Fall Semester (9 page)

Helene sounded awed. Maren felt sure that guilt was visible on her face.

“What did he say, exactly?

“He said...that he was sorry for embarrassing me and he was sorry for being a general asshole, but he wasn’t sorry for waking me up because he knew that he had gone too far and been a jerk, and he really wanted to take me to breakfast to make up for it....It was actually...kind of sweet.” Helene frowned at this point and stared at her tea.

“But you didn’t go.”

Helene’s eyes shot up at hers.

“No way! But he kept asking, and I kept saying no. And he asked me why I wouldn’t go, and I said, ‘Quite frankly, Jess, I don’t trust you,’ and I swear, it was like he hung his head...like a little kid. And we just stood there...like forever...and, finally, I thanked him for apologizing and told him that he needed to go because I had to shower and start studying. So he left.”

“End of story?”

“Well, I thought so, but no.” Helene’s eyes went wide again. “He left, and after I confirmed that I, indeed, had not dreamt the whole encounter, I took a shower. While I was getting dressed, there was another knock on my door.”

“Oh dear.”

“Yeah, and I got a little pissed because what the hell? So after I was dressed, I went to the door and checked the peephole, but there was no one there. I opened the door to see if his car was in the lot, and on my doorstep was a grandé decaf caramel latte and a jumbo pumpkin muffin and
this.
”

Helene thrust a folded scrap of paper in her face, and Maren took it and opened it.

Helene,

Again, I am truly sorry for being such a dick. I mean to earn your trust. I want to take you to breakfast one day, but in the meantime, please accept this.

Jess

“Holy crap, Helene,” Maren gasped.

“I know!”

“And this was Jess? Jess Dalton?”

“The very same.” Helene started to smile.

“So did you eat it?” Maren couldn’t help but grin.

“Hells, yes! Nobody disses a caramel latte and a pumpkin muffin!” They burst out laughing, and when their laughter was exhausted, Helene eyed Maren meaningfully.

“What I can’t figure out, Mare, is why the change of heart.”

“Um.”

“Um. What?” Helene leveled her with a raised brow.

“Well,...last night while we were working at the conference...we argued a bit,” Maren started, nervously.

“And?”

“And it got pretty heated. He kept defending himself and saying that he was just teasing,” Maren stopped, not sure how to phrase the rest of the altercation.

“Then what. Tell me, Maren,” Helene’s tone edged with irritation. Maren decided to lay it all out.

“He kept asking why it mattered, and I told him he was an idiot, and he wanted to know what that meant, and he kept asking me, and he grabbed me—”

“He grabbed you?!?” Helene cried, leaning forward.

“Yes, and then Dr. Vashal
completely
freaked out. I swear, I thought he was going to hit Jess—”

“Fuck. Me.”

“Yeah, and Vashal sent Jess upstairs, I guess, to give him a chance to calm down, and it was just weird and silent the rest of the night. I’m telling you, Helene, I was so embarrassed.”

“Oh, God. How awful....Wait....” Helene’s face transformed from shock and disbelief to suspicion.

“What
did
you mean? When you said he was an idiot?”

Maren sighed. She regretted, sometimes, that she was an honest person. That honesty was important to her. That everything was made better when you just told the truth.

“I meant that he was an idiot not to see how it hurt you.”

Helene’s eyebrows drew together.

“I never came out and actually said that, but I guess he figured it out,” Maren added, clasping her own fingertips nervously.

Helene was motionless for a second. Then she rolled her eyes and sighed.

“I don’t know whether to thank you or throw my shoe at you,” she said, finally.

Maren bit her lip.

“You’re welcome?” she ventured, meekly. Thankfully, Helene laughed.

“I’m
so
glad I didn’t go to breakfast with him this morning.”

“Are you really?” Maren eyed her.

“Yes. Maybe the balance of power has been restored now, and we can get past this.”

“But you still like him.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes, I still like him...maybe even more after that adorable display on my doorstep.” Helene’s mouth quirked up, and her eyes sparkled. “But he doesn’t have to know that. I just want things to be normal.”

“You never know,” Maren sang.

“Shut up.”

After Helene left, Maren stacked the table with all of the reading she needed to tackle over the weekend, along with her poetry journal. She picked up the
English Romantic Writers
again. Maren pictured Dr. Vashal reading
Christabel
, and a warm rush coursed through her.

Well, that won’t do,
she told herself.

He was a professor, after all. Any crush she may have been developing for him could go nowhere.

So there’s no harm in secretly enjoying it
, she argued back.

Secretly
was the operative word. She couldn’t even tell Helene, who thought that Dr. Vashal was evil incarnate. But he wasn’t. Yes, he could be gloomy, fractious, and even a little imposing, but that was really just on the surface—only there if you missed everything else. He was fragile. He suffered at his own hands and at the hands of others. Maren was sure she had seen both that night at Bisbano’s. He was protective. Obviously. Maren remembered the baleful look in his eyes when Jess grabbed her. He was gentle. He had tried to comfort her after the incident. He was kind. He certainly didn’t have to try to help her with
Christabel.
He was funny. So funny. Maren couldn’t count the times he had made her laugh with his humor, biting though it may be at times.

