting to calm down a little as they stepped back to the open trunk. Steve showed her that the trunk had a false bottom. He quickly lifted it to get out the jack and spare tire, and took them around to the front of the car.
He lined up the jack, and started to lift the car off the ground. While he was working, she came back around the car to watch him. He would occasionally look over at her. She looked somewhat familiar, but he couldn't place her.
"I know this probably sounds strange, but I feel like I know you. I just realized you called me Mr. Adams, so you must know me."
"Well, you do know of me, but we really haven't had a chance to get to know each other very well."
He paused in his work and looked at her, more puzzled than before.
"Mr. Adams, I'm Amanda Jones. I'm the new 6th grade Math teacher."
"Oh, shit, I knew that. Sorry about that. It's just so different seeing people outside of school." He hoped she didn't know the truth. He barely remembered her being introduced as a new teacher at the beginning of last year. Since he taught 8th grade English, he usually wouldn't even see her at faculty meetings.
"Well, I'm also not at my best today, so it's not a surprise that you didn't recognize me."
"No, it's my fault. I'm often in my own little world. I don't pay much attention to other people these days."
Amanda sniffed a couple of times again. She was finally starting to get herself under control. "Why is that, Mr. Adams? I mean, I always thought you were one of the cool teachers. I know I wasn't in your class, I had Mrs. Lind, but I really wished I would have been in your class. You joked with everyone. You always seemed to take an interest in every student whether they were in your class or not. I have to admit you were one of the reasons why I decided to become an education major in college. And then I was really excited to be back teaching where I grew up, mainly because you were still there. But I did notice this year that you were more withdrawn. You were still friendly to all the kids in the hall, but it wasn't quite the same."
"First of all, please call me Steve. We're colleagues now. When we're in front of the kids, we call each other Mr. Adams and Miss Jones, but when we're on our own like this, it's Steve and Amanda, okay?"
"I'd like that. Thanks, Mr. Adams, I mean, Steve. That's been one of the hardest things this year, realizing I'm not a student in the school anymore. It's taken all year, but I'm finally starting to feel like a grown up."
"Being back where you actually did grow up probably doesn't make that much easier. For what it's worth, I had the same problem. I bet you didn't know I grew up here, too. I really struggled the first year. But Mrs. Lind took me under her wing, and helped guide me along. She retired a couple of years ago. That was tough for me."
"I keep hope it will get easier, but right now I'm not holding my breath. And this week hasn't helped." She started to cry again.
Steve had just gotten the flat tire off the axle, and laid it on the ground next to the car. "Amanda, what's wrong? I'd come give you a hug again, but my hands are filthy right now."
Sobs started to wrack her body again. "This is one of the worst days of my life. I don't want to talk about it." She turned away from him and continued to cry.
Steve's father had died a few years earlier, but at times like this, Steve would sometimes hear his father's voice in his head. 'Young man, I thought your mother and I raised you better than this. This poor girl needs your help. You need to drop what you're doing and do everything you can to get her life on track. You know it's the right thing to do, so do it.'
Without thinking, Steve said out loud, "Yes, dad."