alone. The main difference between this scene and high school was the mix of age groups, but fifty percent or more were in their late teens or early twenties.
As he took in the scene, he was aware of the ball of tension in his gut, but he knew what it was, and it was okay. He’d been so focused on helping Daralyn, he’d forgotten the one drawback for him, when around a bunch of unfamiliar people. While interacting with new customers or delivery drivers he hadn’t met before, he got small doses of it. But surrounded by a sizeable number of people close to his own age, he felt it more keenly.
The glances in his direction, quickly cutting away to avoid direct eye contact. The bright wattage smiles of someone making a conscious effort to acknowledge him more directly than they would a “normal” stranger, perversely so he wouldn’t feel like he was being treated differently.
He wasn’t sure which reaction he preferred, or where the happy medium was, but it didn’t matter. This wasn’t about him. It was about Daralyn.
They crossed the open courtyard, the hub for students coming and going to their various destinations. He saw plenty of outdoor tables where he could set himself up. He pointed them out to her, so she’d know where to find him. “Take me to your first class,” he told her. “So I’ll know where to find you.”
That won him another small smile. They moved toward the building in question. A bearded thirty-something in flannel shirt and work shoes held the door open. Probably here for a continuing education class in his chosen blue-collar field, like Peterson had been. Or maybe for a computer class to head in a different direction.
The man’s brown eyes were on Rory’s chair, not on Daralyn, so as Rory gestured to Daralyn to precede him and she complied, the guy gave her the stink eye. He thought she’d stepped in front of a handicapped guy. Thankfully, she missed it, her mind gripped by what was ahead. But Rory wasn’t going to let anyone think Daralyn would do something like that. He nodded to the guy as he passed through the open door. “Thanks for holding the door for my girl.”
The man’s face cleared, then he grinned at Rory’s casual remark.
Rory caught up to Daralyn, who was waiting for him. It was louder in the hallway, more people in a contained space. The chair helped, people making a conscious effort to give them a path. She stuck close, her hand on his shoulder. He gripped it briefly, letting her know it could stay there before he pushed forward. Then they reached the open door to her classroom.
He’d made sure they’d arrived early enough she wouldn’t have the same experience with crowded seating she’d had last time. Nobody better at advanced logistical planning than a member of the disabled tribe. Pi, one of the guys in his adaptive sports challenge group, called them that.
Glancing up, Rory’s smile disappeared as he saw Daralyn had become noticeably paler. He pinched her arm lightly, drawing her gaze. “Don’t forget to breathe,” he advised. “Else you’ll look like a blueberry and a crow will swoop down and try to swallow you.”
She punched him in the arm, little more than a brush of her knuckles. He’d have Les work with her on that. When it came to punching her big brothers, Les could give Rocky knockout lessons. During his sister’s last visit, Rory had claimed to have permanent bruising from the punches she’d landed when they were much younger. “Maybe when you get to be a big-time doctor, you can fix those,” he’d told her.
“Maybe I’ll become a brain surgeon and remove yours, replace it with a rock,” Les rebounded. “It will be more functional.”
“You can donate the brain to science,” Thomas had put in. “As a medical anomaly—a brain with the intelligence of a rotting turnip.”
As he captured Daralyn’s hand, Rory shared that memory with her, earning another weak smile. “I’ll be in the courtyard if you need me,” he reminded her. “You can text me as much as you want.”
Her gaze skittered around the room. Her hand was also getting colder. “Hey.” He drew her attention back to him. “Just think of them as customers at the store. You don't have a bit of trouble talking to them."
"Now.” She grimaced. “And that's because I always have you or one of your family as backup."
"Well, that's what I'll be. Right there in the