Devil's Creek

by Aaron Paul Lazar

  “Everything’s wrong,” she said, staring down at her hands.

  “Really?” He glanced sideways at her. “Everything?”

  “Yes.” She stood suddenly. “I can’t get it! I thought these songs would be easy. But I can’t get that darned hand-jive thing.”

  Anderson laughed. “It’s not easy. And I told you it might take some practice.”

  “But the other kids seem to have it down pat. I just can’t— ” She burst into tears.

  His jaw dropped and he slid back a few inches. “I—”

  She shook her head and covered her face. “I’m sorry. It’s just I hate being so clumsy.”

  “Clumsy?” He leaned forward now, taking her hands and drawing her back down to her seat. “You’re not clumsy. Not at all. You’re actually, quite… um… graceful.”

  She laughed. “I’ve never been graceful. No matter what my parents named me.”

  “Yes,” he said with a solemn expression. “You are. Truly.”

  She swiped at her wet cheeks. “Well. You’re all wrong. But thanks.”

  “Do you want me to help you?” he asked.

  She glanced up at him, noticing that his eyes really were quite beautiful. “Um.” She hesitated. “Okay. If you don’t mind.”

  “Of course not,” he said, more sure of himself now. “That’s what I'm here for.”

  “When?” she asked, searching for a tissue in her bag.

  “Why don’t you come early to practice tomorrow? Say, at five-thirty?”

  Warmth crept through her, stirring and disseminating the doubts that had grown so heavy in her heart. “Really?”

  He smiled and stood. “Of course.”

  “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Feeling light-hearted now, she grabbed her bag and sprinted up the aisle. Maybe this show wasn’t going to be so bad, after all.

  ∞∞∞

  Anderson watched Grace run, keeping her in his sight until she dashed through the double doors at the top of the hall. She was an interesting girl; that was for sure.

  So confident and sassy on the outside, yet so… what was it? Vulnerable? Fragile? Yes, she wasn’t so tough on the inside. Although he never let himself think of his students in this way, it was hard not to appreciate her beauty.

  In a strange way, she reminded him of Caroline. Not in the personality, of course. Grace was far too brash for that comparison. But there was something about the freshness of her complexion, the light dancing in her eyes, the swell of her hips that entranced him.

  He shook himself mentally. Stop it.

  I cannot. I will not think of a student in those terms, even if it is as a faraway admirer of nature’s astounding accomplishment.

  Grace was many things; poetry and fire, sublime beauty and danger. What she wasn’t, was available to a man in his position.

  He mused about her as he walked back to his car, the last one in the parking area. Spitting through the hushed lot, the wind suddenly picked up and swirled around him. A shiver traced his spine. And for one moment, he wondered if Hank was out there, still watching.

  Why now? Why did he even think about the jerk, when he hadn’t heard from him or seen him since Caroline disappeared?

  Ridiculous, really.

  His mind drifted back to Grace.

  Was she what prompted this thought of Hank? As impossible as his attraction was to the girl—and he had to admit it was an attraction—was he already projecting a bad outcome? Imagining them in love? Tangled in the sheets? And Hank taking her away from him?

  He tried to rein himself in. My God, the girl’s only twenty-two. What the hell is wrong with me?

  He resolved to put her out of his head, until tomorrow evening, of course. Then he’d have to work closely with her, inhaling her fresh scent, watching her golden hair flip and the sway of her body as she moved.

  He stopped to unlock his car, slid inside, and sat in the seat unmoving.

  I don’t recognize myself. Who the hell am I? Why am I obsessing over this unstable young woman?

  Was it because the anniversary of Caroline’s abduction was approaching? He and Sunny had both talked about the looming date, and how it would be good to see it through together. She’d promised him a nice dinner, and he’d offered to bring the movies they’d filmed sixteen years ago of The Phantom of the Opera. He’d made several copies, of course, because he watched it over and over again, still. He couldn’t risk losing those images of her, the recordings of her pure voice. They sustained him through the tough years, and still offered immeasurable comfort.

