On Thursday, when Francie sat down to lunch, she wondered what she was doing to drive away the people she cared about. She opened a book to do some reading but had barely read a paragraph when Rose plopped into the other chair. The girl didn't say anything and kept stretching as though watching for someone. Francie thought she looked tired.
“Have you ever had pumpkin soup?” Francie finally asked when Rose still hadn't spoken.
“Uh . . .” Rose glanced toward the cafeteria entrance where a new group of people stood talking.
“If you’re too busy, it’s all good.” Francie packed up her trash, hoping Rose wasn’t looking for Eldred.
“No, I haven't.” Rose scooted her chair forward, giving Francie her full attention. “Can I come tonight? Pumpkin is my dad's favorite.”
“Rose, is everything all right?”
For a minute, the girl looked like she might say something. At the last second, she squeezed her lips shut tight. Francie ached at the worry behind the girl's eyes.
“Well, let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
Rose nodded and turned again at the sound of some approaching students.
All that afternoon, Francie worried. The girl might as well be her daughter for all the time Francie spent fretting over her. Maybe Rose would open up over some pumpkin soup.
“Hey, you finally made it.” Francie held open the kitchen door and hurried a shivering Rose inside.
“I know. I had to meet someone first. Brr. It’s getting so cold outside.” Rose’s eyes darted to her purse at the familiar ring of a text message. She pulled her phone from it and checked it, almost sighing.
“Rose, I can tell something is wrong. Please, can I help?”
“I just have a lot going on right now.”
The girl buried her face in her hands, but she wasn't crying. Was it frustration? Francie didn’t push, but neither did she let it go, sitting still until Rose brought down her hands. Francie waited.
“I want to change my major,” Rose finally said, throwing up her arms.
“Why is that a problem?”
“I don’t think my parents will approve, though each for different reasons.”
“Is it a scandalous major?” Francie tried to sound teasing, but Rose made a face.
“It would be to them, I think. To my mother, for sure.” She dropped into a kitchen chair. “I want to study makeup artistry. I used to help with the high school plays, but I want to get good enough to do it for movies.”
“Does ASU have a major for that?”
“No, but the University of Colorado in Boulder does.” Rose’s expression turned dreamy.
“So far away.” Francie frowned. “How did you find out about it?”
“My aunt lives out there, and she has a neighbor who works at the college. Corky—that’s the neighbor—was telling my aunt all about the Fringe Festival. Doesn’t that sound incredible? Imagine me in a place where I’m not the weird one. I want to go there so bad.”
“Does this Corky do anything with the festival?”
“I don’t think so. Maybe it’s her niece, Lisette, who does.” Rose frowned. “No, it’s not her. Corky just said something about Lisette having terrible taste in guys.”
Francie perked up. The perfect segue. “Do you have a boyfriend?” Rose's head jerked toward Francie, and Rose almost looked scared. Francie took a deep breath to calm herself, surprised at the intensity of her desire to protect the girl. “Oh, honey, does he hurt you?”
“Wow, Francie. You look like you want to hit someone.” Rose grabbed a napkin, her eyes wide.
“If your boyfriend’s been hitting you, I just might.”
“I don’t have a boyfriend.” Rose ripped little pieces off the napkin. “I want to tell you. I've wanted to all week, but it's not my secret to share.” She tore the napkin in half.
“Don't worry, Rose.” Francie patted the girl's hand and stood up. “I don't want you to betray a trust.” Francie pulled out the roasted pumpkin from the fridge where it had been cooling.
“Oh, that smells so good.” Rose jumped up and grabbed the apron she always wore. She came to stand beside Francie. “Do you have to use a whole pumpkin?”
“No, you can use the canned stuff, but this came from my garden. Why don’t you dice an onion while I get the herbs going?” Francie pointed to a large stock pot on the stove. “I made vegetable broth for you.”
