Blindness (2 page)

But I don’t. I put on my mask, nod, say my
line, and wait until the sun finally sets, and the moon takes over
watch.

Three Years Later…

Chapter 1: Trevor Appleton’s Girl

“I have to go to tutoring. If I don’t go, I’m
going to fail. And I can’t fail,” I say, fighting to hold in my
laughter, while Trevor pokes my side as we lay in bed.

“Come on, baby, I’m going to be gone all
week. Just stay a little longer,” he teases, pulling me back on top
of him and nibbling at my ear. I want to stay. I always want to
stay. His warm chest, deep gravely voice, and dark stubble on his
chin that he scrapes along my jaw almost have me back. But I really
am failing calculus. I need to pass to continue with my program
studies. I fought too long and too hard to get into Western’s
architectural program, and I spent most of Mac’s inheritance on my
first three years. Thankfully, reason prevails, despite Trevor’s
best efforts, and I make my way to my feet.

“You are so tempting, you know that?” I say,
smacking him playfully on the arm. “But I
have
to go.”

Trevor puts on his best pout, which earns him
a small kiss, but nothing more. I race into the bathroom at my
apartment to shower and change.

“Hey, I have that dinner next Sunday to meet
with the chief of staff in Judge Sumner’s office. You’re still good
with that, right?” Trevor asks through the door while I’m
showering. Damn, I’d forgotten about dinner Sunday. I just promised
Caroline yesterday that I’d come home next weekend for Mac’s
ceremony. It’s been three years, and every anniversary they have a
candlelight memorial at the front steps of Louisville PD
headquarters. I’ve missed them all. I’ve always been busy, made
myself busy.

“Uh…” I’m hedging. I don’t want to let down
Trevor, and truthfully, I don’t want to go relive my father’s
death. But Caroline made me promise this year. My dad’s sister, my
aunt, hasn’t been able to move on from it. She lives in it,
literally. Mac left her his home—she never had one of her own. He
always looked after her, giving her money and excuses for her
emotional problems. He loved her—I know that’s why he couldn’t cut
her loose. But she’s never fully been able to grow up because of
it. I’d gotten a taste of it all for the three months I had to live
with her before I left home to come to Western. I wasn’t going
back—ever. Being there meant I ran the risk of becoming like her.
And I knew being there wasn’t going to bring him back. Nothing
would. So why bother.

“You’re not backing out on me, are you?”
Trevor asks, pulling the shower curtain open and surprising me. He
has a tone in his voice—I can tell he’s disappointed. Trevor has a
way of getting his way; he doesn’t come across needy, but he has
this face that just makes me want to please him. It’s satisfying to
see him happy.

“No, I’ll be there. I just have to call
Caroline. I forgot, I’m sorry. I told her I’d help her with
something, but it can wait,” I lie. Trevor knows about my dad, and
he’s met Caroline, so he knows how difficult she can be. But he
doesn’t know all of the details—I always leave those out. They make
me feel weak and pathetic, and I don’t want to feel his pity.
Trevor is the one person who makes me feel strong, like I’m some
power player in his world of lawyers and politicians—Cat Woman to
his Bruce Wayne. And I like feeling that way.

He slips his head in the shower and kisses me
hard, grabbing both sides of my face and making my call to Caroline
easier. I smile and flit my eyes at him as he backs away. “Good,
you’re my lucky charm, you know?” he winks. “I gotta go. But I’ll
call you later, when I get in from my flight, okay?”

“Okay,” I smile and flick a little water at
him as he leaves. He chuckles and shakes his head, walking out and
shutting the door.

Trevor is classically handsome—dark hair,
blue eyes, broad shoulders—he’s the alter ego of some brooding
movie star and a Hilfiger ad rolled into one. He was a swimmer at
Western his first four years, and he’s still built like one. In
December, he’ll be graduating with his law degree, and if Sunday’s
dinner goes well, he may be the youngest student in the college’s
history to clerk for a circuit court judge.

We met at one of the Dean’s dinner parties
last year. Trevor was my grad-student guide, and I was attracted to
him instantly. He’s the only man I’ve ever slept with, which he
always tells me he
loves
. I’m a little embarrassed by it,
but honestly, before Trevor Appleton, there was never a guy who
made me want to do more than kiss. I don’t know the exact moment
when I fell in love with him, but I did.

