Stuck With You

by Graham, Abigail

"Congratulations," Cass says, smiling weakly.

  "I told him to round everyone up. I told him it was an emergency, but I didn't say what and I told him I'd be royally pissed if he breathes a word of that to anyone. They should be in the lobby by now."

  "Okay. Go, make sure they're there. We'll be along."

  "Go with her, honey," Cass says to Becky. "Stay right with her."

  "Okay," Becky agrees.

  "I need a minute to dress," Cass says after they're gone.

  "Alone?" I say.

  "No."

  I stay with her, help her with her hair. She looks like a drowned rat, nothing like her normal self, but I don't breathe a word of that.

  "I have a plan."

  "Fine."

  After she's packed, I grab my shit and throw it in my overnight bag and take her down to the lobby, where Alyssa has the whole group packed together tightly.

  "Okay, everyone," I say, "Listen up. Doc Mills has a touch of food poisoning from last night. She's going to be okay but we need to get her back home so she can rest up. Sorry to wake everyone in such a hurry but she slept rough and we need to roll. I'll be driving the van back."

  Half of them look at me like I'm speaking a foreign language and half of them look at me like I walked up and took a dump on the floor at their feet.

  They do what they're told, though.

  The train ride is a nightmare. I can't comfort Cass. I can't comfort her on the ride back. She sits in the very back row with Becky and Alyssa and doesn't have to make an effort to pretend to look like she's going to vomit.

  The urge to speed thrums in my blood but getting pulled over in this boat will make things worse. I keep checking the time as we drive, finally relaxing as we cross the state line and head out of Jersey and to points south.

  Finally, I pull up at the drop-off point at the school. Everyone piles out.

  "Tyler, why don't you drive her home?" Alyssa helpfully suggests.

  "Yeah, good idea, she still looks a little green."

  "I'll go with you."

  After the four of us are alone, Cass comes out of a fog. She sits up and looks at Alyssa.

  "If I give you my keys, can you take Becky to my apartment and stay with her?"

  "Yeah. Yeah, I will," Alyssa agrees. "Anything you need."

  Cass hands over her keys. I drop them there first.

  They store these vans out at the athletic complex anyway. Convenient.

  When we get there, alone, Cass steps out. I help her down and we walk inside the annex with the offices. She straightens as she walks.

  "Cass, no matter what happens because of this, I will never regret one minute with you."

  She looks at me.

  "I'm not scared for me, Tyler. I'm scared for Becky, and for you. I think I ruined everybody's life."

  The door to Ryerson's office is open. We squeeze inside. The man is seated behind his desk, waiting calmly. He looks up from a book.

  "Close the door."

  I swing it shut as Cass sits down, taking the only other chair in the office. I put a hand on her shoulder.

  "I talked to Frank."

  Cass stiffens. "Did he see..."

  "No," Ryerson says, quickly and softly. He sounds like a different man when he's speaking to Cass.

  "I told him the situation, and he agreed he didn't need to look. I think that will count in your favor. Less of a shock this way. We also agreed that, regardless of your future with this educational institution, the distribution of imagery of you in a sexual situation is revenge porn and is illegal. I'm no lawyer, but Frank is, and he says it could even go federal—since it was over the wire. Or near enough."

  "I don't care about anything of that," Cass says.

  "What do you care about?"

  "My child. My lover."

  He sighs.

  "Cassandra, you never learned to really look out for yourself. I assume you cared about those things before you started this dalliance."

  I start to say something, but she yanks my arm.

  "I don't need you to defend me. Not from him," Cass says.

  I nod, glancing at the old man.

  "Step out of the room, boy. I'll deal with you in a moment. I need to speak with her in private first."

  I swallow, hard, and step outside, aware as the door closes that my immediate survival depends on what Cass says while I'm outside. The minutes stretch on and it feels like hours before he opens the door and motions me back in with a nod of his head. Closing the door behind me, I stand firm at attention, ready for whatever he gives me.