“Thank you!” Rose gave her a quick hug before starting in on the onion. “All right,” Rose said when she had finished slicing the onion. “I trust you, Francie, so I can tell you some of it. See, there’s a girl in one of my classes who was seeing a professor.”
“Just a guy who happens to be a professor, or one of her professors?”
“Her professor.” Rose chopped the onion with an angry intensity. “When her mom died in the middle of the semester last spring, she got really behind in her classes. So, she comes to meet with this guy, and he makes her an offer.” Rose wore one of those sage expressions she got sometimes, the ones that made Francie wonder what the girl had seen in her short life.
“And she took it?”
Rose nodded, picked up the cutting board, and headed toward the stove.
“Has she reported him?”
“She doesn’t think she can; it would be his word against hers. He’d just say it was consensual.” Rose used the knife to slide the onion pieces into the broth.
Francie felt sick as she stepped beside the girl to add the fresh thyme, parsley, and garlic to the pot. Her word against his. Francie remembered all too well the feeling of helplessness. At least she had only lost her job.
They went back to the table and started scooping the roasted pumpkin flesh into a food processor.
“That’s all it takes?” Rose inhaled over the pot. “How did you cook the pumpkin?”
“You can roast it in the oven. I did it in the crockpot.” Francie leaned against the counter and folded her arms. “It’s Professor Eldred, isn’t it?”
Rose spun to face her. “How did you know?”
“Remember, I work for him. What I want to know is why you keep going into his office when I’m not there. He’s not supposed to do that.”
“He’s not supposed to be selling grades for sex either. Every time I go in there, I'm wired with a recorder. He’s been coming on to me big time, and I have it all down. What I need is for him to offer me a better grade in exchange for putting out. I think I’m going to have to fail a couple of tests though. My grade’s too high.”
“You're incredible.” Francie stared at the girl. “But honey, I don’t think they'll admit that in court.”
“They don’t have to. Ever heard of the Internet?”
Francie burst out laughing, but she sobered quickly. “What if he says you doctored the file? He could sue you.”
Rose’s face went pale, and her shoulders drooped. “Are you kidding me? I’ve been putting up with Eldred’s crap for nothing?” She flopped into a chair. “My dad teaches in the same department. I can’t do anything that would hurt him.”
“Do I know your father?”
“You must. Professor Diederik.”
Francie’s knees went weak, and she sat down.
“Are you okay?” Rose hurried around the table and knelt on the floor.
“You’re Sam.”
“Yeah.” Her cheeks went red. Not looking at Francie, Rose—Sam—stood and went to the stove to stir the soup. “I guess you know my dad then?”
“I work for him and the snake.” Francie pulled her phone from the other side of the table and sent a quick text to Alex, asking him to call her when he had a minute. “You said earlier that you trusted me. Why did you tell me your name was Rose?”
“It is Rose. Well, Rosamunde. It’s my middle name, after my grandmother.” Sam turned from the stove, clutching her hands to her chest as though she was praying. “See, when I tell people I’m Rose, I’m just Rose. Not Professor Diederik’s daughter. Lots of students have
taken classes from my dad. He’s really popular. When they hear my last name, they act all weird, either because they think I’m too strange to be his daughter or because they’re fans.”
When Francie’s phone rang, her heart did a little lurch. She put it on Speaker. “Hello.”
“Hey, Ma. I'm so sorry I didn't call you back sooner. You wouldn't believe the week I've had.”
Francie's throat had tightened at the sound of his voice, but she played it light. Letting out a shaky and exaggerated sigh, she said, “Well, it's begun. Out having fun while your aged mother languishes in solitude.”
“Is that your son?” Sam giggled.
“Who's that?” Rafe asked. “Is that your friend, Rose?”
“Francie told you about me?” Sam's cheeks went pink with pleasure.
“Yeah, she has. Hey, Ma I—”
The phone vibrated, signaling another call, and Francie and Sam both jumped.
