by Claire, Ava
“Miss Woods?”
I blinked, swallowing quickly as I realized all eyes, including our substitute’s, were on me. I covered the phone on my pants leg instinctively, even though I knew it was impossible for her to see it. “Yes?”
“I was asking for you to give your thoughts on In Memoriam.”
I glanced at the whiteboard, sitting a little straighter in my chair. “I think that the lines, ‘tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all' have become a symbol," I paused. "More like empowerment when romantic relationships go sour. But I think the fact that Tennyson wrote it while dealing with grief over the loss of a friend is proof that it represents something more universal and deeper than just rising above a breakup."
Most of my classmates had pretty much turned their attention elsewhere as soon as I started talking, but there was something about the way Lydia's dark eyes pierced me, hanging onto every word that made me wonder if she was hoping I'd trip up. But that was silly, I didn't know her other than trading pleasantries when I was in the office to see the dean, what would she have to gain by eyeballing me like I'd done her wrong?
It was a good thing that I'd completed the reading because she tested me at every turn, calling me out even if my hand wasn't raised. That microscopic attention just made me think about class sessions when Chance let our personal lives spill into the very public classroom. My heart clenched into a fist when I remembered how angry I’d been...and how cathartic it was to just let go in his arms. I found myself glancing at the clock every few minutes, willing the hands of time to move quicker.
I hung around after class was over, walking to the desk at the front. Lydia was hunched over, gathering papers and stuffing them into a canvas bag.
"Uh, Miss Horne?"
"Lydia," she corrected, her tone short and precise. She looked up at me with eyes so callous that I decided to stop five feet from her, just in case.
I forced away the questions about her random dislike of me and focused on the bundle of nerves in my stomach. "About Dr. Crawford, um, do you have any more information?" When she raised an eyebrow, I tried to think of a way to explain why I was so worried about a teacher. "It's just that we were supposed to meet to work on a project this afternoon."
"A project, huh?" She finished stuffing the papers haphazardly in her tote and lugged it on her shoulder. There was something off about the woman's voice. It was tight and pinched, like she was holding onto something that was eating her up.
"Are you alright?" I asked hesitantly, not entirely sure if I wanted to know the answer. Being Rhyder Woods’ daughter didn't always mean star struck professors and overly friendly fledgling poets and writers...my father's more visceral work had earned him a reputation in some circles. Or maybe it had nothing to do with me or my dad. Maybe she just wasn't stoked about having to cover a lecture.
"You know what, nevermind." I turned to go, deciding that I'd go see him after my next class.
"If you're really worried about Dr. Crawford, maybe you should go see him. Since you two are so close."
I probably should have frozen in place, shocked to the core at the undercurrent of her words. I should have turned and gazed at her with wide eyed innocence, acting like her statement flew right over my head. But my legs carried me from the room without another word, arms pumping as I plowed through the human obstacles in my way like a linebacker. I was in a daze, my body moving on auto pilot because I was still stuck on the jealous glint in Lydia’s eyes. Muscle memory and luck guided my car down Hillsborough without crashing or mowing anyone down. In what seemed like mere seconds, I was parked in front of Chance’ building.
I pushed inside, giving the doorman a grunt. The doors of the elevator clicked closed behind me and when I stepped out, I paused. I felt like I was in some horror movie, the hall abandoned and stretching on forever. When I finally got down the hall, I brought my hand up, trembling fingers unable to grip the brass knocker. I balled my hand into a fist and two solid thwoks echoed in my ears as my heart stalled in my chest.
The lock disengaged with a snap and the door slowly, painfully, retracted and I saw his face.
They knew.
****
"Talk to me."
Chance kicked his feet up on the coffee table and brought the mug to his lips. I stared him down as he took the world's longest freaking sip.
"I think it's pretty obvious what happened." His caramel colored eyes shot to me, waiting for me to put it together. When the light bulb didn't flash on, he finished off his coffee and rose to his feet. "Your friend made good on her threat."
"Alicia?" I twisted my dark hair, needing something to do with my hands so they didn’t shake right off my body. "She wouldn't do that."
Chance walked to the island and poured coffee into his empty cup. I expected him to reach for milk, but he grabbed a bottle of booze instead. He wouldn't...but apparently he would. He was topping off his coffee with alcohol.
He swatted away my concerned gaze as he took another hearty gulp. "It's not like I have to go to work. She made sure of that."
"Alicia wouldn't have reported you after we straightened everything out," I insisted, tracking him with my eyes, not believing that he was actually about to booze it up right now. "Besides, even at the height of hatred, I don't think she would have gone through with it."
He took a few steps forward like he intended to retreat to the couch then decided on the stool beside the bar. Fitting.
"Your mother then," he said gruffly. "Honestly, from the way she acted at dinner, I'm sure she figured it was the least she could do."
Mom. I hadn't talked to her since dinner, and I wasn't sure if that counted anyway since she refused to say a single word. Even though I made a choice to not be the first to back down, she'd taken that small victory away by not even calling or texting. Once upon a time I'd considered her helicopter parenting a nuisance, but the truth was I'd give anything for something other than the cold shoulder.
