by Claire Adams
"As long as you keep walking." Jackson gave me a mock salute and drove home to his new wife.
The steep walk uphill to Landsman College cleared my head, and by the time I looked up, I was far off course. Music pumped from the row of old Victorians along the last side street before campus. The sorority and fraternity houses were always lively on the weekend, but my stomach sank as I saw which house was overflowing with a party.
The majority of Landsman jocks were Kappa Sig and I remembered overhearing that Clarity had a date with the quarterback that night. I was still confused over why she would accept a date with a jock. Sure, he was good-looking and popular, but neither of those were important factors to Clarity. I thought she was more interested in debating current events and discussing world news. It was hard to imagine her having fun at a keg party.
I walked closer just in case she realized her mistake and was trying to leave the party.
"Psst, Bauer. Over here."
The whispered voice was hidden in the deep shadows of an oak tree. "Dean Dunkirk?" I asked, shuffling through the dry leaves to join him.
"I know, I know, this looks a little crazy," he said.
"Isn't it your job to monitor student activities on campus?"
Dean Dunkirk gave my shoulder a squeeze. "Exactly. Just doing my job. It has nothing to do with the fact that my daughter is in there with a football player."
I chuckled even as the same thought sent a stabbing pain through my chest. "You don't think her last name alone keeps her safe?"
"Clarity can take care of herself. She'll kill me if she knows I'm checking up on her. But, dammit, I'm her father and she's my only daughter and ..."
"You don't have to explain it to me. What's the plan, captain?" I asked.
Dunkirk leaned gratefully on my shoulder. "We're going in. I drop in on the fraternities regularly, so it won't be too weird."
"Unless Clarity sees you."
"That's where you come in," Dean Dunkirk said. "I'll distract the frat boys, you check on Clarity. Once you see that all's well, we leave. Easy, right?"
"Easy," I agreed. "And not weird at all."
It would only be weird if there was something between Clarity and I, like a stolen moment in the treetops that kept playing over and over in my head. I shook off the tempting memory and followed the Dean of Students across the lawn to the frat party.
"D.O.S. in the house!" The student calls from the front yard were friendly, but also a warning to the partiers inside. They neglected to account for the volume of the music, but it was a good try, anyway.
Dean Dunkirk stopped on the front porch to shake some hands and say hello. I plastered a neutral smile on my face and strode up and down the porch, peering in the front windows of the old Victorian. There was a beer keg by the front staircase and another one in the corner of the dining room. Laser lights swept across the dancing crowd in the living room and a small, terrible student band knocked out the coolest guitar riffs they could manage. The house was crowded, but the party was under control.
I couldn't see Clarity anywhere.
The dean caught up to me and chuckled as two students leapt off the porch and disappeared in a puff of suspiciously sweet smoke. "That smell takes me back. Shhh, don't tell the kids," he said with an easy-going grin.
I laughed. "Whatever you say, captain, sir."
"That's right, I always forget you were in the army." He straightened his shoulders. "You've got the look."
I brushed a hand across my wild hair. "Not so much anymore."
The dean shook his head. "Nah, it's there. That toughness. Good thing, too, in case I need an enforcer."
I followed him in the front door and laughed again. Dean Dunkirk didn't need an enforcer. Only a few students here and there slipped away. Most shook his hand or smiled and waved. A few even offered him a beer. He was very, very good at his job.
"We're keeping it under control, sir," the star running back, Carl, informed Dean Dunkirk. "IDs have been checked and we're ready to cut off anyone that can't handle their liquor."
The dean clapped an approving hand on Carl's shoulder. "Know your limits. Always good advice."
"I prefer the motto, 'Stupidity will be punished,'" I said and stepped up to a particularly red-eyed student.
"I've got him, sir," Carl said and helped his stoned friend outside for some fresh air.
"What do we do if we actually see drugs?" I asked.
