“You’re Caroline, right?” he asks.
“Uh, yeah.” I tilt my head.
He points to his chest. “Brandon McKenzie. We had history together last spring. How’s your semester going?”
I study him before I answer. “Good.”
He grins. “You look surprised about something.”
“It’s just that you never spoke to me the entire semester. I didn’t think you even knew I existed, let alone knew my name.”
He leans back in his chair. “Oh, I knew your name all right.” Brandon gives me a playful grin. “But my girlfriend who also took that class was the jealous type.”
“And what would she say if she knew you were talking to me now.”
“I doubt she cares since she’s now going out with someone else.”
We stare at each other for several seconds and he laughs. “This is kind of awkward, huh?”
“Yeah,” I smirk. “Kind of.”
“I think I know how to remedy this situation.”
“Do you now?”
“It’s only awkward because we don’t know each other very well. Go out with me on Friday night, and we can fix that.”
I shake my head and glance at my phone to stall. I’m supposed to be taking a break from guys to concentrate on my project. Going out with Brandon, no matter how cute he is, is not working on my designs. I cringe. “I’d really like to, Brandon—”
He holds up his hands. “Don’t say but! Don’t say it.”
“B—”
He clamps his hand over my mouth with a playful look in his eyes. “Don’t. Say. But.” He slowly lowers his hand as if he’s ready to raise it again if I attempt to say the word.
“All right I won’t say … that word, however—”
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
I lean back. “What?”
“Yes or no. Do you have a boyfriend?”
“No.”
He laughs. “See? That wasn’t so hard. Do you have plans on Friday night?”
I should lie. Something about this guy screams trouble, but he’s incredibly good-looking and he definitely has charm. What if Brandon is the one, and I never knew because I didn’t give him a chance? I grin. “No.”
“Let’s see, you don’t have a boyfriend and you don’t have plans Friday night. It sounds like you are destined to go out with me, Caroline.”
“Just like that? I don’t see you for months, you never even acknowledged my presence before, and now you drop in a chair in front of me and ask me out?”
“I want to get to know you. Asking you out seems the best way to achieve that goal.”
I lift my chin in challenge. “I have a project I need to work on.”
“What is it? Maybe I can help you with it.”
I shake my head and laugh. He is persistent. “I don’t think so, unless you’re a fashion design major, and I missed you in all my classes. Or you secretly watch Project Runway.”
He twists his lips into an over-exaggerated grimace. “Busted. I watch it every Monday.”
“Thursday.”
“I record it and watch it on Monday.” Brandon leans forward, his face dangerously close to mine. “See? We can go out to dinner, and I can help you with your project.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Why? Am I too unattractive for you?” he asks teasingly. A guy like him knows he’s good-looking, and he definitely knows how to use it to his advantage.
“Yes, Brandon. That’s it.” I laugh and close my government book, then stash it in my bag. “You are too hideous to be seen with in public. I can hardly stand sitting here with you.”
Brandon stands when I do. “How about I wear a paper bag over my head?”
My eyes narrow. “Why are you so eager to go out with me?”
My question stumps him for a moment. “Because I wasted too much time already. I couldn’t ask you out last spring because of my girlfriend.”
“Good thing for all of us.” I mutter.
“And then after we broke up, I kept thinking about you but had no idea how to track you down. I couldn’t believe my luck when I saw you sitting here.”
His explanation sounds plausible.
“Come on, Caroline. Take pity on a poor guy. Say yes. It’s one date.”
I have to admit, my defenses are crumbling. He is persistent, and I admire that quality in a man. The fact he’s cute doesn’t hurt. “Okay.”
A huge smile spreads across his face, and he pulls out his phone. “Give me your number. I’ll text you then you can text me your address so I know where to pick you up.”
Something tells me not to give it to him, but then I remember how I was lusting after Reed before Lexi showed up. Maybe I need a date to get that guy out of my head. After I tell Brandon my number, he shoves his phone in his pocket. “I’ll pick you up at seven, and we’ll go to St. Thomas Grill.”
“St. Thomas Grill?” It’s got to be the most expensive restaurant in town.
“Nothing but the best for you.” He picks up my hand and kisses my knuckles, then just as quickly drops it and bolts out the door.
What the hell just happened?
Turns out I haven’t turned my back on guys after all.
Chapter Seven
I stand outside the conference room in the dean’s office, my stomach twisting with dread. I’m not afraid to face Reed. I’m more afraid of how I’ll react.
I’m only a few minutes early because I wanted as little awkward time with Reed as possible. When I walk in the room, everyone is present except for Renee and Wendy. Reed sits at the head of the table, tapping his fingers on the tabletop. Lexi is next to him and offers me a reserved smile as I take a seat several seats away from Reed. I plan to keep my mouth shut at this meeting, so perhaps staying physically as far away as possible will help.
The two other girls are moments behind me, and Reed wastes no time starting the meeting.
We all report on the jobs we were assigned. Wendy tells us that she has several graphic design students competing to make a logo for this year’s event. She plans to bring their final concepts to the next meeting. Lexi reports that tomorrow she plans to meet with the head of the local charity that the Monroe Foundation will make donations to. Megan announces that she’s lining up female and male models, but she’s still working on the children. She’s waiting on the design students to let her know what type of models they need.
