Mountains Wanted
by Phoebe Alexander
Text copyright © 2012 Phoebe Alexander
All Rights Reserved
Acknowledgments
Thank you to Pete Mecozzi of Pete Mecozzi Photography for allowing me to use his beautiful images. See Pete’s work at http://www.facebook.com/pages/Pete-Mecozzi-Photography/
Also thank you to Jon, my blog reader and friend, for your help with military details and for enthusiastically reading and offering suggestions.
Dedications
To Chris, my oldest friend, who knew me long before I knew myself. I have always admired your strength and grace in handling everything God has given you. All my love to you.
To my Advisory Panel of Kathleen, LeeAnn, Leigh Ann and Sarah. Even if you didn’t really know what was going on in the story, I asked you for advice about myriad things and you were always willing to listen, even the millionth time I told you what my word count was.
To Michelle, Web Master Extraordinaire and loyal friend. You’re always enthusiastic and eager to please. I miss having you in the office next to me more than you will ever know.
And most of all...to Mike…without whom this book would never have been born. You have been the driving force behind all of this. You have always believed there is greatness in me, and I love you for that, among other things. You will always be my mountain, and I will never stop wanting you.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell
Chapter Two
Coffee
Chapter Three
The First Time
Chapter Four
The Agreement
Chapter Five
Benefits
Chapter 6
The Admittance
Chapter Seven
Uphill Battles
Chapter 8
Thanksgiving
Chapter 9
Rocky
Chapter 10
Tied Up With Red Bows
Chapter 11
Small Packages
Chapter 12
New Years
Chapter Thirteen
Role Reversals
Chapter Fourteen
The Promotion
Chapter 15
Rock Climbing
Chapter Sixteen The Conference
Chapter Seventeen
The Birthday
Chapter Eighteen The Accident
Chapter Nineteen
Assateague
Chapter Twenty Goodbyes
Chapter Twenty One
Hope in the Mountains
Chapter One
Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell
“Make it a six inch, please,” directed the young woman standing at the counter.
Sarah stifled a giggle. Thirty-six years old and I still have such a dirty mind, she thought to herself. She studied the sandwich orderer intently: too young to be a fellow faculty member, too mature and well-dressed to be a student. Staff, maybe, she decided, her eyes tracing the woman’s shapely posterior and traveling down to sensible kitten heels of deep crimson patent leather that clicked against the hard tile floor as she shuffled down the line choosing toppings for her sandwich.
“I love your shoes!” Sarah gushed to the lady who slowly turned around. I must know if she has a pretty face. The answer was affirmative: soft doe brown eyes framed by auburn curls.
The pretty kitten heel-wearing sandwich orderer murmured, “Thank you,” and promptly turned back around to concentrate on paying for her order.
Sarah internally shrugged. Not into women, I guess. She reviewed the last time she had been with a woman. Hmmm. Long time. That naturally led her to dissect her last experience with a man. Some time had elapsed there as well. I’ve been working too hard, she concluded. She placed her sandwich order and watched the six-inch craving woman push her way out of the glass door. A seven inch would be perfect for me, she thought wistfully.
Lunch successfully obtained, Sarah proceeded out the door and into the hot September sun. She trekked across the quad toward her office in the Art-Sociology building, contemplating the remaining items on her to-do list before her afternoon lecture while thoughts about what she might get herself into over the weekend persistently crept in. The phone buzzing in her pocket jolted her back to the present.
It was her son Owen’s school calling. He was sitting in the nurse’s office with a fever. Shit, Sarah thought, how am I going to accomplish both eating and running to get him before my 2pm class? Only slightly daunted, she rerouted to the parking lot where her car blasted its pent-up heat into her face as if there were a burning inferno inside. Sarah sighed, turned the key in the ignition, cranked up the A/C, and crammed a bite of sandwich down her throat before backing out of the parking space.
Sarah Lynde knew a thing or two about multi-tasking. Since her second child, Owen, was born in 2000, she’d been a full-time mom to him and his older sister Abby and a full-time graduate student, and now she was full-time tenure track faculty at a large public university. She’d long given up the fantasy of being offered any special treatment; she knew that hard work, dedication, and balance were the keys to getting everything she wanted in life. She’d done the single parenting thing long enough to know that having to pick up a sick child in the middle of the workday was par for the course. Owen would rest in her office while she gave her 2 PM lecture on gender roles. She’d ask the departmental secretary to check on him after bit.
She battled traffic on the beltway and steered her little economical car into the school parking lot. She emerged from the school office ten minutes later, a flushed-faced Owen in tow. They reviewed his day and headed back to Sarah’s office where he could relax with a smoothie and his game device, after being administered some acetaminophen, of course. Nothing like the healing power of Tylenol and mindless video games, Sarah mused as she gathered up her lecture notes and scrambled up the stairs to her classroom.