Dean Dunkirk leaned in so the curious students couldn't hear. "That's not what we're looking for, remember? How about we fan out, cover more ground?"
"Yes, sir," I said. It was impossible not to like Dean Dunkirk.
I was thankful when the dean dove into the dancing crowd in the living room. I turned from the gut churning music and headed through the dining room. A keg stand stopped as soon as my feet crossed the threshold.
"Professor Bauer?" A slim brunette student blinked big eyes up at me. "You party?"
I raised an eyebrow at her and hoped I looked aloof. "I owe the Dean of Students a favor, so here I am on chaperone duty."
"Ropes course, man!" A tall, red-headed football player whacked me on the back. "Prof here killed the ropes course. He's a beast! I thought professors wore tweed to hide their skinny arms, but Prof Bauer's got pythons, man."
I shrugged him off and kept moving. "Keep that in mind and don't let all of this get out of control."
"Aye, aye, Professor Bauer!"
I paused by the keg just to make the students slow down. It was entertaining to see them beeline across the dining room towards the keg, see me, and make abrupt turns. More than one student crashed into another as they tried to change directions. It was a good vantage point, but I still couldn't see Clarity anywhere.
Dean Dunkirk extricated himself from the dance floor and waved me over to the foot of the staircase. "I don't see her anywhere. Any luck?"
"None at all, sir," I said.
"Good lord, those girls are ogling you. I heard you blew the students minds by mastering the ropes course," he said.
"Your daughter was the real star," I told him. "You should have seen her; she was fearless."
"Clarity did the ropes course?" Dean Dunkirk looked surprised. Then he scrubbed his chin. "That wasn't quite what I was thinking when I told her to try new things."
I laughed. "You meant for her to try out creative writing or maybe a modern dance class, didn't you?"
The dean looked up at me with worried eyes. "We have to find her."
I would have laughed again if I didn't share his sentiment. The party was tame, but Clarity did seem to be hell-bent on breaking out of her shell. Why else would she have accepted a date from the star quarterback? The memory still stung. She'd done it right in front of me.
"I'll take the kitchen," I said.
"I'll go around and check the backyard. Meet you out there," Clarity's father said.
A few students recognized me and cleared out as I headed down the narrow hallway to the kitchen. That’s when she appeared. My stomach dropped like a bucket into an empty well.
"Libby," I said.
"What are you doing here? We're not getting back together." Libby Blackwell tossed her bleached-blonde hair.
"We were never together." I stopped dead in the hallway. Libby wouldn't move and there was no way I was going to try to squeeze around her.
"You know, even ex-boyfriends can be nice," Libby slurred. She stalked down the narrow hallway. "Don't you want to be nice to me, Professor Bauer?"
She swayed on spiky high heels and then threw herself into my arms. The sickly sweet smell of rum erupted from her giggle.
"You need to find your friends," I told her. "It's time for you to go home and sober up."
"You can take me home." She rubbed her cheek against my shoulder.
I took her shoulders with both hands and set her back against the opposite wall of the hallway. "Libby, this isn't okay. It never was. I made a mistake, and I'll be the first to admit it."
&nb
sp; "Want me to tell your friend the Dean of Students?" she asked while batting her eyelashes.
"Tell whomever you want. Like I said, I made a mistake and I own it." Disgust rolled around in my stomach.
Libby Blackwell was the epitome of a privileged Landsman College student. Her parents had more money than the government of a small country, and she knew it. Libby flubbed her grades, flirted her way through projects, and expected that everything would be fine on the other end.
When I arrived on campus, I was angry. Angry with Wesley Barton for being a crook, angry with a system that served the wealthiest, and angry at myself for not knowing who to trust. Libby was wild, sexy, and an easy way for me to self-sabotage. I never regretted anything more in my life.
The worst part is she always threatened, but never told anyone. My department head, Florence Macken, suspected our brief affair, but no one else knew. A few times a year, I would run into Libby and she would try to trade sex for silence. I knew I should be the one to approach the Honor Council and be done with the whole sordid affair, but I had tried uncovering the truth once and still felt the burn.
