“Wouldn’t be the first time she put me in my place.”
Nick stood, not sure if he was ready for a casual conversation about a woman he had dreamed of in anything but a casual way the night before. “I’m going to change clothes. What time did you want to head out?”
“Around eleven.” Kevin moved to his feet. “By the way, her name is going to come up in conversation. Unavoidable. If you’re trying to fool me, it’s not working.” He took two steps toward the elevator and stopped. “And, if you’re trying to fool yourself, good luck.”
Her brain felt like a ping pong ball that was cracked from being paddled too hard. Today wasn’t the first time a colleague had slammed her publicly. The fact that she was close to twenty years younger than the majority of her peers, and still fresh enough to enjoy the work, rendered her a virtual freak.
Freshmen feedback was always an eye opener. The past semester had proven no different. Why anyone at the table was surprised was beyond her. There was no good excuse to use a fifteen-year-old syllabus or an eight-year-old power point presentation. Students and their parents expected to get a little more bang for their buck.
The only person who seemed to agree with her perspective was the Department Chair. Of course, he was only thirty-six and not particularly well liked by his peers either. Being an accomplished author, translated in eight languages, hadn’t won Ben Costello a single friend at Norfolk Junior College. Abby liked his brain, his sense of humor and his sense of fair play.
“I don’t think Abby and I are suggesting we dump all the tools we’ve been using,” Ben said, pushing his glasses to the top of his head. “But as a department maybe it is time for us to evaluate some of our methods of getting information across.”
Harry Chapman, the human hairball, had the audacity to block his ears. Not that it made an iota of difference. The old fart could hardly hear anyway. “Hmm, I’m sure we can all agree that Shakespeare hasn’t risen from the dead in the last century. His work hasn’t changed, nor should the manner in which we teach it. Spoon feeding at this age is hardly preparing anyone for the real world.”
At that moment Abby contemplated hand plucking the three-inch hairs sprouting out of Harry’s ear canal. Maybe then something would penetrate his rapidly atrophying brain. Common sense told her she should probably ride out the rest of the meeting contemplating her navel, but her stubbornness got in the way.
“We all share the same goal, but it would be ridiculous to assume our approach to learning is a rubber stamp. Acknowledging feedback, which has been consistent since I’ve been on board here, is not a statement of failure. Maybe there are things we should change and maybe there are things we should fight tooth and nail to hold on to.” Abby turned to Ben, hoping he’d run with the ball.
Ben nodded. “Listen, I’ve been told my entire Chaucer module is a complete waste of time. Enough people have echoed that sentiment that it would be both arrogant and ignorant of me not to pull it apart and start over.”
A few sympathetic heads bobbed in agreement. Even Doris Tully, who had slammed her creative song assignment not twenty minutes earlier, seemed prepared to ditch her boxing gloves.
“Well, children,” Doris said, “I would rather assimilate change into my program, than subject myself to this pep talk again in three months.”
Abby bit her tongue and wondered if the look on Ben’s face meant he had done the same. It was an ill-mannered concession but a concession nonetheless.
Mercifully, the meeting ended when Harry informed the group he was overdue on his gout medication. Before Abby had finished loading her backpack the room was empty. Stepping into the hall she weighed her options. Hang out on campus and plow through a few more papers or grab a loaded burger at Fat Boy’s and work from home. Taking the stairs two at time, she pushed through the door, almost mowing down Ben in the process.
“Oops,” Abby said, grabbing her bag before it hit the cement path. “Bet you didn’t know I played football in junior high.”
Ben laughed. “Good thing you weigh less than your backpack or my shoulder would never recover.”
“I should have made better use of it in that meeting.”
“Nah,” Ben said. “Whacking Harry upside the head would be like taking a pin to a balloon. Weird noise and a lot of wind.”
Abby fell into step beside him. “At least they didn’t start doling out gardening tips this time. Staying on target, especially when they don’t give a hoot what you say, is a minor miracle.”
He shrugged. “I’m just hoping that they retire before I do.”