It was only the second week of classes and Sarah was in full on name/face memorization mode with her students. Having the students’ ID pictures automatically load into her roster in the course management system was helpful, but she found those mug shots didn’t really do the live versions justice. This particular lecture was sixty students. There was no way she’d be able to get all these students’ names down pat, but that never stopped her from trying. Having attended a small undergraduate institution where she was on a first-name basis with her professors and mentors, her inability to develop deeper, more meaningful relationships with her students at this much bigger public university was both frustrating and disappointing. Still, she did appreciate the few students who had reached out to her during her first year of teaching and now that she was embarking upon her second year, she wondered what new mentees might come out of the woodwork. In some ways, she considered it could possibly be a blessing as only the bright and motivated students tended to seek her out. She smirked at the fact that the students she got to know seemed to be polarized: the high achievers at one end and the apathetic slackers at the other. The two ends of the bell curve.
Sarah rounded the corner of the hallway and caught a male student’s eyes drawing a line from her chin to her navel and hovering in between as he passed her by. She glanced down to make sure her shirt was buttoned. It was. She turned just in time to see that he was also checking out her backside. As an attractive woman in her mid-thirties, Sarah was used to being ogled by men. She would even admit to enjoying it if she were asked. Hell, I’m not wearing this skirt and heels because they’re comfortable, she would likely retort.
She made it into the classroom with five minutes to spare. She glanced from face to face as she powered up the computer at the instructor
station. Most students were busy texting or talking. Texting, now there’s a sociological phenomenon I could give one or two lectures on, Sarah thought. Ever the sociologist, she observed how students seated themselves and interacted in little groups. She caught a couple of friendly interactions and she sensed one or two with a bit more sexual tension. Interestingly, one of those was between two males sitting in the middle of the classroom. She smiled as she thought about how much had changed since she was sitting in their seats, and as the clock ticked toward the 2 PM start time, she began to pull her power point up onto the big screen at the front of the classroom.
Sarah loved teaching. There wasn’t a single aspect of it that didn’t speak to her soul. Even the inattentive students, the disrespectful, the intellectually closed-off, Sarah truly believed she could reach them; she could impact them if she was engaging enough. Her primary objective was to make them think. Teaching did not mean standing up in front of students and lecturing. No, that was a linear proposition, mere words spewed into the atmosphere that may or may not find a channel into someone’s mind. Rather, teaching was a dialogue between her and her students. Even in these big lecture classes Sarah would find a way to get the students to talk. They would learn far more by interacting than by just hearing her speak.
She’d always known she wanted to teach. When she was younger, she’d have a few younger neighbor kids held captive on the screened-in back porch every summer. She used a small chalkboard and some workbooks so they could practice reading and simple arithmetic. Sarah learned how to praise success, how to gently correct mistakes, and most importantly, how to get her students to take responsibility for their own learning. That was key.
She’d envisioned herself teaching high school English, but the few education classes she took during her undergraduate career were bitter disappointments. How could they really teach her to do something that was innate? She was much more interested in how people behaved, particularly when they intersected with other people. Understanding the roots of everyday social interactions is necessary to effect change, to foster learning, she realized. If there is one thing she learned over the years, rationality and logic fail to explain human behavior. In the business world, in romantic relationships, in politics, individuals are constantly reinventing themselves in order to maneuver others into personally beneficial positions. This jockeying and manipulation, the roles and personas adopted in different environments and with different groups of people, truly fascinated Sarah. She ultimately chose to double major in sociology and communications.
Light bulbs switched on for her during her undergraduate years, and those lights were so bright that they catapulted Sarah to a little bit of local fame. She captured the attention of her entire campus with her newspaper column about investigating social phenomena. Her professors were impressed, even floored at her insights; they told her there was nothing standing in her way of becoming the next Durkheim or Weber. Her future was blazing bright until the summer before her senior year when she found herself pregnant, but Sarah spent very little time wallowing in self-pity. The show must go on was her mantra, hearkening back to her high school drama club days. Her graduation present was a healthy, cherubic 7 pound, 7 ounce baby girl she named Abigail. She spent the next two years waitressing and raising her young daughter. After getting married and having her son, she decided to follow in the footsteps of her favorite sociology professor, whom she’d never lost contact with. Her mentor said that if anyone could successfully complete a rigorous PhD program while raising young children, it was Sarah Lynde. She was right.
Sarah finished up her class and lingered a few minutes afterwards answering questions from students who had registered late or who clearly hadn’t read the syllabus. Then she headed to her office to pick up Owen, who had fallen asleep with his video game still running. At age ten, he was much too big to carry, so she gently prodded him awake and steered him downstairs and across the quad to the parking lot.
Sarah was relieved when she finally arrived home after her long day. Her cozy bungalow with its warm golden and amber walls and the beautiful wood floors felt like an embrace when she crossed the threshold. She loved having a sanctuary away from the craziness of the beltway traffic and the noise of campus. She wanted to raise her children in a nurturing atmosphere so she did everything possible to make her home feel like a nest for her two baby birds, even though they were hardly babies anymore. She had also done some research about how a child’s environment impacts their behavior and ability to learn. She was the crazy mom who stood at the paint counter at Lowe’s debating whether Cinnamon Apple or Nutmeg Spice would be the homier, more comforting color for the kitchen walls.