It felt good to like him. The warmth in her chest expanded. It felt good to have a secret, to be the one who knew that there was more to him. Even if nothing ever came of it, crushing on Malcolm Vashal was something lovely.

She let the feeling spread through her and then got down to work.

At noon the next day, she was due at her parents’ house for lunch. Her mother and father had come back from their trip to the lake house the night before, and Maren’s brother Lane and sister Laurel would be there. Lane, 22, had graduated in marketing in May and weeks before had started a job with an oilfield tool company in sales. Maren was relieved about this because her father had been relieved. Laurel, the baby at 18, had just started college at UL in journalism and was the only one still at home. Maren knew that it weighed on her father now that his two daughters still had years of school ahead of them.

Even though Maren hadn’t asked her parents for money in years, they had sent her checks at the beginning of each semester when she was in Denver. She had a fellowship at UD that covered housing, so she had managed to save most of what they had given her. Maren had kept to herself the student loan she had taken out to pay for the portion of her tuition that her teaching assistantship didn’t cover after her transfer, and the TA stipend gave her just enough to pay her half of the rent and groceries. If she was careful, what she had in savings could stretch out a few years to allow her to buy clothes and have a little spending money. Not having a car and the expenses that came with one suited her just fine.

The Gardners lived in the same two story Acadian-style house on Corona Drive in River’s Bend for the last 18 years. Maren pulled her mother’s 10-year-old gray Jetta into the driveway next to her father’s six-year-old black Touareg and entered the side door to the kitchen, finding Erin and Mark Gardner side by side at the island making a salad together. In a fraction of a second, Maren could see that they existed solely for each other and that the approaching separation was breaking both of their hearts.

“Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad.” She crossed the kitchen and gave each a kiss and a squeeze. Both hugged her a second longer than usual.

“Miss Merry Maren,” her father chimed, opting for cheerfulness with his favorite nickname. “How was your week?”

“Busy, but good.” She leaned against the counter and studied her dad casually. He had lost all the black and gray hair that she loved. Jet black all over except a gray outline over his face and temples. But now a stubble matching the exact color pattern covered his scalp. And he looked a little stronger, maybe even not quite so thin today.

“How was your reading?” her mother asked, a hint of guilt tugging at her blue eyes.

“Oh, it was nothing,” Maren batted it away, not wanting her mom to regret any part of her last romantic getaway. “Two poems, but it went well.”

The door opened then, and Lane, still looking every bit the college kid in shorts, flip flops, and a Life is Good t-shirt, bounded in. His dark, unruly curls were clearly slept on and unshowered.

“Hey-oh!” he bellowed, his usual greeting. Maren was instantly glad to see him. He kissed each parent and fist-bumped his older sister. “What’s for dinner? Smells good!”

“Pork chops, mashed potatoes, salad, and baked apples,” Erin answered.

“Mmmm...mmm! When’s chow time?” Lane’s appetite always dictated mealtimes when they were growing up, but Maren knew that he was making an effort to keep the mood light and familiar by playing himself.

“As soon as you set the table. Maren, would you call your sister down from upstairs?”

“Sure, Mom.”

Maren stepped into the hall to the foyer and climbed the stairs, reaching the room that she and Laurel had shared until she’d gone to college. She knocked on the door.

“Come in!”

Laurel slumped on her bed with books spread out around her, her iPod docked, and The Killers’ “Believe Me Natalie” playing at a study-friendly volume.

“Hey,” Maren said.

“Hey.”

“You ok?” Maren did not envy Laurel the fate of being the last one at home at this point in their lives. She tried to check on her as much as she could, even if it meant just sending a text every other day.

“Yeah, they seem a little more relaxed right now,” Laurel said, sitting up. She was two inches shorter than Maren, and although their hair was the same dark brown, Laurel’s was curly like their mother’s and Lane’s, and curls spilled over her shoulders. “Dad feels better now that the chemo has stopped....It won’t last long,” she added softly.

“Well, let’s enjoy it while it does,” Maren said, manufacturing a strength she really didn’t think she had. Laurel nodded, unable to say anything.

“Come on. Dinner’s ready, and Lane is starving.”

“Big surprise,” Laurel rolled her eyes, but smiled and climbed off the bed.

Sunday dinner was comfortable. Not exactly like old times, but close. Maren’s father had an appetite, which everyone knew would not last, but Maren could see the relief in her mother’s eyes as she watched her husband enjoy seconds. And the food was delicious. After living in dorms and apartments for the last five years, Maren definitely appreciated coming back home to her mother’s kitchen.