The doctor made a few notes on his chart, shook hands with both of them, and took his leave. Moments later, two nurses entered to take her father to radiology to prep him for the procedure. Her mother gathered her purse and jacket.
“Maren, I’ll go down with your father. Stay here and wait for Lane and Laurel. You’ll need to explain to them what’s going on,” she said, concern crimping her brow. “Wait until they come back. I don’t want you texting them while they are driving.”
“Okay, Mom,” Maren said, fighting the urge to roll her eyes.
Erin patted her on the arm, seeming to acknowledge her daughter’s censure.
“I’ll let you know where you should wait for us,” Erin said, brushing a quick kiss on Maren’s forehead. Maren turned and managed to give her father a peck on the cheek before he was rolled away, with her mother in tow. He had not even opened his eyes.
Maren collapsed in the less-than-comfy hospital armchair. Exhaustion doubled to drag her down. She pulled her phone out of her pocket, too tired now to play texting games, but wanting to curl up against Malcolm’s voice.
He answered on the first ring.
“Hello, my girl.” His voice was so gentle, it made the muscles in her shoulders unspool.
“Hi…” She tried to keep the fatigue and emotional wreckage out of her voice. No such luck.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
“Mmm…Just tired. Really tired.”
“You need to rest,” he said, certainty evident as his voice deepened. She wanted to lay herself down against the sound.
“Yes. Unfortunately, that’s not an option.” She thought of the days and weeks ahead and swallowed against the lump forming in her throat.
He said nothing for a moment.
“Maren, my darling, what can I do for you?”
Despite the fact that her eyes welled, Maren’s face split into a smile at the endearment, at the earnestness in his words, at how much had changed for them in a day. She caught her breath and let it out slowly, waiting until she was sure she that her voice would not waver.
“You’re doing it, believe me,” she said.
“What’s going on with your dad?”
Maren sighed.
“They’re taking him to do a procedure to block his pain,” she explained. “They should be able to release him afterwards.”
“Meaning today?” Malcolm asked.
“Yes, hopefully in a few hours.”
He was quiet again. Maren could almost feel him weighing his words.
“Are you…still coming over tonight?”
Something she couldn’t name pierced her. It was something in his voice, a doubt that he tried to hide, a doubt that made him vulnerable. A doubt that she was about to affirm.
“I would like nothing better….Truly,…” she began.
“But…?” She hated that it sounded so…anticipated.
“I’d love to go back tonight, but I think I need to stay at my parents’ house…for awhile,” she said, hoping he could hear her own disappointment.
Maren bit her thumbnail, waiting for him to respond.
“I understand that,” he said, gently.
She still felt like she had to explain.
“I haven’t been available,” she tried. “I need to help them.”
“And I need to help you,” he said with surprising urgency. “Please, Maren, let me help you.”
Her breath caught at his words and the feeling behind them.
“Malcolm, all you do is help me.”
She heard him laugh mirthlessly at her response.
“Hardly,” he scoffed.
Unbelievable.
“Shall I make a list of things you’ve done for me?”
“No, make a list of things I will do for you,” he countered with no little heat.
Maren blew out her breath in a rush. She suddenly wasn’t so tired anymore. A little peeved, maybe.
“Like what?”
“Do you have papers to grade this weekend?”
“Not papers, but constructed responses,” she hedged.
“Let me do those.” The gentleness returned to his voice, and it tugged at her.
“I couldn’t.”
“Why not? I promise, I won’t grade them as Dr. Malcolm Vashal, department prick. I’ll grade them with as much mercy and patience as would the lovely Miss Gardner.”
“You’re not a prick, Malcolm,” she protested, but even as she did, she remembered Helene calling him that very thing the first day she’d met him.
“Oh, come now. You and I and the rest of the department know that I am,” he said, dismissively. Then his voice lowered to a seductive growl. “But I have been inside you. I’ve tasted you. I know your goodness through and through, and I will grade your students’ work with great care and compassion….And I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer.”
She swallowed at his words and the memory they evoked and then shook the images from her mind. Maren already knew that he was stubborn and willful and would have his way, like it or not. And what he was offering would save her at least an hour of work. She sighed.
“I feel weird about it, but ok….Thank you…I have a rubric you can use.”
“I will follow it to the letter,” he promised.
Maren closed her eyes and pictured his face, the sage of his eyes, the wealth of his lips, the bronze of his skin. She wished she could kiss him.
“You are the kindest person I have ever met,” she vowed.
Malcolm gave a harsh laugh.
“Then I have you well and truly fooled.”
She narrowed her eyes at his denial, even though he couldn’t see her.
“You are also the most exasperating person I have ever met.”
This made him laugh genuinely.
“That I will concede,” he said. She could hear the smile in his voice, and it made her grin. “So, I assume that if you will be staying at your parents’ house, you will need to get back home at some point to pack some things, correct?”
“Um…yeah,” she answered, frowning.
“May I take you?”