  "If you two think that you are the only professor and student that have had an affair on this campus, you're insane," Ryerson says. "The issue here is the evidence, and the fact that you are in a position of authority over Tyler, meaning that you could be influenced or could coerce him."

  "She could coerce me?" I blurt.

  Ryerson glares at me and I go silent. I think my heart actually pauses.

  He closes his eyes.

  "This is how this works. I know where a lot of the skeletons are buried. As in, I know which professor has a flavor of the semester teacher's pet and which science instructor is banging the TAs two at a time. I have often been critical of Frank's handling of this, and there has been considerable friction over the matter between him and myself. The value of the football program to the college has always been my main bargaining chip. Think of it as mutually assured destruction. If he ever pulled the trigger on me, I could dump all my dirt on him."

  "I hate this political shit," Cass grunts.

  "You and me both, girl."

  "You wouldn't cover for someone if they were doing something really bad, would you?" I ask.

  He looks at me sharply.

  "It's all bad. What you two did is bad. That said, I take your meaning, Tyler. No, if there was any covering for that, I'd take my chances and let justice be done."

  "What are you going to do?" Cass asks.

  "Talk to Frank. Have a conversation. Suggest we help each other. If things are amenable, well and good, if they're not, then I'm due to retire next year anyway and board of regents isn't going to pull my pension because I exposed a sex scandal. It'll rock the school and I'll be done, but I can accept that if it helps you."

  She nods. "I'm grateful."

  "I know you are. I can't tell you the specifics yet, but the general thrust of it will be this. You will be placed on immediate sabbatical for the rest of the year. You will withdraw your request for tenure. You will not be asked to return in the fall to continue your position. The college will provide adequate letters of recommendation should you require them. I'll try to let you keep your job. I'll try to make sure your contract is paid out. If it isn't, you know I'll help."

  She nods. "I don't want you to."

  "I said I will. I didn't ask. Cassandra, can you head home now? Will you be alright?"

  "I'll walk her."

  "I didn't say what happens to you," Ryerson says.

  I freeze, and swallow, hard.

  "You will be perfect. No slacking off. No problems. You'll take your B- average and when the year is done, I will never see you again unless it's in her company, am I understood?"

  "You are."

  "I asked you at the beginning of the semester what plans you had. You remember what you said?"

  "I do," I sigh.

  "What are your plans now?"

  "Well, I fucked up getting into grad school next year. I'll have to take a year off. Work at Dad's dealership. I'll make good money, and I can keep working summers there. Explaining Cass to him will be awkward but he'll deal with it. If she wants to, we'll move in together and go from there."

  She looks up at me.

  "I have something to ask her, but I'll do it outside."

  "Very well. Go. I'll be in touch, Cassandra. I'll do everything I can, you have my solemn word."

  She nods. "Thank you, sir. I can't thank you enough."

  He stands and pats her shoulder.

 
; When we're outside, and her color has returned and she's standing straighter, she says, "What did you want to ask me?"

  "I should do this properly, but I don't want to wait. I feel like if I wait, something else might happen, so here it is."

  "Here what is?"

  I hold out my open hand.

  "Your hand?"

  "Pretend there's a ring."

  She glares at me.

  "Tyler, now is not the time for some stupid joke—"

  "I'm not joking. Marry me, Cassandra."

  She stares at me, mouth slightly open.

  "I don't care if I have to work as a fry cook at a burger joint, I will take care of you, and we'll get past this and have some kind of a future."

  "Before I answer, are you asking me this because you feel responsible for me now?"

  "I'm saying it because if you do say no, I know that my life is over, save for waking each morning to grief."

  She blinks, a tear wells in her eye.

  "Did you come up with that?"

  "No, I stole it from a Tim Burton movie. Doesn't make it any less true."

  "Yes, Tyler. Yes."

  "We can go today if you want. Courthouse."

  "Tyler, it's Sunday. They're closed."

  "Okay, then—"

  "It can wait. I'm not going anywhere. We need to find out what the hell is going on. What if this person goes after my kid, Tyler?"