"Hey, Red," I called at the tall football player down the hallway. "Come help us out."
"What's up Prof?" he asked.
"Libby here needs a safe chaperone home. That means you find her friends and get them all home together. You got me? None of the girls go off on their own." I caught him in a stare that made beads of sweat pop out on his strawberry-colored hairline.
"You got it. Operation Gentleman." The football player gathered a giggly Libby under his arm and boomed down the hallway. "Ashley, Farah, time to get your girl home!"
I swore if I couldn't find Clarity, then I would confront Dean Dunkirk with my indiscretion. He would help me face the right consequences and put my mistake-ridden past behind me.
The glimmer of redemption sent me striding down the hallway and into the kitchen, just in time to see Adam try to kiss Clarity. I jumped back into the shadowy hallway and clenched my fists.
"Adam, stop. This was supposed to just be a casual date." I heard Clarity trying to keep her voice light. She pushed the tall quarterback on the chest but he didn't step back.
"Come on, you can't say you're not attracted to me," Adam leaned in again.
"But I can say ‘no.’ Do I have to say it again?" Clarity asked.
"Uh huh," Adam nodded and reached out to grip her shoulders.
Before I launched myself at the unsuspecting kid, Clarity took care of the overeager football player herself. She hooked a foot around his ankle and gave his chest another hard shove. The shocked quarterback stumbled back and plopped down on his ass.
He laughed and held his hands up in surrender. "Alright, I give. How about you let me walk you home?"
The right hook I had cocked and ready itched to knock him down as soon as he got to his feet, but, again, Clarity took care of it.
"Best stick around here and sober up," she said. Clarity spun on her heel and marched towards me.
I lowered my fist just in time.
"Ford? I mean, Professor Bauer?" She skidded to a halt in the shadowed hallway.
"Your father asked me to check in on the party. He's out in the backyard." I hoped Dean Dunkirk would understand me ratting him out so fast.
If the flashing look in Clarity's green eyes was any indication, then the dean would understand perfectly. I backed up against the wall and left the hallway open for her to pass.
She glanced back over her shoulder where Adam was laughing and giving high-fives to his friends. "Dating is the worst. Especially trying to date college guys."
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. "My sister, Liz, says the exact same thing. Which is good, because I told her I would stop paying her rent if she skips class for a boy. She's med school and better stay focused."
Clarity stepped closer to me. "Is that why you're teaching instead of chasing after big stories? You're supporting your little sister?"
"How about I walk you home?" I said.
She smiled. "Thanks, but, like you said, my father's outside. It was nice of you to help him out."
I nodded and didn't trust myself to say anything else. There was no reason for me to feel so relieved knowing that Clarity had turned down the football player and would be heading home safe.
CHAPTER FIVE
Clarity
The shuffle of the Sunday newspaper was always relaxing. My father and I spent Sunday mornings at the wide kitchen table in front of the French doors. Morning light poured in and caught the swirls of steam rising from our coffee mugs.
I loved the quiet routine. Except my eyes wouldn't focus on any words and I burned my lips on my coffee. My mind kept wandering back over the moonlit campus walk with Ford. As soon as we stepped out of the frat house party, my father had jogged up with a breathless frown.
"A group of streakers is causing havoc outside the gym complex and I have to go deal with it."
"There's a great article in there somewhere," Ford nudged me.
"Professor Bauer will see you home safe, won't you?" My father had waved as security swung by in a truck to pick him up.
Neither of us had said a word until the full moon climbed up and over the corner towers of the library.
Ford sighed. "I do actually like it here. I know you think I should be off chasing big stories and being a hard-hitting journalist, but it's peaceful here. Beautiful."