Owen had perked up quite a bit by dinnertime. Sarah presented her two children with a colorful stir-fry with just the right amount of kick to it. Owen gulped his portion down while Abby picked at hers. Sarah shook her head at this phase her teenage daughter was going through: too much eyeliner, wearing skinny jeans and baggy t-shirts with scraggly uncombed hair, begging for a nose piercing, and not eating dinner only to gorge on potato chips at midnight.
Sarah snapped out of her reflections on Abby to hear Owen ask, “What’s an erection?
Abby looked mortified. “Eww, Mom, there he goes again with the gross questions! Make him stop!”
“Oh, Abigail, it’s a perfectly reasonable question.” Sarah was used to her younger child’s inquisitive nature, which she heartily encouraged. By this point, she was completely unfazed by Owen’s questions and actually prided herself on the matter-of-fact scientific answers she provided him. She turned to him, “Owen, an erection happens when blood flow is increased to the penis and it grows bigger and harder.”
Abby promptly left the table shaking her head. Owen looked satisfied. It was always difficult to tell if Owen was actually curious or just wanted to annoy his older sister. Sarah figured it was probably a combination of the two. “Abby, put your food in the fridge in case you get hungry later,” Sarah called after her as she started up the stairs in a huff. “I don’t want you eating junk food late again!” She shook her head wondering if it would be overkill to padlock the cabinet where the snacks were kept.
Sarah’s cell phone rang and it was Rachel, her best friend. “Hey, lady,” Sarah cooed.
“How was class today? Is Owen alright?” came her friend’s concerned voice.
News sure travels fast. Sarah assumed that Rachel’s son Thomas, who was also in fifth grade, had told his mother that Owen went home sick. “Yes, he’s fine. It’s probably another one of those 24 hour viruses that’s going around. He just scarfed down his dinner as if nothing was wrong. I don’t have a class till 12 tomorrow so I’ll just see if my mom can watch him in the afternoon. What’s new with you?”
“I want to do something this weekend! I’m insanely bored. And I need to get laid.”
Sarah laughed. There was only one woman on the planet as blunt and open about her sexuality as she was, and that was her best friend Rachel Brock. They were kindred spirits, destined to meet and become lifelong friends. They had been together since their Lamaze class in 2000, gave birth to boys within days of each other, and when Sarah moved to Maryland in 2009, Rachel followed. It was almost like having a spouse except they didn’t live together.
“Girl, you always need to get laid,” Sarah giggled. “I heard there’s a new club in DC...I’ve kinda been wanting to check it out.”
“Or, you could come with me to this house party I was invited to at the beach,” Rachel suggested.
The beach. Ugh, that’s a three hour drive. “I don’t know, Rachel, that’s pretty far. I have a lot of work to catch up on this weekend. My senior seminar has their annotated bibliographies due on Friday.”
“Work, schmork,” Rachel retorted. “I swear, Sarah, your girly bits are going to shrivel up and fall off if we don’t get you some cock soon! Speaking of which, any cute students in your classes this semester?”
Actually, Rachel might be more blunt and open than I
am, Sarah recalculated. “How many times do I have to tell you that my students are off limits?” She heard Rachel start to protest. “When is this party?”
“It’s on Saturday night.”
“I have a big lecture on Friday night. Let’s see how I feel after that, okay?” Sarah conceded.
“Why are you giving a lecture on a Friday night?” Rachel inquired, trying to envision what sort of student would attend a lecture on the gateway to the weekend, which was, after all, what everyone was “working for,” according to the song from the 80’s.
“Oh, it’s really more of a panel discussion than a lecture. It’s part of the university’s fall colloquium series: Current Issues in American Politics. This one is on the military’s Don’t Ask Don’t Tell policy. I’m going to talk about sexuality and the military.”
“That sounds hot,” Rachel laughed. “Sex and military men. Two of my faves!”
“Why am I not surprised you think it’s hot?” Sarah retorted sarcastically.“Okay, listen, I’m going to go clean up from dinner. Text me later, okay?”
“Will do, Sugarlips,” Rachel replied. She was always coming up with cutesy pet names for her friend which never failed to make Sarah smile. A house party, she thought as she began to clear the dishes from the table. It’s been a long damn time.
***
Sarah wondered what kind of turnout the event on Friday night would have. I mean, seriously, how many students are going to voluntarily attend on TGIF? she pondered as she shuffled down the sidewalk toward the auditorium. The sun was sinking in the west and the trees silhouetted against the glowing clouds created a little stinging tear in the corner of her eye. Sarah was generally optimistic but every once in a while just a bit of melancholia crept in, no matter how hard she fought it. Beauty often stirred those passions inside her, leaving her wanting someone to share it with.
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