A cold sweat dots my forehead. I’m no closer to making my designs than I was last week when Ms. Carter announced the theme. If I don’t come up with something soon, I’ll never have time to complete construction of all the garments.
“Do you care to share anything with us, Ms. Hunter, or do you plan to stare at the wall the rest of the meeting?”
Shit.
I clear my throat to give myself a moment to recover. Of course he’d call on me during the few moments I became distracted. “I’ve gotten bids from two companies for runways. We’ve used a carpet on the floor before, but our attendance has always been on the skimpy side. With the extra media and marketing push”—I glance at Wendy—“I expect we’ll see a marked increase in attendance. I think we should move up to an elevated stage so the audience will be able to see the models.”
The group nods but Reed frowns. “And what is the increase in cost?”
“Several thousand dollars but—”
“Do you make a habit of spending other people’s money so freely?”
My mouth drops. I quickly close it as I push down my billowing anger. I refuse to lose my cool this time. “I haven’t spent anyone’s money, Mr. Pendergraft. I’ve merely stated my thoughts on the matter. If you’d let me finish, I will tell you the estimated costs to set up the runway with the elevated stage and without.”
Reed sits up taller and his chin rises. “Then by all means, continue.”
I give them the estimated costs from both companies with both options.
Lexi looks around the table. “It makes sense to go w
ith the elevated stage, if you think about it. And with Wendy using graphic design students for the logo and banners, we’ll save money that we can use for the venue.” She glances back at Reed, as though she’s trying to convince him. “Since the Monroe Foundation has lent us their name and money, we need to make sure our presentation is quality.”
He merely stares at her with his expressionless face.
Surprisingly enough, Reed calls for a vote—score one for democracy—and the outcome is unanimous to go with the elevated stage and with the higher bid because that bidder’s stage seemed to be better constructed. Reed abstains from voting since he’s the head and the designated tiebreaker. I’m partially surprised he didn’t overrule the vote anyway.
Before he dismisses the meeting, Reed assigns more tasks and announces we’ll meet on Friday. The words have barely left his mouth, and he’s immediately up and out the door. I suspect he doesn’t want a repeat of our last meeting.
Greg doesn’t waste time following Reed out of the room. I’m sure he’s wondering how he got stuck in this sea of estrogen. Megan and Renee fall into step with Wendy as they leave the room discussing ideas they have to get the word out on campus.
Lexi stands next to her seat, waiting for me. “As I mentioned, tomorrow I’m going to see the director of the Middle Tennessee Children’s Charity.” She pauses. “I was wondering if you’d like to go with me?”
“Sure, but why me?”
She tilts her head with a half-shrug. “You just seem like you’d have an affinity toward the organization.”
My heart stutters. Does Lexi know about my past? How could she?
She must see my momentary shock. “It’s just that with your hybrid designs, it’s something underprivileged girls could do to spiff up their own wardrobes.”
Instead of making me feel better, her assessment hits too close to home.
She senses my hesitation. “It will look great on your resume if you have direct involvement with the organization.”
I doubt this is true, but Lexi really wants me to go with her. Everything in me screams to tell her no, but I can’t bring myself to do it. “Okay, what time is the meeting?”
Her face lights up with excitement. “Tomorrow at four. Can you get away then?”
I nod. “I have an open lab tomorrow, but I can get away.” Especially since I haven’t come up with any designs to work on.
“Great! How about we meet at the statue of Andrew Jackson at the edge of the west student parking lot, at three forty-five. We can go together.”
“Sure.”
“About last night.” She pauses. “I know I’m too dependent on my family.”
I shake my head. What had I been thinking? Lexi’s life is none of my business. “I’m sorry. Forget I said anything. I was totally out of line.”
She stops and turns to me. “You were right, but I’m not sure I’m ready to lose their support yet. That’s part of the reason I’m here, though. To learn to be a bit more independent.”
If this is more independent, I’d hate to see what it was like before. My phone vibrates in my purse, and I pull it out. “It’s me today.” I laugh, but the smile falls off my face when I see the number. Ice water flows through my veins. I consider not answering, but I haven’t seen that number on my caller ID in over three years. “I’m sorry … I have to take this.
“Of course!” Lexi waves and continues toward the stairwell. “See you tomorrow!”
I lean my back against the wall and take a deep breath, unsure if I’m ready to face what’s on the other side of the phone. My curiosity wins out. “Hello?”
“Carol Ann.”
My mother’s voice slams into my head, taking every ounce of confidence I’ve built up since coming to Southern. “Yes.” My voice is tentative. How did she get this number? I changed it when I moved away.
“It’s your momma.”
I want to say I know, but my mind is too muddled.
“I’m sick, Carol Ann.”
My breath sticks in my chest. My mother is the healthiest woman I know. When I was younger, the few times she was sick she went to work anyway. Her philosophy trickled down to her children. The Hunter children didn’t stay home from school unless they had a fever over one hundred and two.