“So much for solitude, huh? Sounds like you have another call. I have to go anyway. Talk to you Sunday. Love you, Ma.”
Francie fumbled to answer the second call.
“Francie, are you all right?” There was a lot of background noise; Alex must be at a restaurant.
“You need to talk to someone,” Francie said, pushing the phone to the middle of the table. The sound of his alarmed voice made her stupidly happy. And he had used her first name.
“Daddy?” Sam's eye's darted between the little cell phone and Francie's face.
“What the . . . Sam? I can hardly hear. Was that Sam? Where are you?”
“She’s at my house, Alex. She’s the Rose I’ve told you about.”
“Francie? Sam? Look, they’re signaling to me. I’ll call you in an hour.” He hung up.
“You're my dad's lady friend.” Sam clapped her hands. “He lent you my Aircast.”
“I gave it back this week.” Francie lifted the leg of her jeans to show the greenish, purpley bruise on her ankle.
“Ouchie.” Sam sat in the chair beside Francie. “Did you guys fight or something? He was really happy for a couple of days, then, I don't know, it was like someone stole all the chocolate in the world.”
“I have no idea what happened,” Francie said then sniffed. “The soup!” She dashed to the stove, where she pulled the large pot off the burner. With a spoon, she stirred it, carefully running it over the bottom. Like someone stole all the chocolate in the world.
“Is it burned?” Sam asked at her side.
“I don't think so. One more thing to add then let it simmer a bit more.” Francie opened the cupboard and removed a can of coconut milk. “Normally the recipe calls for cream.”
“That’s stuff's expensive. Did you buy it for me?”
“Don’t worry about it.” Francie opened the can and poured the smooth, white liquid into the dark, orange mass. “I’ve been collecting aluminum cans all summer, and I cashed them in.”
“I’ve never known anyone like you before,” Sam said. “I wish you were my mother.”
“Don’t say that.”
Sam's eyes flashed, and Francie could see Alex in his daughter. “I don’t like her.” Sam’s eyes went wide. “There. I said it.” The girl stood taller, as though a huge load had been lifted from her thin shoulders.
“I'm sure your mother loves you—”
“And I love her . . . but I don’t like her. Do you see the difference?” Sam started pacing the kitchen. “Seriously, if she wasn’t my mother, I wouldn’t have anything to do with her. I hate being around her. She's been pushing me to go with her to France.” Sam made a gagging motion.
“Don’t say bad things like that about her.”
“Why shouldn't I? She says plenty of disgusting things about my dad.”
“Please don't, Sam. Isn't name calling her style? I thought you didn't want to be like her.”
“You're right.” Sam stopped in front of Francie. “But if you’re going to marry my dad, you need to know this.”
“Your father and I aren't even dating,” Francie said, her face going hot. “He's my boss.”
Sam's eyes went wide again. “Is that the problem?” She nodded, answering her own question. “Yes, to my rigid, rule-keeping father, it would be. But it's obvious you two were made for each other.”
“You've never seen us together, Sam. And it wasn't obvious to you an hour ago.”
“Yes, it was. You have no idea how hard I've been working on him. Did you ever see that old musical Hello, Dolly? Well, Dolly's a matchmaker who has her eye on this old guy for herself, but she has to get him in a marrying frame of mind first. Since I met you, I've been getting my dad in the dating frame of mind.” The girl shrugged. “I would love for you to be my mother.”
“Sam, you are sweet to say that, but you're getting way ahead of things. The last time I saw your father, he looked like he could hardly stand the sight of me.”
“Yeah.” The girl shot Francie a knowing look, a single brow raised. “Just now on the phone he really sounded like he couldn't stand you.”
“Let’s eat,” Francie said, feeling a little numb. “And you can tell me more about your plan to entrap Professor Eldred.”
Alex used his keycard to get into the hotel room. His evening conference presentation had been a disaster; they would never ask him to present again. He didn’t care; he was still trying to get his head around Sam and Francie knowing each other.
