Plan (8 page)

Monday morning Rachel's thoughts returned to Randy's question again and again, like a stuck record going around and around, but getting nowhere. What did she really want? Staring at another stack of essays to read, she sighed and plopped her head onto her arms. She really missed the interaction with her students from the
community center. The way they tried so hard to learn to
speak English. Most of her students at the university acted as if English were a foreign language, and from the look of their papers it might as well be one. What was with her lately, anyway? As the semester went by, she could dream of nothing but summer. Maybe she had spring fever. Maybe she just needed a break from Freshman Composition. With another sigh, she picked up her red pen and marked their papers until they looked like bloodstains.

“Excuse me. Are you Ms. Grant?”

Rachel looked up to see an elderly lady standing in the doorway. Though she must have been near seventy, she stood ramrod straight and wore an elegant suit. Rachel realized she was staring, so she stood up and crossed the room.

“Yes, I'm Rachel Grant. What can I do for you?”

“Are you the young woman who has been teaching at the community center?” The woman looked her up and down, as if trying to find a flaw.

“Yes, I am.” Rachel waited for her to continue, but the woman just stared at her. Rachel cleared her throat.

“You look a little young to be teaching at a university,” the woman replied.

“I assure you I have adequate credentials.” Rachel refused to tell the woman her age. She was somewhere between being pleased that she looked young, and angry at the woman's snooty attitude. “Now, what can I do for you Ms. . .” Rachel trailed off, waiting for her to give her name.

“I'm Ms. Stanford.” She emphasized the Ms. “Ms. Emily Stanford. I work with the local historical society. I heard that you were trying to get the community center designated a historical landmark. Is that true?”

“Yes, ma'am, I am.” Rachel's heart began to race. Maybe there was still a way to save the Center, but she could tell there would be no rushing Ms. Stanford. “Is the society rethinking the proposal?”

“No. The society's decision is final. There is no funding available at present.” Rachel's heart plummeted. “However,” Mrs. Stanford said and then paused, one finger pointing at Rachel. “However, I might be interested in the project myself.” Before Rachel could say a word she rushed on, “Now, mind you, I'm not one for rushing into things. I want to know exactly why you want to renovate the Center and what you are going to do with it.”

“I really didn't have any plans, Ms. Stanford.” Rachel found herself stumbling over words and trying to think of something that would satisfy this woman. “I was only a teacher there. I just think it's a great building architecturally, and it was a place for the community, a place for the kids to play and to learn.” Rachel shrugged her shoulders for lack of words. “I don't know what else to tell you.”

“You've told me enough for now, but I want a complete proposal of what you intend to do with the Center in my hands no later than tomorrow night. I expect you and Dr. Harris to give me a full report at dinner. Here's my card. We eat at six-thirty sharp. Don't be late.” With a nod, she exited the room at a marching step.

Rachel stood in stunned silence. Tomorrow night! How in the world was she going to have a proposal ready for tomorrow night! She knew less than nothing about proposals, much less what she would plan for the Center. All she wanted was her old job back. What was she going to do? Panic rose from deep within. Then she remembered what Ms. Stanford had said. She had included Randy in this meeting. She threw the papers into her bag and ran for his office.

Randy almost dropped the book he was previewing when Rachel skidded to a halt in front of his desk. “Randy, I need your help.” Her breath was coming in short gasps.

“Slow down. Breathe in and out. Now, sit down and tell me what's wrong.” Randy came around the desk and pulled her onto the small couch.

“Ms. Stanford needs a proposal by tomorrow night, and I can't do it by myself,” she burst out.

“Whoa! Who's Ms. Stanford and what proposal?”
Randy shook his head in confusion. “What are you
talk-ing about?”

“A few minutes ago, a woman named Emily Stanford came to my classroom and said she was interested in helping with the Center if we would give her a proposal of how we want to renovate and what we plan to do with the Center. Only she wants it by dinner tomorrow night. We're supposed to be there, ready to report at six-thirty sharp.” Rachel barely breathed between words.

“Us? Why does she want us to give her a proposal?” Randy asked.

“I don't know. She just came and announced it a few minutes ago. She didn't give me an opportunity to ask any questions. Besides, I was too stunned to ask. She said she was a member of the historical society.”

“That's right! Ms. Stanford.” Randy replied, shaking his head. “She was one of the people I talked to about the Center. At the time, she didn't seem particularly interested.”

“Well, something has gotten her interest, and we don't have any time to lose. Will you help me?” Rachel asked. He looked into her pleading eyes and knew there was only one answer.

“Of course I will. We'll get on it right after my last class. We can work on it at my place.”

“Great. I'll meet you here after class.” Her smile lit up the room. She squeezed his arm. “Thank you.” Then she jumped up and sprinted back down the hall.

