The Cottage

Chapter 1: Last Summer

(Originally planned to make this a one-shot, but I think it will end up being two chapters instead. This one is just Will … but Emma is in the next chapter. It's just a "snapshot" of their life unfolding that I've had running through my mind for awhile. Hope you like it.)

Will's POV

The summer of 2010 really sucked.

I don't know what I was thinking at the time, last year when school let out. There had been so many misunderstandings and screw-ups with Emma for months. Trying to make sense of what had happened made my head spin. She thought I'd had sex with April. She'd yelled at me in the teacher's lounge, calling me a slut in front of at least a dozen colleagues. She didn't want to hear my explanations or excuses … so I kind of gave up. I guess I really did believe that it would blow over. I really believed the day would come when I could explain what really happened, and of course she would believe me and maybe even feel badly for thinking the worst of me and then things could get back to normal – whatever that meant.

Hell, I knew Emma was crazy about me, she'd told me as much the day of her "almost-wedding" to Ken. Her words still echoed in my head … "One blink from you Will and I would have been out the door." But by the end of the school year it seemed like that had never happened, like something I'd just imagined – or had I? No, I hadn't. There was a connection between us and despite some roadblocks – like the disastrous end of my marriage to Terri and finding out that Emma was still a virgin – I knew we had something that was meant to be. So I went to her. I told her I missed her. That's when she told me that she was dating her dentist. I felt shocked and sick. I couldn't believe this was happening. I knew when she was settling for Ken that it was crazy. A joke. She agreed to marry him so she wouldn't be alone and then made it clear to him that she never wanted to see him outside of school. But this was different. A stranger who she was spending time with every evening after school. And worst of all, she seemed happy about it.

Yes, Emma was steering clear of me. Even after we lost at Regional's and I told her that I loved her and that she loved me and I kissed her. Still, she didn't come back. And the school year ended. And the summer crawled by. And every day sucked. I wanted so badly to call her, but I was afraid to. Afraid to hear how distant she would probably sound. How hard it would be to think of things to say. That had never been a problem for us before, but things were strange now and I didn't have any clever ideas about a reason to call her. I'd just have to wait until August when the faculty went back to school. Surely there would be a reason for us to talk then, and maybe it would be different and the dentist would be out of the picture.

Yep, last summer sucked. I went fishing at the lake with my dad a few times, but no real vacation. Read a few books. Worked on set lists for New Directions. Ran almost every day. Running helped. It was hard to get started most days, but after a couple of miles I was on the other side of that invisible wall. I was at the place where I'd feel the sweat cooling my body and my thighs felt strong like I could run forever. My breathing would even out and I'd lose myself in the music on my iPod. I purposely avoided any playlist with a song that reminded me of Emma.

It was one day after a run that I came home, took a shower and looked around my place. I mean, really looked around. Terri's craft room. The sofa she'd chosen. The throw pillows she'd covered. The Pottery Barn dining room table we couldn't afford. Even the colors of every wall. It wasn't my place, not really. When we moved in and she decorated I didn't really give it much thought. She liked doing that kind of stuff and god knows it never occurred to me that I'd ever live there alone. But by the summer of 2010, I was most definitely alone and had another year on the lease. I'd made a few half-hearted inquiries about getting someone to sublet the apartment, but I hadn't really made it a priority. Besides, I didn't have a clue about the kind of place I wanted to live in next. I didn't know what I really liked without Terri prompting and prodding at every turn. Without even realizing it, I started to figure it out that very evening.

It was a warm night and I went for a drive out on Route 45 to The Cone Zone, one of my favorite ice cream places as a kid. Growing up I went there every Friday night with my parents until high school when I wouldn't have been caught dead in public with them. Once I had my driver's license I would take Terri there almost every day in the summertime. But this time it wasn't nostalgia that was calling to me, it was their homemade Moose Tracks in a waffle cone. Route 45 was kind of a lazy road and I loved driving out in that direction. It was the definition of pure peace. Sometimes I'd jump on my bike for an early morning ride and find myself headed there. Pastures, ponds, rolling hills, dotted with pretty old houses and a few antique stores … a place preserved and protected from the onslaught of Applebee's and Dunkin' Donuts and Home Depots that had popped up around the rest of the Lima.