Shutting the door behind him, Alex leaned against it. He had listened to each of them talk about the other so often that he knew they were friends. Independent of him. If Sam was doing so well because of Francie, he owed his assistant more than she could possibly know. He grinned. As soon as Francie had said the name “Rose,” he should have wondered if Sam was passing herself off as Rose again. This time, it didn't bother him.
Alex kicked off his shoes, took off his tie, and sat down to his laptop. Before he called back, he wanted to initiate something first. He paused, wondering if he was being presumptuous. The memory of Francie's kiss came to mind, as it had so many times over the last week—had it really only been a week? Alex couldn't be misreading her.
Taking his time to write the email, he paused and thought about all those stupid emails he had sent and received from that online site. It had always seemed risky to him, sending them out to random strangers. Francie was a risk he wholeheartedly wanted to take. Alex clicked Send.
He sat on the bed and hit autodial. Sam answered Francie’s phone.
“Daddy! We just had the most heavenly pumpkin soup. I can’t wait to make it for you. Or”—Sam’s voice took on a sly note—“you should just try Francie’s.”
“Give me that phone, you minx.”
He chuckled at the little struggle that ensued, with Sam cackling in the background.
“Hello,” Francie said, when she finally got control of the phone.
“I have to study for a test, kids,” Sam called from the background. “I’ll leave you two to talk.”
“Hang on,” Francie said, and she must have put the phone down.
Alex could hear them talking but not much of what they were saying. Something about soup, secret Facebook groups, and YouTube. In a different time, with a different person, he might have been a little jealous of the connection between the two.
“I’m back.” Francie sounded wary, and he didn't blame her. “I feel really stupid that I didn’t realize Sam was Rose.”
“Sam kept going on about this older lady who was teaching her cooking,” Alex said. “I knew she liked you—whoever you were—but all this time I’ve been imagining a plump little grandmother with blue hair.”
Francie didn't speak and, for a second, Alex wasn't sure what to say. Had he killed their easy camaraderie?
“I need to talk to you,” Alex said.
“I'm listening.”
“No. In person.” He wished she would give him some encouragement. Her tone was so different from the teasing banter with Sam. “Can I take you to breakfast when I get bac
k?”
Francie hesitated, and Alex held his breath. “I can make something,” she finally said.
“I knew you'd say that. Let's work it out when I get there. Is that all right?”
“Sure.”
“Well, good night, I guess.”
“Night.”
Alex tossed his phone to the bed. It was his own fault.
“You ready for breakfast?” Alex asked when Francie opened the kitchen door early Saturday morning. “I brought meat.”
“I thought your flight back wasn't until tonight.” Self-conscious in her shabbiest work clothes, Francie stepped back to let him inside. She took the flowers he handed her, not sure how to take his rather forced joviality.
“Took an earlier flight.” He put his packages on the counter and turned to face her.
“Alex, what's going on?” Francie stood by the door, the bouquet still in her hands.
“Let's sit down, first, all right?” He came to her and held out his hand.
“I don't need help. My foot's almost as good as new.” She brushed past him and sat at her table. “Thank you for asking.”
“All right. I deserved that.” He sat in the chair across from her. “Are you aware of the University’s fraternization policy?”
“So Sam was right.”
“Sam?”
Francie told him what his daughter had said the night before.
“After a coworker made a comment, I've been thinking about it all week.”
“Eldred,” Francie said, remembering when Alex had walked her to the copy room. Only that snake could have read anything in that.
Both of Alex's brows shot up. “How did you know? Well, it doesn't matter, Francie, he was right about one thing. As your direct supervisor, I have authority over you. I pulled out my copy of the school's policies and procedures handbook. The school doesn't like supervisors dating subordinates—there would be accusations of favoritism and undue influence.”
“You should have just told me.”
Second Chances 101 (A Ripple Effect Romance Novella Book 5) Page 9