When they reached the employee parking lot he stopped abruptly. “You have dinner plans?”
“Nope,” Abby said, pulling a lone key from her front pocket. “Thought about an oversized burger from Fat Boy’s. I’m ignoring the protest from my hips.”
“Yeah right. Interested in company?”
Abby didn’t need to think about the offer. “Absolutely. Having a man sitting across from me should keep me from scarfing down a double fudge brownie sundae.”
They drove to the center of town in separate cars. Spending time with Ben was easy. He was a colleague and a friend, but nothing more. The fact that he preferred to date people with more facial hair obliterated all sexual tension. After months of insomnia it was a welcome change.
The sight of only a half dozen cars in the parking lot was like hitting a two-dollar quick-pick payoff. Weekends the place was so packed that half the crowd ordered take out and ate outside along the curb. Abby hated juggling hot sauce and mustard on a five-inch spread of concrete.
Bouncing up the brick path, she spotted Ben’s white shirt. He’d landed her favorite booth. Only one table at Fat Boy’s had a jukebox devoted to country music. Few things in life held more appeal to Abby than belting out a Martina McBride tune when the mood struck. The fact that she was completely tone deaf bothered only Bridget, who refused to step foot inside the old diner with her.
Slipping into the worn, red leather booth, Abby ogled the plate of fries already on the table. “Are you sharing?”
Ben’s mouth turned up. “Just don’t heap a pound of salt on them this time. It’s not a secret killer anymore. You might cut back a little.”
Abby pulled a wad of napkins from a dented holder and spread them out in front of her. One hand reached for a fistful of fries, while the other grabbed the salt shaker. “Please, I can’t handle another man warning me off my favorite vices. Living without sugar and salt is just going through the motions.”
“Well…you haven’t had a date since Murder She Wrote went off the air, so I’m on pins and needles over here.”
Abby narrowed her eyes until she could barely make out Ben’s outline. “Step off campus and I become your target practice. That sophisticated professor crap is such an act.”
Ben threw a token fry on her now empty napkin. “Nice dodge, but really, who’s the oblique reference to?”
“Am I that pitiful, that merely mentioning a man implies I’m seeing someone?”
He shook his head. “Don’t make me answer that.” He tossed a plastic menu in her direction, nearly covering her lone french-fry. “I’m half kidding. You’ve been a little edgy, which in my world translates into man trouble.”
Uh oh. The past few weeks she had been so wrapped up in her own imaginary problems that she ignored most of the world around her. Including her friends.
“How’s Brent?” Abby asked, trying to keep the worry out of her voice.
He laughed. Good sign. Maybe his utopia hadn’t erupted into a bad episode of Survivor.
“Fabulous as usual, though I appreciate your concern. He’s actually spending a week at his mom’s place in Vero Beach. I’m flying down on Friday for a long weekend.”
Abby’s head dropped to the table. “Can I have your life? Mexico last month. Now Florida.”
“You’d need more than a new wardrobe to step into my shoes, honey.”
“So true.” Abby lifted her head four inches off
the Formica surface. “To answer your original question, still single and snippy. The sugar warning came from one of Kevin’s teammates.”
The arrival of their waitress turned their focus to food. After ordering more than either could consume, Ben resumed his fact-finding mission.
“Give me a name.”
Abby folded her arms. “Why?”
“Because I want to see how you say his name. It will tell me all I need to know.”
She looked at him as if he was unbalanced. “Don’t go reading my vibes again, Ben. I swear I’m going to lose all respect for you.”
“That’s fear talking, sweetheart.”
Abby sighed. “Let’s talk about something infinitely less interesting. Have they decided if they’re going to switch my office to the basement?”
Ben scowled. “Jury is still out on that one. I did meet with Jean this morning and she had some interesting updates.”
Interesting. That was Ben’s unique way of saying hold on to your hat because the wind was about to knock you on your buttocks.
“Am I in jeopardy right now?”
“No,” he began, reaching out to grab her hand. “Things are status quo for September.”