He’s older—24 to my 21—but we’re both in the
same place. I’ve never been a partier, never had many girlfriends,
never really wanted to
date
. Even in high school, I was
focused, my only diversion the time I spent dating Wes, and
that
didn’t turn out so well. My life has been one long
chain of events, means to an end.

One of those ends is architecture. I’ve
always had a keen eye, and I’d worked my way into an internship
with one of the best firms in the Midwest. I had a feeling the job
would be mine permanently when I graduated. Of course, Trevor had
also been hinting about marriage lately, and if he ended up in
Washington, I’d have to consider applying elsewhere. But first, I
had to pass my calculus requirements.

Keys, coffee, portfolio, and notebooks in
hand, and I’m on my way to the library. I haven’t taken advantage
of the free tutoring sessions yet, and I’m regretting that now. I
might have been able to avoid the deep hole I’d dug from my failed
quizzes…if I’d just shown up for these sessions a few weeks
earlier.

Parking is easy to navigate on a Saturday, so
I get to the tutoring room just as they’re letting students in.
There’s an entire room set up for mathematics, which makes me
smile. “Misery loves company,” I laugh to myself.

I gravitate to the table near the rear of the
room and sit with my back against the wall. I’m always putting
myself in corners—ever since Mac died, I like to see my way out.
The therapist said it was about my need for control, to anticipate
the next move. Funny, though, how it’s the action happening right
in front of me that always takes me by surprise.

I’m getting my book out and searching for my
pencil in my bag when I suddenly feel uncomfortable, like an
invisible shadow is choking me.

I jump at his voice.

“You’re new,” he says, and I thrust my hair
back and bang my wrist on the underside of the table as I snap to
attention. The pain is instant, and at first I tend to my hand. I’m
about to swear when I look up and quickly shut my mouth again. I’m
stunned silent at first—suddenly out of my element—my confidence
drained the second I hit his gaze. “I’m sorry?” is all I can seem
to stammer. His eyes are clear, a grayish blue, and perfect. The
crinkles at the corners must mean he’s smiling, but I can’t seem to
leave his eyes to check the curve of his lips. In that millisecond,
I soak them in, and I feel like I’m home.

I’m stuck staring at him, my mouth a little
agape, as he sits across from me. He just laughs at my awkwardness
and shakes his head. “I scared you. Sorry, didn’t mean to. I just
haven’t seen you in here before…you’re new?” he holds out his hand
this time—a gesture my suddenly teenaged goo brain recognizes, and
I shake it.

A few seconds pass, and we’re still shaking
hands across the table, but not speaking. He chuckles again and
lifts his other hand to cover mine, stopping our motion. My eyes
widen, and I’m rushed with embarrassment, my cheeks burning and my
heart a pounding drum in my chest. “Oh God, I’m sorry. Yes, I’m
new. I’m in Dr. Rush’s calculus class, and I’m falling a little
behind,” I say all in one breath. He winks at my words, and
something in me flinches at it, forcing me back to earth.

“Okay, let’s take a look at what lesson
you’re on,” he nods toward the book, prompting me.

“Right, right,” I say, flipping the pages
open manically. Somehow my mind slows down, and I’m finally able to
communicate. “It’s the section on complex and holomorphic
functions.” I’m grateful I was just able to complete that
sentence.

“Okay. Let’s work through one together, and
I’ll explain as we go,” he says, flipping the page on my notepad
and turning it sideways between us. He clicks the pen, and I catch
myself staring at him again. He looks nothing like a calculus
tutor. His hair is dark and tossed in various directions—almost
messy, like he just removed his hat. His arms are canvases of
artwork, swirls of color crawling up each, sometimes winding into
his fingers. His wrists are wrapped with black bands, and his ears
are pierced—multiple times. He coughs a little, and I realize he’s
looking at me…looking at him.

I instantly turn back to the notepad, but not
before idiotic words fly out of my mouth. “I’m sorry…you
are
the tutor, right?”

He just laughs, folding his arms, and leans
back in his chair. He looks up at the ceiling for a few seconds,
giving me a break before settling back on me. “Yeah, I know. I
don’t really scream
math geek.
I’m an engineering major.
Almost done. The math part? Well…” He leans forward, urging me in
as well, and looks side to side before he whispers to me, “I’m sort
of a mathematical genius.”