“I didn’t want to call you, but your father insisted.” Her voice has always been gravelly from years of smoking, but there’s a raspy tone I’m not used to hearing. My father’s voice is muffled in the background, encouraging her to continue. “They say it’s not good. I only have a couple of months.”
I’m not sure what to say. I’m standing in the busy hallway of the administration building, students streaming past me, and my mother has just told me she’s dying. I know I should feel something, but there’s nothing.
“Your father thought you should know.”
“What is it?” That’s an odd way to ask, but it’s the first thing that pops into my head.
“Lung cancer.” She laughs, but it sounds like a bark when she starts to cough. “Guess you were right after all.”
Back in fourth grade, we learned about the dangers of cigarette smoking from our DARE officer. When I went home and begged my mother to stop smoking, worried her lungs would turn black like the ones in the photos he showed us, she told me to mind my own damn business. My feelings had been hurt for days, and I’d be justified to say I told you so, but the words stay deep in my chest.
“Okay.” I know I should say something else. Feel something else.
“All righty then. That’s it.” And then there’s silence. She’s hung up.
I stay propped against the wall, not trusting my now shaky legs. Of course, she’d call me out of nowhere in the middle of the day and drop this bombshell on me. She hasn’t said the one thing I’ve been waiting to hear since the day I drove out of Shelbyville: I’m sorry.
But she’ll never be sorry. She may have admitted I was right about smoking, but she’ll never admit that she treated me like dirt when I left home.
The truth hits me now, why I feel nothing at her news. She may be dying now, but she’s been dead to me for three years.
Chapter Eight
When I walk across campus at three forty-five, I see Lexi standing next to the eight-foot-tall statue of President Andrew Jackson. Other than country music, he’s Tennessee’s claim to fame. Southern has several images of him scattered across the campus.
Lexi wears a classic gray tweed skirt and jacket, an ivory blouse underneath, and a pair of three-inch-heeled black pumps. Her blonde hair is pulled into a French twist. I considered going casual so I’m now thankful I went with a business look as well: a silk blouse with a wool skirt and my suede boots. I’m also thankful I added a cardigan because there’s a nip in the air. Fall has finally arrived, bringing rain clouds to the west with it.
She casts a wary gaze into the parking lot then looks back toward the campus. A smile spreads across her face. “Hi. Thanks for coming.”
“Thanks for inviting me.” Now that I’m closer, I can see her suit is made from high quality wool and has a tailored fit. Her bag is soft leather, and her shoes obviously didn’t come from Payless. Lexi’s attire reeks of money, but her clothes are extremely conservative for an eighteen-year-old. “I love your suit. Is it Chanel?”
She grins, but it falters a bit. “Yeah, I suppose you would notice since you’re a fashion major.”
I tilt my head and study the cut. “It doesn’t look vintage so it had to cost a fortune. Where did you find it?” Most college students could never afford a suit like hers.
Her eyes shift to an approaching car. “A friend gave it to me last year. At my old college.”
She’s acting strange, but I don’t want to pry. Perhaps she’s embarrassed that she’s wearing hand-me-downs. I hate admitting my clothes are mostly thrift store finds, even if I usually repurpose them.
An older sedan pulls up to the curb and Lexi walks toward it. “There’s our ride.”
I follow her, conf
used, as she opens the back door and stands next to it. “Come on, we’re going to be late.”
I start to slide into the backseat when I see who’s sitting in the driver seat.
Reed.
In my shock, I gasp and start to get out of the car, but Lexi is climbing in, pushing me back inside and shutting the door.
“Okay, Reed. Let’s go.”
Reed grips the steering wheel, staring straight ahead. “Lexi.” Her name is a rumble.
“Reed, we’re going to be late and you know how much you like to be prompt.”
His jaw tightens as the car pulls away from the curb toward the parking lot exit.
I finally come to my senses. “What the—”
Lexi turns to me, beaming. “Caroline, tell me about your project.”
I have no idea why she’s so happy. She knows how rude her brother is during our meetings, but does she have any idea her brother humiliated me a week ago? Lexi seems like a sweet girl, so I suspect not. She’s probably one of those girls who has a hard time believing anyone, especially her brother, can do something terrible. I have two choices: One I can throw a huge fit and insist Reed stop the car; or two, I can pretend his presence doesn’t bother me at all. I decide to go with option two. Reed’s behavior in the meeting and at the bar was to get a reaction from me, and I fell right into his trap. I’m not making that mistake again. Ignoring him, or worse yet, being nice to him will drive him crazy. I can’t quite bring myself to be nice, so I choose the second option.
But the question about my project sends anxiety skating down my back. I’ve made no progress. At all. I still haven’t come up with a commonality to tie all my pieces together, or even tie into the theme of Everyday Living. Not that I have any pieces to tie together. I have nothing. “It’s still in the planning stage.”
“Sounds like you’re stalling,” Reed mumbles.
Lexi’s eyes narrow. “Who are your favorite designers?”
I’m not sure if she’s asking to intervene or if she’s truly interested, but I’m eager to avoid a confrontation with Reed. My ire has been stoked, my irritation simmering to a low boil. “I like classic designers: Caroline Herrera, Chanel of course.”
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