“But…?”
Ben tapped his knuckles along the table. “After January the fiscal picture looks shaky. Jean thinks that a year from now the department will look different.”
Abby’s heart took an immediate dip. She was the youngest member of the department, part time, and expendable by most measures. “Well that stinks. I’m actually getting used to the asylum. I was hoping enrollment would be up enough to limit cutbacks.”
“Nothing is definite. I think Jean wanted to give me an early heads up because she knows we’re friends.”
A smile found its way to her face. “We’ll still be friends if I get canned, right?”
“I’m not sure anyone could shake you loose unless you gave the green light. And actually this isn’t a death knell. If enough money doesn’t magically appear they’ll probably examine all three of the part time teachers in our department.”
“Okay,” Abby said, “but Max and Carol have been there forever.”
“We both know your results have been stronger and demand for your classes has been higher. The administration has to look at all factors.”
She nodded. It seemed so far away that it was hard to work herself into a lather over it now.
Ben’s voice dropped. “My guess is that they’ll drop three part-time head counts in favor of adding one full-time head count. Jean wanted you to have time to think about whether you’re interested in increasing your hours if it comes down to that.”
Abby had mixed emotions on that subject. She was stretched thin as it was. Any increase in her hours at the school would mean quitting the paper.
“Ugh, too much for my brain to process tonight.” She reached for the ketchup. “Let’s just eat and talk about your problems for a change.”
“Oh well hell. That should keep us here until closing time.”
Chapter Three
Abby wondered if there was anything she wouldn’t do to avoid her mother. Stalking her house for the fifth time that evening was probably a pretty big clue. Knowing when Cindy planned to drop by at least gave her time to nip at her lone bottle of Bailey’s before hand. It dulled her senses enough to make her mother appear silly instead of scary.
The fact that her mother’s silver Beamer remained idling in her driveway for over thirty minutes fortified Abby’s determination to avoid her at all costs. Circling the block even one more time might have Hazel Meyer calling 911, so Abby decided to head south instead.
Exactly eighteen minutes later she pulled up behind Bridget’s Tahoe, relieved that her cousin was home. Latching on to a thread of manners she yanked her cell phone from the center console.
“Can I hide at your place for a little while?”
Bridget’s front door whipped open. “We’ve been over this a zillion times. You don’t have to call first, especially from my driveway.”
Abby flipped her phone shut and stepped out of her car. “Please, don’t deprive me of my miniscule efforts at following proper etiquette.”
“We were expecting you anyway,” Bridget said, stepping back into her foyer. “Cindy’s been trying to track you down for the last hour.”
Abby shuddered. “Any hint about the crisis du jour?”
Bridget turned, moving toward the kitchen. “Apparently Mrs. Waters complained that you haven’t been returning Greg’s calls.”
“Does the fact that Greg has been married and divorced three times not set off any alarm bells for my mother?”
“Well, that doesn’t wipe out the big MD after his name.”
“Cripes, he’s a thoracic surgeon who keeps getting caught with his hands up his co-workers’ shirts.”
“Yes, but he can recognize a salad fork, score tickets to the opera and swing a golf club. Cindy has some standards.”
Abby collapsed at the breakfast bar. “Keep your distance. I’m in danger of passing out from my own stench.”
“Now that you mention it, you do smell ripe.” Bridget eyed her cousin’s disheveled appearance. “You tried running at the track again, didn’t you?”
“Refrain from saying tried. It makes it sound like I hobble with a walker.”
“Hmm, it’s never been your sport. Maybe you should take up tennis?”
Abby’s mouth puckered in disgust. “Can you picture me in a cute white skirt with a racquet in my hand?”
“Only if you were chasing after your mother.”
The sound of a key turning in the door had them turning toward the entryway. The sight of two familiar faces had Abby groaning audibly.
“Excuse me while I slip out the back,” she muttered, taking a final sniff of her sweat-soaked shirt.
“Too late, we’ve been spotted already.”