That night as I stepped out of The Cone Zone in a frantic battle to control my melting Moose Tracks, I decided to take a stroll before heading back to the car. That's when I saw it. The cottage. It was set back from the road a bit and was surrounded by a low stone wall. The surrounding gardens were well kempt with beds of wildflowers that splashed bright colors against the muted mossy tone of the house. It had a front porch … a real front porch, with a porch swing. I could see dim lighting through the drawn curtains. Even on the warm night, it felt cozy. Like the perfect place to be through lazy summers and bitter winters. I imagined that the people inside must be very happy.

It was at that moment that I became aware of an older gentleman walking along the side yard rolling up a garden hose. He looked down the driveway in my direction. I was slightly embarrassed. The last thing I wanted was for this old man to think I was lurking around in front of his house to do something evil. But his face told me otherwise. He was smiling a warm smile and lifted his hand in a friendly wave.

For some reason I called to him … "Hi! You've got a lovely home here …" He walked toward me, "Why thank you, son. You from around here?"

"Yes. I live just east of Lima. I teach at the high school."

"Oh, really … what do you teach?"

"Spanish."

"Oh! Wonderful! Hola … como estas? Don't answer that, it's all the Spanish I know so I can't really carry on a conversation." He put out his hand to shake mine. "I'm George Riley."

"I'm Will Schuester. George Riley? Why does that name sound so familiar?"

"Well, until about 2½ years ago I still had my private practice in town. You've probably driven past my office on Court Street. I retired in 2008. I was a GP here in Lima just about all my life."

"Well Dr. Riley, I hope you don't mind me admiring your beautiful place ..."

"Not at all. And please, it's George. Yep, we love it here. This place has been in the family since it was built in 1909."

That began a visit that lasted nearly 2 hours. George invited me up to his porch. I told him that I was really captivated by the cottage. He gave me a tour. It wasn't nearly as small as I thought at first from the outside. Wide plank floors, original hardware and molding. Clearly the place had been cared for with great attention paid to every detail. At the time I was curious, but said nothing about the hospital bed set up in the den at the back of the house. After he showed me around I took him up on the offer of a beer. We settled back on the front porch and by the time I left he knew that I'd grown up in Lima, loved being a teacher and the director of the Glee Club, was divorced from my high school sweetheart who I described as being a bit hard to deal with and that I was now in love with someone else. Someone who, I had a feeling, would love this cottage too. I also explained that I'd somehow managed to screw things up and that she was seeing someone else now.

George in turn told me not to give up hope that "the young lady in question" would come to her senses. He also told me his own love story … married for 49 years … he had retired at the age of 72 so that he and his wife Sally could enjoy themselves in this place they loved and also do some traveling to spend more time with kids and grandkids who had relocated to every corner of the U.S. by now. Yes, that was the plan. And then ten months ago Sally was diagnosed with a rare form of bone cancer. The time since then had been filled with traveling alright. Traveling to the Cleveland Clinic, Mass General, Duke, Johns Hopkins. Acceptance was a hard thing, George explained to me. But it had been Sally's decision to stop trying new things and looking for the next miracle. "She just told me yesterday … she said, 'George, I'm tired. I accept what's happening now, and I hope you can too.' And so, what choice do I have?"

He told me that the following day he would be bringing Sally home from her latest hospital stay. This time Hospice would be coming to take care of her. No more hospitals.

I left George on his porch that night after giving him my number and email address. I told him that meeting him had been a great pleasure ... a real light in the midst of a very dim summer break ... and that although I knew he had lots of close friends in the area, if he needed anything to please let me know.

On my way home I took a detour to pass by Emma's condo. It was dark by now, and honestly I kind of felt like a stalker, but I really wanted to see her … to feel close to her. I wanted to tell her about the cottage and about George and about what it was like to sit there and listen to this man … sad and happy all at once.

I wanted to share with her the way I used to. I pulled into the parking lot by her building. She had two parking spots. Her car was in one of them and the other was occupied by a shiny Corvette convertible. The sliding doors leading to her second story balcony were opened and I heard two voices through the screen. Emma was talking to a man … the dentist I assumed. They were laughing. I felt sick and sorry for myself. And I didn't dare glance up for fear that they'd seen me pull up.

I thought back to what George had said to me about acceptance. I almost wished he was with me in that moment to tell me how I'd ever be able to accept losing Emma.

(Please review! Need to hear what you guys REALLY think. Constructive criticism very much appreciated!)