Her breath caught at the sweetness of the offer and the longing he tried to keep from his voice.
“Absolutely.”
“Excellent.”
Just then, Lane and Laurel entered the room. Laurel’s eyes widened when she noted their father’s absence.
“Malcolm, I have to go. I’ll call you when I’m ready,” she said, standing.
“Until then.”
Maren hung up and raised her hands against her sister’s worry.
“Everything’s fine. Let me explain.”
Of course, everything wasn’t fine, but Maren was learning that when it came to terminal illness, “fine” was a relative term. By 1:30 p.m., the block had been performed and Mark Gardner was ready to be released. It would be a day or so before anyone could know how well the procedure had worked. It took that long before the morphine completely ebbed, Dr. Birch explained.
Malcolm was waiting outside the main entrance of the hospital when Maren’s father was wheeled out where her mother waited with the car. Maren’s body recognized him on its own, her heartbeat quickening, her lungs expanding. Had she seen him only that morning? It seemed so long ago. She couldn’t understand why it was such a relief to lay eyes on him again.
He wore a knowing smile. Was he having the same thoughts? He looked so at peace. And damned sexy in a mossy V-neck sweater that seemed to enhance his eyes and faded jeans that made her remember the feel of his thighs under her hands.
Malcolm crossed the distance between them, only just touched her elbow, and pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek.
“Nice to see you again, Malcolm,” her father said from his wheelchair.
Maren realized that her whole family had witnessed the greeting, and it was clear from the look of amusement on Lane’s face that he had been brought up to speed.
“You, too, Mark,” Malcolm said. “I’m glad to see you h
eading home.”
“Maren’s told us that she wants to stay at the house for a while,” her mother said, coming around the front of the car. “You are welcome there any time.”
“Any time,” her father echoed.
Malcolm humbly nodded to them.
“Thank you very much.”
Lane chose that moment to step forward and extend a hand.
“Hi, I’m Lane, Maren’s brother.”
Maren watched the instantaneous sizing up that happened in the exchange of grips, and both men seemed to be satisfied.
“Malcolm Vashal,” he said. Then he turned his radiance to Maren’s sister. “How are you, Laurel?”
Laurel could not help but grin widely.
“I’m fine, Malcolm. And you?”
He cut his eyes to Maren and looked at her as he answered.
“Never better.”
Maren felt herself blush mercilessly.
Thankfully, her father came to the rescue.
“Malcolm, would you get the door while Lane helps me?”
And with that, the attention was off her and on the delicate task of carefully helping Mark into the car. Maren was startled to see how much Lane supported him. Was this medication or decline? She was glad that Lane was following her parents straight to the house.
“Mom, I’ll be home as soon as I can,” she said with no little guilt.
After Maren’s parents pulled away and Lane and Laurel headed for the Jeep, Malcolm tugged her by the hand.
“Come on. What do you want for lunch?” he asked.
The question threw her. She shook her head.
“Oh…I’m good. I need to get over there as—”
“You need to eat first,” he cut in, eyeing her as if daring her to contradict him. On cue, she felt her stomach growl. The sub-par bagel and coffee had been hours ago. But she had told her mother she’d be right home.
“Malcolm, I can’t. I don’t—”
“We’ll be quick, but you are eating lunch first,” he declared, opening the Accord’s door for her.
What the hell?
“Excuse me?” she asked with irony, giving him a scowl.
He blinked rapidly at her reaction before recovering himself. Instead of waiting for her to get into the car, he walked around to his side and got in. Maren wasn’t sure what her next move should be, so she sat down and pulled the door closed. Once her seatbelt was on, Malcolm started the car and pulled out of his parking spot.
“So, what do you want for lunch?” he asked, all innocence, even fighting a smile at the corners of his mouth.
Maren rolled her eyes. She was not going to win this one. In fact, she realized, she didn’t even want to. She was hungry and tired. Lunch was probably a great idea.
“Something fast.”
“Izzo’s it is.” Malcolm said.
Izzo’s Illegal Burrito was just off campus. Maren had not thought to worry about the location until they pulled into the parking lot and noted all of the vehicles sporting UL parking stickers.
“Are you sure this is ok? What if someone sees us?” she asked.
Malcolm gave her a look of mock seriousness.
“Well, as nice as it is, I wasn’t planning on sticking my tongue down your throat while we wait in line.”
Maren glared.
He killed the engine and took her hand.
“Look, if anyone we know is inside, we’re working on the chapbook and broke for lunch,” he said, shrugging. “That’s not so hard to believe, is it?”
She considered his idea.
“No, I guess not….I just don’t want you to get into trouble because of me.”
His eyes softened, the impossibly thick lashes closing in as he looked at her.
“Mi tesoro, in this relationship, you will not be the one to cause trouble.”
The statement rendered her speechless. Relationship?….I won’t be the one to cause trouble? There was too much there to process.
“Can we go in now?” he asked after she didn’t respond.
“Yes.”
He released her hand, reached for the door, and stopped.