While her dislike of Chance was no secret, even she looked shock when Alicia played the rat card. She wanted him out of my life, but if she turned him in she'd go from concerned parent to the villain and I didn't think that was a cross she was ready to bear.
"I don't think it was my mom either."
He gave me a look so incredulous that I almost doubted myself. "Not your mother. And not Alicia."
I didn't answer. I was sure, like 99.9 percent, but it was still the hair's breath from 100 that choked me up. I met his eyes and answered with a confidence I had no right to wield. "They didn't do it."
Chance's face clouded with anger, his grip on his mug sending pangs of worry through my chest. Would he clutch it so tight that it exploded in his hands or chunk it at the wall? Did it matter?
I didn't see the brooding, darkly passionate man I'd met who had an affinity for literature and half smiles. I didn’t see the charismatic man who drew and held my attention, turning the simplest things into pure sex on his tongue either. This man, withdrawn, sullen, like death warmed over, was a stranger. He needed me, or at least needed to hear that things would be alright. Even if I wasn’t entirely sure of that myself--or what all went down since he hadn’t said much about what happened.
I put aside my apprehension at approaching him in this state, poking and prodding when he clearly wanted to be alone. I stopped a few steps from him, close enough that I could smell the liquor radiating from him like a pungent cologne.
I held out my hand. “I think you’ve had enough.”
“I’m fine, thanks,” he said curtly. “Maybe you should have a glass and relax.”
“Why don’t you just give me a sip of yours? Seems like you have the whole bar in your mug.”
From the tightening of his jaw, I expected him to tell me to stick my intervention where the sun don’t shine but instead, he surrendered the cup, placing it solidly on the counter.
“So if they aren’t responsible, who spoke with the dean? The man’s a lot of things, but psychi
c isn’t one of them.”
Dean Moriarty had a reputation for being a bit of an asshole. Even the teachers that had reputations of their own flinched when he ambled into their classrooms. He sat in his swivel chair like a king on a throne, acting like lowly students should effusively kiss his ass when he deigned to actually do his job. I was shocked that he didn’t just fire Chance on the spot.
“So he called you into his office-”
“We didn’t even get that far,” Chance interrupted. “He intercepted me in front of the student union. Asked me if I wanted to go for a coffee and when I declined, wanted me to accompany him to the library so he could find out how I was adjusting.” He scratched the patchy stubble on his chin. “I was supposed to meet a student before class, but he didn’t let me turn him down, insisting that we needed to talk.”
He raked a hand through his messy hair and his eyes locked on the coffee table like a projector was playing out the whole sordid affair on the transparent sheet. “He said he understood my behavior because I was a young teacher and it was easy to forget about the boundaries that are supposed to exist between teacher and student. He talked to me like I was a god damn child,” Chance snarled with disgust.
I perched on the arm of the couch, ignoring the way the aluminum frame jutted through the fabric and focused on him. “Sounds like the Dean.”
“He told me that allegations had been made about improper conduct with a student.” Chance regarded me slowly. “I acted shocked and appalled…and asked what student had lodged the complaint. He shrugged it off, saying the party spoke to him in confidence.”
Even though I could care less about the Dean knowing, the English department was small and it took no time at all for rumors to make the circuit. There were a couple of professors that I’d rather not hear about it. I liked to think they could care less about gossip, but there was still a shimmer of apprehension that made me worry they’d never look at me the same. As modern as Thomas College claimed to be, sleeping with teachers wasn’t seen as progressive.
“In confidence?” I repeated somberly. “He’s not nearly as tight lipped as he claims.”
“Is that right?”
I nodded, remembering my icy reception in class. “I think the department assistant has a crush on you.”
He frowned. “Lydia?”
“Yep,” I answered with a wry smile. “During class she threw every question at me like she was trying to knock me out and after I asked about you, she all but carved a scarlet S on my chest.”
He pondered that for a minute then blinked at me with mischief in his eyes. “You jealous?”
“Nah,” I said with a dismissive shrug. “Besides, she wouldn’t be nearly as interested if she saw you now.”
He gestured at his getup, like he was wearing a two piece suit instead of a t-shirt with Swiss cheese like holes and a pair of sweats. “What’s wrong with how I look?”
“Nothing if slacker chic is your thing,” I sniffed and crinkled my nose. “Your smell however…”
He laughed, a loud boisterous melody that cut through the fog of reality. Watching his face light up, rays peeking in through the storm, I forgot about the person who was trying to hurt him. To hurt us.
His laugh tapered off to chuckles and I could tell that he was going back to the darkness. I popped up, grabbing his mug before he could self-medicate.
“I’ll get you a fresh cup of coffee.” I maneuvered around the corner of the island, bracing myself on the granite countertop. “Cream?”
“Kahlua.”
“Cream it is.”
I opened his fridge and scanned all of the healthy organic labels until I landed on the carton of cream. “So what happens now?”
“I’m supposed to meet with the Dean and a college representative tomorrow to talk about the allegations,” he answered, voice rife with tension. “I have to make a statement, claiming that I haven’t done anything inappropriate.”