Our hands had brushed at that moment and the memory alone caused a thrill to rush up my arm. I had to be a silly, delusional girl to think that last, whispered 'beautiful' was for me, but I couldn't help it. We were impossible, never going to happen, but at least I could hope he felt the same way I did.
My growing attraction to Ford was a problem. It was fine when it was just a crush on an attractive professor, but now it was pluming out like smoke and hanging like a deep haze on the majority of my thoughts.
"Clarity? Your toast popped up," my father repeated. He folded down one corner of his newspaper and checked on me. "Everything alright?"
I looked around the sunny kitchen and took a deep breath. Most of my friends made fun of me for living at home until they saw our house. The Craftsman was big, comfortable, and full of light. The original hardwood floors and crown moldings gave it a sense of maturity while my father's tendency towards bright colors kept it lively and fun.
"You know it's alright if you want to go out with your friends on Sundays," my father said. He poured himself another cup of coffee from the French Press on the table.
"I know, thanks." I gestured around the warm kitchen, " But why would I want to leave all this?"
My father snorted. "This isn't for everyone. Too boring. What's the word? Stodgy."
He was talking about my mother and I felt a twinge in my chest. She had left when I was too young to remember her in the kitchen on a Sunday morning, but the way my father talked about her, she may never have sat there for more than five minutes. When he talked about her, my mother was always in motion. Always going somewhere, traveling, and very rarely returning. And then one day, she was gone.
That was why when my friends called to declare a Funday Sunday, I declined right away. I couldn't bear to drop everything and leave my father alone. He needed someone to grind the coffee to the right consistency for the French Press. He never remembered where the honey was that he liked on his toast. If I wasn't there to help him, sit with him, he'd be all alone.
I would never hurt him like my mother did. If his heart felt an airless reaching like mine, then how could I even think about leaving? I was determined to be the opposite of my mother in every way. It's what drove me to shake off all my silly fantasies and focus. My biggest worry was hurting my father someday, and he was too good a man to deserve that.
So, I refolded my section of the newspaper and studied the articles. Some journalists used creative leads while most stuck to single-item or summary leads.
The newsprint blurred and I was back on campus under t
he full moon. Ford's gray eyes caught the silvery light and twinkled. The air was chilly and dried leaves crumpled underneath our feet. I felt safe, the ramrod straight set of his back telling me I was his responsibility. Except when he looked my way and a wildly charged current leapt between us.
"Just imagining things," I muttered.
"What was that, darling?" My father looked up from the Arts & Style section again.
"Did you want one of those pears? They're ripe; I checked earlier," I said.
He gave me a quizzical smile, then shook his head and returned to his reading. I forced my eyes back over the headlines and tried to find the trick I needed to write my own grabbers.
Not touching, but aware of every breath, shift, and accelerating heartbeat.
I jumped up from the table and went to butter my piece of toast. On the way back to the table, I slipped a blank grocery list page under my plate along with a pen. There had to be some way to express the distance and absorption I felt all at the same time when I was near Ford.
"Working on an article?" My father asked. "I remember when you used to sit here and write fairy tales. I was forever helping you spell words like 'enchantment' and 'dastardly.' Bet you don't use those words enough now that you're all grown up."
"No one uses the word 'dastardly' anymore. Unless, for some reason, you're describing pirates," I pointed out.
My father chuckled. "If anyone could, it'd be you. You're so much more creative than you're letting yourself be, Clarity."
I groaned. "I thought you were supposed to save the lectures for after coffee."
"No lecture, just an observation," he said.
I folded up the scrap of paper and shoved it in my back pocket. "Well, here's an observation: I've got a great opportunity for an internship at Wire Communications and you promised to help me with the application, but you haven't even picked it up yet." I pointed to the neat folder I had placed on the edge of the kitchen island.
My father glanced at it and gave me a pained look. "Why do you want to work there?"
"First off, it's just an internship. And, secondly, it's just an internship at one of the largest media outlets in the Midwest." I dropped my hands to the table in exasperation.