“There is one thing I want you to know first,” he said, looking back at her with intensity.
“What’s that?”
“No matter where we are, I always want to touch you.”
He was out of the car before she could say anything, striding ahead of her to the entrance. Looking, Maren realized, like he was completely indifferent to her presence. She scrambled out of the car to follow and only just managed to catch the door of the restaurant that he had swung wide behind him.
She sped to catch up with him in the line to the counter. He stood in front of her with his arms folded across his chest, seeming to survey the menu. Nothing in his posture acknowledged or included her while they waited.
It might have been amusing if it hadn’t also hurt. Of course, Maren knew why he was acting this way, but she couldn’t help but feel the slight. She sighed and scanned the restaurant. She didn’t see even one familiar face. If the coast was clear, would he stop ignoring her?
Would going out in public always be like this?
Malcolm reached the front of the line and began his order without a glance back at her. Maren followed suit and edged down the cafeteria-style counter. Their backs were to the half-wall that separated the counter from the seating area. Without looking at her, Malcolm spoke just above a whisper.
“There’s a girl from one of my 202 classes at a booth in the corner.”
Maren raised a sardonic brow.
“Whatever you say, 007.”
She could tell his laughter startled him. Well, at least one of them was amused. Finally, he looked down at her, caught between a smile and his own chagrin.
“I’m sorry. I feel like such an ass.” He stepped closer to her and ran his pinky down the length of her forearm. “I don’t know how to do this.”
Maren closed her eyes at the stirring sensation. Was it okay that with a look and a touch, everything was fine again? Not just fine, but pretty wonderful. Was she that simple?
None of this is simple, she reminded herself. Not for either of them.
“It’s okay,” she granted. “Neither do I.”
While Malcolm paid for lunch, she got their drinks and made for the exit ahead of him, willing herself not to look at the corner booth.
In the car, they were quiet for an uncomfortable stretch of time. The incident at Izzo’s was only a tiny indication of what they would face at school surrounded by the rest of the English department. Maren knew that it was foolish to try to define where they stood and how they should proceed just now. She simply could not devote any energy to those questions at the moment. But the experience made her feel lost and un-centered.
Malcolm parked on the curb in front of her house. Maren made to open the door.
“Wait…I know that was weird,…” Malcolm said, as though reading her mind. He reached across and took her hand. “But we will figure this out as we go. Right now, I just want you to know…that I’m with you…that I want to be with you…that I am for you.”
I am for you.
The statement surprised her. It said so much. Not, “I am yours.” But “I am for you.” The words drew to mind allegiances, bonds, loyalties. His words made an awkward encounter in a restaurant seem meaningless, insignificant.
He brought both hands to her face and closed the distance between them. Her stomach fluttered at the tug of his fingers, and she gave a tiny gasp as his lips met hers. Even after such a night, such a morning, his kisses were a new and thrilling kingdom.
And even as she relished the discovery, there was a sense of the familiar. An “Ah, yes, of course,” feeling of returning to something long lost, but so dear. She sighed as she felt his hands move into her hair. His tongue parted her lips, and without a thought, she opened her mouth to him.
He gave a low moan that hummed against her lips, and she grabbed a handful of his sweater. Would it be nec
essary to wait until they got inside her house before taking it off?
Holy shit.
Maren pulled back as though splashed with cold water.
“I’m sorry,…” she said, near panting. “I can’t. I can’t go there right now.”
She smoothed the front of his sweater to restore its shape and to soften the heft of her words. Maren didn’t like rejecting him, but there was not time for this bliss, this self-indulgence.
“They need me….I’m sorry.”
Chapter 26
Malcolm
Malcolm sat at his office desk and tried to finish making the test for his 455 class, but Isabel Allende could not hold his attention. It wasn’t Allende’s fault that her story about a father, a daughter, and a doomed lover gave Malcolm to worrying.
Maren had not been to school in three days.
She had gone to her classes on Monday following her father’s release from the hospital, and, although they had not spoken in person on campus, Maren had kept in touch with him mostly through texts. It was clear from what she told him that her father was in rapid decline.
What worried him wasn’t the grim news that his cancer had left him unable to eat—although Malcolm ached at Maren’s distress—it was the way she was coping. Or not coping. Since Monday, she had not allowed herself any time away from her family.
He had offered to take her to dinner, even to go with her for a run for a half an hour. She would not accept. He had wanted to ask if he could come to her, but he wasn’t sure who he was doing it for—her or himself—so he did nothing. But that would have to change. Maren was coming dangerously close to academic self-destruction—even given the tragic circumstances of her family.
Malcolm knew without asking that she had not worked out any arrangements with her professors about an extended absence. The last two nights, she had reassured him that she would be at school the following day. To make matters worse, she had missed her own class the day before. If she failed to show up again, someone would likely complain to Sheridan. As her T.A. observer, Malcolm would be notified of the complaint and be assigned to investigate the problem. While he was grateful it would be him and not someone else, the situation could become highly problematic in no time.
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