I purse my lips and scrunch my brow out of
instinct. I’m sorting him out, trying to tell if he’s genuine or
just being an asshole. He seems to sense my hesitation, because he
puts the pen down and holds up one hand, like a boy scout, crossing
his heart with the other. I tilt my head, and a small smile breaks
on my lips. I’m about to relent and believe him when he pulls the
notepad forward and starts jotting down numbers and symbols
feverishly. Within seconds, he’s solved the first problem from my
book. He smiles when he sets the pen down, and the crinkle is back
in the corners of his eyes.

“Wow,” I say, my eyebrows lifting.
“Rock-star-math-geek genius. Noted.”

He laughs hard this time, and I finally let
go of the breath I’ve been holding and join him. “I’m Cody. Not a
rock star. Just good with numbers,” he smirks. “What’s your
name?”

“Charlie,” as soon as it leaves my lips I
want to stuff it back inside. “Well, Charlotte, really. Charlotte,
call me
Charlotte
.” He’s tapping the pen to his lip while
I’m desperately trying to turn back time. I don’t want anyone
calling me Charlie, and I haven’t said it in years. Why it came out
now, I have no idea, but even hearing my own voice say it has my
stomach sinking to the floor.

“Charlotte,” he smiles, somehow saving me.
“Nice to meet you. How about we figure out what’s tripping you up
here, huh?” His smile is soft, and I feel like I dodged some sort
of bullet. I nod and lean forward while he guides me through about
a dozen problems.

After two hours, I’m starting to understand
the material, and I can even complete the work on my own. Cody has
been at my table the entire time, despite four other tables full of
students clearly needing his help. I’m glad he’s stayed, and I tell
myself it’s because I need his help, and I’m finally getting the
hang of the formulas. But the truth scratches at my gut, too, and
the pangs from guilt are impossible to ignore. I like his
attention—and I’ve never been more afraid.

He’s looking at his watch and chewing on his
pen cap when I interrupt him. “You don’t have to stay,” I squeak
out. “I’m getting the hang of this. You probably have a ton of
students to see, and I know the session time is almost over.”

He pushes his lips closed tightly, making a
hard smile, and I hear him take a deep breath through his nose.
“It’s okay. Most of those students are regulars, and they’d call me
over if they really needed something,” he says, glancing back at
his watch.

“Oh…” I chew at my own pen now, not sure what
to say. “Well…if you have to go, it’s okay. I’m about ready to pack
up.” We’re staring at each other now, and the tension between us
must be visible to everyone in the room. Afraid of being caught, I
start to close my book and busy my hands.

“Yeah, yeah…” Cody starts, looking down and
then back up. “I’ll walk you out?”

He’s waiting for me to answer, and I’m
pretending to take longer with my belongings, looking deep in my
bag and avoiding his eyes. I’m fighting with myself. When I finally
pump myself up enough to stand and smile back at him, I notice
it—the wheelchair. I don’t have one of those faces that can lie—a
fault I inherited from Mac. Our expression cuts right to the truth,
never a mixed signal. And I know Cody senses my discomfort, because
I can sense his, too.

He rolls back from the table a little,
twisting the wheels back and forth to make sure everything’s clear,
to show me that he knows what caused my breath to hitch. “I just
need it sometimes,” he says, shrugging and looking down at his lap.
He lifts up his knees to show me that he can. I’m embarrassed by my
gross behavior and my overt reaction. But, more than that, I’m
embarrassed by the relief that floods me with the knowledge that
he’s not completely disabled—and I’m confused by why I care so
much.

“So, you…you can walk?” I ask, instantly
slapping myself internally. Why can’t I shut up?

He bites the inside of his cheek, forcing
down a short laugh, and nods, finally looking me in the eyes.
“Yeah, I can walk. I’m just a little banged up is all,” he says,
his smile less bright now. “So, how about I
walk
you
out?”

I cringe at his words, knowing he’s poking
fun at himself, and teasing me at the same time. He lets me off the
hook quickly, though, brushing his arm into mine. “It’s okay, I’m
just bustin’ your chops,” he says, leaning his head to the side and
urging me to follow him outside. I trail behind him, my bags
weighing down my arm, and my mind working feverishly to remember
what his skin looked like next to mine.