Kevin dropped a stack of tapes on the hall table, while his guest kept a steady eye on the area of the kitchen. “We packed up early. Figured we could run through a few more tapes here and grab something to eat at the same time.”
“Sure.” Bridget stepped into her husband’s arms for a hug. “Abby and I just finished up a quick game of tackle football out back.”
Two sets of eyes flashed from Bridget to Abby.
Nick made no effort to mask his reaction. “Looks and smells like Abby came out on the losing end of that match-up.”
Insufferable creep. Looking at Bridget’s crisp linen shorts and loose chignon only added to her misery. Barbie and Raggedy Ann should never have play dates together.
Abby nibbled on her bottom lip. “Playing is no fun unless you get down and dirty.”
Nick opened his mouth and then shut it just as quickly. He tried again. “Remind me to grab my shoulder pads before I challenge you to a match.”
“Honey,” Abby drawled, “you’ll need a lot more protection than that if you ever decide to go up against me.”
The room was silent. Kevin and Bridget exchanged a brief, uncomfortable look. Abby tried to ignore the heat climbing up her neck. Hard to step back from that comment.
Only Nick seemed unfazed. “Duly warned. Hip boots and a hose might be in order, as well.”
“Ah, I see you’ve played with fire before.”
“Yup,” Nick said. “Still have the scars to prove it.”
The pattering of small feet tearing down the stairs lowered the temperature several degrees.
“Daddy, come see the pictures I put on my wall.” That bombshell had both of Gracie’s parents dashing for the staircase.
Giving in to temptation, Abby studied the long line of Nick’s legs, wrapped around snug denim. The knowledge that her own legs were currently encased in a ragged pair of cut-off sweats had fresh beads of perspiration dotting her spine. Listening to her mother catalogue her shortcomings suddenly held enormous appeal. Another testament to how far she had fallen.
“Flashing a little leg, McCabe,” Nick said, inchi
ng closer to her stool. “If you could do something about the odor, you might get lucky.”
Abby wanted to ignore him almost as much as she wanted to dive into a bubble bath of lavender-scented oil. As usual, her lack of self-control won out.
“You remind me of my mother. She says I need to hide the real me if I harbor any hope of landing a man without cataracts.”
Nick shrugged. “Honey, if the real you smells like my old gym locker, a guy is going to need more than cataracts before he comes calling.”
Abby smiled up at him. “Perfect way of weeding out the shallow. If I start out smelling like a rose I can only move in one direction. This way I create the illusion of improving over time.”
“How’s that been working for you so far, McCabe?”
She reached back, gently extracting the rubber band from the top of her head. Running her hands through the damp tendrils at her neck, she ignored his expectant expression.
“Well, that depends on how you look at things. No man has ever offered to love me to his dying day.” She eyed his expression. “Sad but true. On the other hand I’ve never had to worry if a pocket of cellulite on my ass is going to push my soul mate into finding another pillow to lay his head next to at night.”
“Cripes, that’s cynical,” Nick said. “I think you’ve been burnt by your past a hell of a lot more than me. And that’s a damn sad statement.”
That she would agree with. Her outlook was pretty tarnished. The fact that her parents’ marriage had been relatively stable, considering the personalities involved, and Bridget and Kevin were by all accounts happy, didn’t influence her perspective. Bridget said the source of her skewered look was a diminished self-esteem. Whatever.
“Dry your eyes.” Abby slipped off her stool. “Who knows, some day I might just sweep the right man, cataracts and all, off of his feet.”
The sight of her curved behind, obviously in search of her missing cousin, had him almost wishing for the impossible. Too bad he wasn’t going to be the lucky son of a bitch swept off his feet.
He lowered his tired legs onto the stool she vacated. The leather, still warm from her body, had him cursing his timing. Meeting Abby now was like a karmic slap in the face. Five years ago and she could have kept his heart from getting broken. Twelve months down the road and maybe his baggage wouldn’t be so heavy. But wanting her today was just an added kick in his teeth.
The Catcher and the Lie Page 4