  "I wouldn't, If I were them" I growl.

  "Come on, let's go home. Alyssa probably wants to get back to her fiancée."

  Chapter Fourteen

  Cassandra

  I haven't worked in a week.

  It's strange. I've been sitting around, letting the sun come in through the balcony door and airing out the place. I've already started packing. I'm in luck: I'll be paid through August. I will, however, not be returning next year. My academic career is over. This will follow me forever and I have to find something to do with a doctorate in history.

  I cleaned my office out days ago. Tyler has dutifully kept away for the last several days, but we both know we're not going to make it until the end of the semester. We text constantly and we will, this weekend, leave town at different times and yet somehow end up arriving at the same destination. I have to meet his father. We have to make wedding plans. I'll have to find someone to give me away at the wedding if I'm even going to do that.

  I swear I slept better today than I have in years.

  Then the phone call came.

  "Hart. I mean, detective Hart," she said. "We need to talk. Your apartment?"

  "I'm here."

  When she arrives, I invite her in and she notes that I've been packing my things without a direct comment on it, nods, and leans on the counter.

  "I'm a miracle worker," she says.

  "What did you do?"

  "Well," she says, "I made some calls. The authorities in Manhattan were astonishingly cooperative. It must be incredible to work for a competent, fully staffed, fully funded police agency."

  I huff.

  "Yeah, too many details. Bottom line: The Manhattan DA issued a subpoena for security camera footage from the condo building next to the hostel. Based on your estimates of when the activity occurred, we narrowed it down, and lo and behold."

  "Did you get a lead?"

  "I recognized him."

  "Excuse me?"

  She hands me a business card. It's not hers.

  "Mortimer Sline," she says, tapping. "Had some run-ins with him before. He's a licensed PI but he's the ambulance chaser of the legal world. Guy makes a profession of catching philandering spouses, that kind of thing."

  "That's not necessarily a bad thing, if he catches cheaters."

  "In concept, no, that's a great thing. Cheating pricks deserve to be caught. Thing is," she continues, "Guy's name is Sline. That's one letter from Slime. I almost feel bad for him. His stars were set at birth. He lives up to his name. So I went to have a talk with Mr. Mortimer Sline."

  "How did that go?"

  "He started with the usual crap about protecting his clients blah blah. Normally I respect that kind of thing, but revenge porn is a bit of a hot button for me. So I made it clear to him that we had enough to get a warrant and if he couldn't tell me someone else sent those photos I'd add the illegal distribution of involuntary pornography to the other charges I'm working up on him. PI or not, he's a fucking creep. I don't know if I can stick him just for taking the pics, but I'm damn near going to try."

  "Okay," I sigh.

  "I'm just saying, he almost certainly jerked off to that video."

  "Jesus!"

  "Sorry," she says.

  "Who hired him? Did he tell you?"

  "Barbara Collins. Familiar?"

  I almost fall. She grabs my arm, steadies me.

  "Shit, what is it?"

  "My ex-husband's new wife. That's her. Why on Earth would she hire a private detective to follow me? To do what? She's been sending pictures for months but she never...Jesus Christ."

  "What?" Hart says.

  "Custody. They're going to try to take my kid away from me."

  In a rage, I bolt from the door.

  "Hey, hey!" she shouts, dragging me back. “Hear me out and hear me good, you hear?"

  I glare at her, blinking away tears.

  "I know kicking this bitch in the box and shoving her through a window would feel good, but you do that, say goodbye to custody of your kid, Mills. I'm not supposed to say things like this. I'm not a lawyer, understand?"

  "I understand."

  "You have evidence that this woman hired a private detective to stalk you, interfered with your work, and tried to set you up. Look—I know it's bad. If you have to go before a judge, it'll come up that Tyler is your student. But trust me, the family court will take your side, especially if you two are getting married, like you said on the phone."

  I nod.