  Grace’s face floated before him again.

  He put his hands to his face and let out a dramatic sigh. “Oh, Lord. What’s happening to me?”

  He started the car engine and turned toward town.

  “I’m doomed,” he said to no one. “Doomed.”

  Chapter 38

  The next night, Grace arrived in the auditorium with twenty minutes to spare. She’d changed into a leotard and short skirt and wore her old ballet slippers on her feet. She needed freedom to move, and didn’t want to slip on the polished stage.

  She sat on the edge of the platform, swinging her legs, thinking about what her life had become. Here she was—the former ‘bad girl’ in her family—about to star in a college musical.

  How was that even possible?

  What would her parents think? Worse, what would her uppity big sister think? Portia was the perfect daughter, and Grace couldn’t help but hate her. She’d never really done anything bad to Grace, and to be honest, her sister treated her okay. But she still hated the perfect little do-gooder who always upstaged her.

  Even when she tried to do something noteworthy, Portia would always trump her.

  If she got a B on her biology test—a major feat in her life—Portia would announce she’d just been accepted to some ritzy college. Or if Grace won a race on her track team, Portia would arrive home with a beautiful bouquet of roses for her mother for her birthday, which, of course, Grace had forgotten all about. Or if she mastered a particularly difficult jump with her flighty mare, Sissy, Portia would have made the national finals in the Morgan Horse shows with her stallion, Mirage.

  It never ended.

  Big sisters really sucked.

  She laughed out loud, realizing she sounded like a six-year-old. “Get a grip, Grace.”

  She checked the wall clock and decided to give her dad a call. At least he was always kind to her, no matter what type of trouble she got into. She tapped his name on her iPhone and lifted it to her ear.

  “Hi, Gracie. How are you, baby?”

  “I'm fine, Daddy.”

  “You hangin’ in there?”

  He referred, of course, to her drug habit. He meant, “Are you clean?” And it started to tick her off, but she ignored it.

  “Of course, Daddy. I’m going to be in a musical, ‘Grease.’ You know the one?”

  “Really? Sure I do. The one with John Travolta and Olivia Newton John?”

  “Uh huh. That was the movie. But I'm in the stage version.”

  “That’s wonderful, baby.”

  “You’re still doing it, Dad.”

  “What?”

  “Calling me baby.”

  “Oh, sorry, ba— I mean, sweetie. Is that better?”

  Grace chuckled. “Marginally, Dad. Or, you could call me Grace.”

  Now her father laughed. “True. But you know me and nicknames.”

  She changed the subject. “How’s Mom?”

  “She’s good. Working on her pies for the State Fair.”

  “Oh, I wish I could sample some of those. I miss her cooking.”

  “Don’t blame you. I don’t know if I could survive without her cooking.”

  “How’s Sissy?”

  “She’s still getting in trouble. Opened the pasture gate the other day and walked right up to the front porch, begging for carrots.”

  “What? I thought you fixed that gate.”

  “I did. But she figured out the
new latch. Smart little horse you’ve got there, baby.”

  She blew up a wisp of hair. “Dad.”

  “What?”

  Professor Rockwell opened the door in the back of the hall, giving her a quick wave of acknowledgement.

  She waved back. “Never mind. I’ve gotta go. I love you.”

  “Love you, too.”

  Grace slipped her phone into her bag and leapt from the edge of the stage to the floor below. “Hi, Professor.”

  “Grace. How’re you doing tonight?”

  “Better than last night, I guess.”

  “Well, that’s good.”

  His warm smile sent strange tingles through her. What was that all about? Geez. The guy was ten years older than her, at least.

  “Ready for some hand jiving?” he said, setting his briefcase on the floor.

  “I am. I’m gonna master the darned thing.”

  He led the way up the steps to the stage. “I know you will. Now, let’s get the music going.”

  “I watched the movie again last night,” she said. “Those kids are amazing.”