“You haven’t done anything inappropriate,” I said with an edge.
“Inappropriate in the eyes of Thomas College,” he clarified.
I watched the cream spread across the coffee, the rich mahogany shedding its skin for the caramel underneath.
“If I don’t lie, I’ll lose my job.”
There it was. Neither of us had actually said the words aloud, like the unadulterated truth would summon a terrible monster to eat us alive. I’d prepared myself for the cut of it, for the inevitable sting of hearing blame and anger behind the statement. I doubted his teaching salary paid for all of this, but the loss of income could very well put him back in that awkwardly small apartment decorated with Craigslist finds and Goodwill treasures.
I’d planned on making a joke, saying that the whole rich and sophisticated thing was nice but I wasn’t made out for being a kept woman. But I didn’t find icy judgment or hidden resentment undercutting the words of what our relationship would cost him. In its place, I heard something hollow and melancholy. Something that told me he didn’t see it as just an occupation or a way to pay the bills and pass time until something better came along.
I glanced at him, trying to further decode his reaction but as soon as he felt my gaze, he hid it all away with a smile. I’d seen enough to get the gist and my mind retreated back to Chance at the front of the class. The way he moved. The way he recited the words, bringing them screeching from the page until they were living and breathing concepts that got under your skin. The way he listened to every person and made them feel like their contribution was valid and important. I was seeing him through love colored glasses before, selfishly thinking that the job was just his way of being around me, of fixing us, that I didn’t even think to ask what led him to teaching. As important as I liked to think I was, if all he wanted was me, he could have staked out Royal Bean until he wore me down and I agreed to talk to him.
I swiveled around the island, offering him the coffee. “When we met, I remember asking if you wanted to teach and you pretty much acted like that would be a fate worse than death.”
He inhaled the aroma of his coffee before responding. “A class full of pseudo intellectuals who all think they’re the best thing since Faulkner?” He shuddered. “It seemed like purgatory, some terrible punishment for all my years of smoking Pall Malls and drinking PBR as I quoted Tolstoy.”
I curled up on the sofa, bringing my own mug in for a good sniff before taking a sip. “So what happened?”
“You know how my dissertation was on literacy and disadvantaged populations?” He waited for my nod then continued. “I had absolutely zero, nada interest in doing anything other than immersing myself in articles and lit reviews. But my advisor told me that my observations lacked depth and the community was filled with real children in need and volunteering with a literacy organization would only aide my final paper. I took her up on it and started reading to elementary kids.”
I almost spit out my coffee. The Chance from before would always scowl when Moms came in the coffee shop with kids in tow. “You read to kids?”
He narrowed his eyes. “I’m not some Grinch-like hater of children and happiness and joy.”
“Uh huh,” I teased. “So you volunteered…then what?”
“It started off with one teacher asking for help and led to a group of them bringing me in to read to the kids in their class.” He smiled. “They were so amazing, Cass. The look on their tiny faces when something clicked...it was beautiful.”
I stared at him in awe, shock, and amazement…and a good bit of heat was lighting up all over me. I guess it was true--guys with kids were sexy.
“So after I finished, I substituted awhile and decided that I should give the possibility of teaching another look. When I went to London, I kicked it on a friend’s couch that taught at university in London and ended up doing some assistant teaching and making connections. I took a break and did some more traveling, but I missed the classroom. And the rest, as they say, is history.”
The light in his face flickered
, our current situation a gust of wind about to snuff out something that made him happy. Even before when I hated to admit that he could change, there was no denying the fact that Chance was different; more engaging, more open, more confident. Teaching helped make him a better person. And now, he was about to lose it all.
I cradled the mug between my palms, giving him a steely, determined look. “You have to tell them it’s just a rumor. That you don’t see any of your students as anything more than young, eager minds to mold-”
“And corrupt?” he cut in slyly.
“Whatever you need to say to get them to drop it,” I said, disregarding his playful interjection. “You don’t have to lose your job, Chance. Not because of me.”
“I’ll find another job, Cass,” he said gently. “If not at a university in this area, there’s always high school-”
I shook my head effusively. “I won’t let you take a step backward.”
“I’ll cast a wider net then,” he answered. “It’s not a big deal-”
“And what if you can’t find a job within driving distance?” I refuted. “You’ll have to move, right?”
“Let’s cross that bridge when we-”
“I’m saying we won’t have to cross anything!” Now I was the one gripping a mug until my knuckles were chalked and white. I’d just got him back. I couldn’t lose him again--the very thought made my chest tighten and my eyes fill to the brim. “I’m just saying that you should lie if that means you can stay.”
“And I’m saying that maybe there’s another way to handle this, Cassandra.” His voice was no longer hesitant but hot with anger. “You should have seen the way the dean’s gray eyebrows wiggled like a caterpillar doing the electric slide.” He looked like he wanted to strangle someone. “We don’t have to turn this into something ugly and tawdry. We don’t have a damn thing to be embarrassed of. We’re both adults. I broke the rules and now I’ll be held accountable.”
“That’s admirable, but there’s nothing ‘adult’ about being impulsive and doing something that will make you unemployed.”