  "It's bad. It's touchy. But in my unofficial legal opinion, the professor-student thing is scissors and Barbara hiring a goon to photograph you in the middle of sex with your boyfriend and send it to people is rock, get me? There's something else."

  "What?"

  "I'm working on subpoenaing the email account. If I tie it to her, she's toast. Felony."

  I let out a slow breath.

  "I'm going to do everything I can to nail this bitch to the wall," Hart promises. "Everything, you have my word. Call your slab of a boyfriend and get him over here to work out some tension before you go put your claws in Barbara. For now, I need you to play it cool, don't let on with anything."

  "She wanted to rub my nose in it," I say. "She copied the pictures to me so I'd suffer more."

  "Yeah," Hart says. "Write that down. Judge will want to hear it. I'm going to go, I need to work this and fast. You good?"

  "I'm good," I sigh.

  I let her out and slump on the couch, staring up at the ceiling.

  The fun part is that I have to pick up Becky tomorrow.

  When I pull up to Bill and Barbara's house, I make sure to pull the two wheels of the Miata up onto the grass. I mean, I could donut their front yard, but I manage to restrain myself. It's time for me to pick up my daughter for the weekend. Thrusting my hands in the pockets of my windbreaker, I walk up to the door, all my anger now chilled to a heavy, lurking dread in the pit of my stomach. This could be bad.

  Barbara opens the door. I step inside and immediately hear shouting upstairs. Becky shouting, Bill talking. I start for the staircase and Barbara catches me with a hand on my chest.

  "What are you doing?" I say, coolly.

  "Cassandra, Cassandra, Cassandra," she says, tisk-tisking. "Sleeping with a student? Losing your job? Bill and I felt we had no choice. We filed a petition for full custody of Becky. I'm afraid I need to give you this."

  I already know what the legal document is. I snatch it from her hands.

  "You've been serve—"

  "BILL!" I bellow. "Get down here!"

  Barbara jerks back,
shocked by the volume of my voice.

  "That won't be necessary," she says, instantly regaining her cool demeanor.

  "Shut the fuck up," I snap at her. "BILL!"

  Reluctantly, my ex-husband descends the stairs.

  "Where is my daughter?"

  "Upstairs in her room. She won't be coming down."

  "What is this?" I jab the papers at him.

  "It's a summons to family court, Cassandra. You know perfectly well what it is. Your recent behavior has only—"

  "You can shut up now." I turn back to Barbara. "Does the name Mortimer Sline ring a bell, Babs?"

  I have to give her credit. The only sign she gives is a twitch of her eye.

  "Who's that?" she says, which is not a denial.

  "He's a private detective who's been following me and taking pictures of me, some of them in states of undress. A video clip, in fact."

  Eye twitch.

  "Would you know anything about that, by chance? Anything about distribution of the video without my permission?"

  "I have no idea what you mean."

  I smile thinly.

  "This is nice," I say, lifting the paper. "But I brought my own, and mine are bigger."

  Barbara looks past me in horror to watch a land behemoth of an early 80's Cadillac sedan with a blue bubble light spinning on the dashboard roll up behind my Miata, dwarfing it. The tires sink deeply into Barbara's perfectly manicured lawn, and the disheveled, pixie-cutted Detective Hart steps out in a swirl of oversized trench coat, her big service gun bouncing against her left breast in a shoulder holster as she walks up the driveway to the house.

  She stops at the doorway and casually spits a wad of gum into Barbara's flowers.

  "Afternoon, folks. Is there a Barbara Collins at home?"

  "That's me," Barbara says. "What do you want?"

  Hart steps inside.

  "Stop right there," Bill says, sharply. "You can't come in here without permission."

  "Or a warrant," she says, producing it. "A search warrant. Miss Collins, this happens one of two ways. One, you sign and acknowledge this warrant and I confiscate any and all computer equipment in this house. Two, you argue with me and I serve the warrant anyway, only I call two crime scene vans and a couple of squad cars so the uniforms can help me search and keep an eye on you so nothing goes down the toilet while I'm here. Pick."