  He laughed. “But remember, that’s Hollywood. They could do a million takes for each scene to get it perfect. We can’t do that. So we’ve gotta adjust for a live show.”

  “Understood,” she said, doing a few warm up exercises.

  He shed his sweater and tossed it onto the podium at the front of the stage. Beneath, he wore a tee shirt.

  She hadn’t noticed before, but the guy definitely kept in shape. His trim waist and well-defined abs made her look twice. She’d heard something about him being in the service long ago. Was it the Marines? He had that look about him. Except for his sandy hair, which he wore long.

  They stood side by side and worked through the routine. With his help, she picked up some shortcuts that helped her move faster, and by the time the clock showed six, she felt comfortable with the hand movements.

  “Tomorrow night we can practice adding this bit into the dance, if you want,” he said. He drew two bottles of water from his briefcase and handed her one.

  She accepted it, downing half of it in the first few swigs. “Sure, that would be great. Thanks.”

  A few students came through the doors at the back of the hall.

  He turned to her with another of those damned brilliant smiles. “Same time tomorrow night okay with you?”

  Dazzled, she uttered a weak “Sure,” and headed back down to the seats to collect herself until practice got going.

  Five minutes later, Sal slid into the seat next to her. “So. How’d it go with our handsome professor’s extra special tutelage?”

  She blushed. “Fine. I think I’m getting it.”

  “Getting it?” Sal smiled salaciously. “Really?”

  She shoved him and laughed. “Stop! You’re awful.”

  He grinned and changed into his sneakers. “He’s really cute.”

  “I didn’t notice.”

  Sal brayed a laugh. “Oh. Right.” He slid a sideways glance up to the professor. “Well. I wouldn’t kick him out of bed for eating crackers.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You’re bad.”

  He grinned again. “I know.”

  Chapter 39

  Anderson sat in his office picking at a plate of mushroom egg foo young, thinking how he’d worked the kids so hard over the last few months. But they were ready for the production of “Grease,” and he was prouder than ever of this group of young thespians.

  Tonight the first dress rehearsal would start in a few hours, but he couldn’t stop thinking about two very big problems.

  First, he’d become obsessed with the production to the point of not sleeping and eating. He’d lost ten pounds without trying, and knew his body needed more rest, better nutrition, and at least a little bit of exercise. Of course, those things were fixable.

  But the second problem? Ah, the second problem. He hated to admit it, but he’d become enamored with Grace to the point of obsession, which probably was why he’d fixated over the show, too.

  How had this happened? He’d tried to talk himself out of it a thousand times. Told himself to stop and desist, to put her out of his mind.

  But it was impossible. He couldn’t do it.

  Everywhere he went, he saw Grace in his mind’s eye. Her beautiful eyes, so deep and alluring. That lustrous, shiny hair that fell maddeningly over those eyes. He heard her lyrical laugh, low and mellifluous. And he pictured her in ways he never should think of a student.

  In the deep quiet of night, he imagined her beside him in bed, her soft curves touching his skin, her lips parted in wanting. He’d felt her hands on his body, and imagined them intertwined in the most intimate embrace.

  Sick, sick, sick. I need to stop.

  He threw his fork down onto the plate. “I need help.”

  But who could he talk to? Nobody. Just acknowledging his desires had made him hate himself. How would other people react? A therapist might report him for having sexual intentions toward a student. Sure, she wasn’t a minor. But she was still too damned young and it was against the rules. He wondered when her birthday was.

  With a start, he realized it might be on the form she filled out during tryouts. He tugged open his desk drawer and dug through the pile until he found the form with her bubbly handwriting on it.

  With a quick calculation, he realized she was actually turning twenty-three in a month.

  Still.

  He’d just turned thirty-eight, and that meant he was over fifteen years older than she was.

  It was insane.

  He wondered for the twentieth time how she came to be twenty-two and enrolled in the freshman class? Most of the kids in her grade were around eighteen. He’d have to ask her what she did for the past four years after high school before she enrolled in the art program.

  Even if she weren’t a student, even if it weren’t against the rules, even if she were the same age as he was, what made him think she’d ever be interested in someone like him?

  What did he have to offer a woman?

  He spoke out loud, ticking off the items on one finger. “I live in the past and have been broken-hearted for years, I have a sad little apartment, I drive a beat up old Saab, I spend my life at the University, and I eat takeout every night.”

  He shook his head in disgust. “It’s hopeless.”

  “What’s hopeless?” Grace asked, peering in his office door. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  He sat up suddenly and faltered, trying to smile. How much had she heard? “Oh, nothing. Just getting sick of takeout. Please. Come in.”

  She came inside and eyed his container. “Mmm. Egg foo young?”

  He dug a pair of fresh chopsticks from his top drawer. “Want some?”

  “Sure.” She spooned a portion onto a paper plate. “I love Chinese. And I’m starving. Got any sauce for it?”

  He fished inside the bag and came up with the savory brown sauce he’d forgotten to add to his own meal. “Here you go.”

  She poured it over her food and took a bite. “Mmm. Delicious.”

  He tried hard not to let his love show. Avoiding her eyes when possible, he kept his conversation short and civil. Yet inside, his heart pounded mercilessly beneath his ribs.

  The way she ate with such gusto, such appreciation, was so charming. Her hair fell over her eyes, as always, and she pushed it back every few seconds to smile up at him.

  How could she not hear his heart hammering?

  They ate in silence for a few minutes until both plates were clean.

  She pushed hers back and sighed. “So, do you eat alone every night, Professor?”

  He took a swig of iced tea and wiped his mouth before answering. “Um. Yes. I guess so.”

  “That’s sad.” She widened her eyes and glanced over at the photo of Caroline. “There’s never been anyone since… her?”

  “No.” He looked down at his hands.

  “Why not?” She collected her plate and utens
ils and approached his side of the desk.

  “I… um… ” He stiffened. What the hell was she doing?

  “Garbage can?” she asked innocently.

  He jumped back and pointed to the trashcan beneath his desk. “Um. Sure. Stash it there and I’ll take it out to the dumpster on my way out.”

  She leaned down to stuff the items in the can, rubbing her shoulder and hair against his leg. He flinched, rolling his chair back some more.

  With fingertips to her lips, she blew him a kiss. “Thanks so much, Professor. I really enjoyed it.”

  While he gasped like a fish on a dock, she picked up her bag and headed for the door. “See you at rehearsal. “

  His face felt warm and his hands were sweating. “Um. Yes. See you then.”

  What the hell had just happened?

  Nothing, you idiot.

  You just shared a meal with a student, and she thanked you. That’s it.

  It took him a long time to calm down. He had to get it together. He had to. Nobody could find out how he felt about Grace.

  ∞∞∞

  An hour later, Sal and Grace sat side by side putting on makeup for the show. She leaned over to help him with his eyeliner and smiled.

  “What?” he asked, peering intently at her.

  “Oh, nothing.” She continued working on him, then beamed again.

  “Come on, doll. Tell me what’s going on in that beautiful head of yours.”

  “I’m just fantasizing, I guess.”

  “About who?”

  “Whom,” she corrected, giving his lips a touch of pink with her own lipstick.

  “Don’t torture me,” he laughed. “What’s up?”

  She shot him a mysterious glance. “I think he likes me.”

  “Who likes you? Or is it whom?”

  She snorted a laugh, drawing the attention of the other cast members who leaned into mirrors to ready themselves for the dress rehearsal.

  “It’s who, silly. And I can’t tell you.”

  Sal sat back. “Wait a minute. Let me think about this.”

  Grace hummed “Hopelessly Devoted to You” while she pulled her blond hair into a ponytail. “You’ll never guess.” She shot him a devilish look.

  “Sure I will.” He looked around the room, scanning each of the boys in the play. He lingered on Alonzo, the young man who played Danny. He shook his head. “Nope. It’s not one of these guys.”