He knew he should stay away from her, but he couldn't say no to her. She needed him right now, and that was reason enough. In a few weeks, the university would be making its final decisions regarding the
satellite school. After that, all he would have of
Rachel would be memories.

Time seemed to move slowly for Randy the rest of the day. Finally, class was over and he could get back to Rachel. He found her pacing in front of his office like a caged cat.

“I guess I don't have to ask if you're ready to go.” He expected a smile or a laugh, but not a look of pure panic. “Hey, it's going to be all right.” Randy took her by the shoulders and looked into her eyes. “We can do this. But if we don't, we're just back to where we were yesterday.”

When she only shrugged, he opened his office and drew her inside and closed the door. With one smooth move he pulled her into his arms, nestling her head against his shoulder. He stroked her hair gently with one hand, and held her firmly with the other. It felt so right to hold her. She snuggled against him and buried her head deeper into his shoulder. He held on for a few moments, wanting to ease her fears. How could something feel so right and be wrong?

She pulled back and looked up at him with those eyes. He felt like he was being sucked under. Before he could think about it, he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. When she responded, he kissed her thoroughly. He wasn't sure how long they stood embracing, but a sudden knock sent them to separate corners. Gathering his senses about him, he took care of the student waiting outside, and then motioned for Rachel to follow.

“Let's go. We have a lot of work to do.”

In her own car, Rachel followed Randy's sedan into the driveway. All the way over she had replayed the scene in his office. She shivered with pleasure. He hadn't been all hands and groping. It had been romantic and sweet. She was surprised at the way she had responded. She had never felt that way before. His touch had left her breathless and weak-kneed. She hugged herself as she waited for Randy to open the door. He held the door for her, but he seemed to be standing as far away from her as possible. Her brows furrowed in confusion as she walked past into the foyer.

“Why don't we work at the kitchen table? It's probably the only flat, clean surface in the house.” She thought perhaps he was joking, but the smile didn't quite reach his eyes. He pulled out a chair for her and then moved to the opposite side of the table.

“How should we start this?” Rachel asked. She threw her hands up in the air and scrunched her shoulders in puzzlement.

“Why don't we start with dinner? I'll call in our order. The usual?” he asked.

She nodded her head in agreement. Watching the way he jumped up and went into the other room, it seemed as if he couldn't wait to get away from her. What was wrong with him? She heard the phone ring before he called the restaurant. It was obviously a student with a problem. Not many teachers took the time to talk with students at home. Figuring he would be busy for several minutes and too fidgety to sit still, she decided to see how the bedroom was coming. He found her there a few minutes later.

“What do you think?” he asked.

She looked around at the half-finished room. Rolls of the wallpaper she had picked out were stacked neatly in the corner. He had finished two of the four walls.

“I like it. It's going to look really good when you add the drapes and furniture.” She waved her hand at the room, void of any furniture, except the rickety card table and two sawhorses. He laughed, but didn't reply. She couldn't take this anymore.

“Randy, what's wrong?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean ever since our kiss this afternoon you've been acting funny, like you don't want to be around me. I don't understand.” He colored at the mention of their touch.

“This afternoon was a mistake. I shouldn't have done that and I apologize.”

An apology was the last thing she wanted, but she held her tongue. She swallowed the lump that was forming in her throat. “Oh.” That was all she could get out. It sounded so lame. She tried again. “I guess you're right. We are colleagues.”

“Right,” he said too quickly. “We should keep our relationship professional, but friendly. Speaking of work, we'd better get to it.”

She followed him downstairs to the kitchen, and they began discussing the details of the renovations that needed to be made to the Center. Randy made a list of materials they would need as they went.

“I guess that the biggest thing is the roof, especially
where the tree went through my classroom. I noticed that they had removed the tree and pulled up the stump. The inside and outside stairs need to be repaired. A
good coat of paint would be nice, and the floors need
stripping.”

“Hold on. You're going too fast.” He scribbled a few things down on paper with his right hand while he held his left hand up like a stop sign. He lowered it and said, “Okay. Go ahead.”

She went on with her wish list of the things she wanted to see done to the Center, and Randy continued to scribble for a few minutes, and then pulled out a clean sheet of paper. He organized the repairs to be made in order of importance, and on another sheet he listed the materials necessary.

“That should do it. We can type it up at school tomorrow. That was the easy part. Now you've got to decide what you want to use the Center for.”

“What do you mean me? What about us?” She looked up in surprise.

“I mean that the Center is yours, not mine. I won't be here. Remember?” She was relieved from having to answer by the ringing of the doorbell. “Saved by the bell. Again.” He went to the door to get the food.

She remained at the kitchen table, a wave of nausea flowing through her. He was really going to leave. The kiss this afternoon meant nothing to him. He was still leaving her. It stunned her how much it hurt to think of him leaving. Just when she realized what a wonderful man he was, he was moving out of her life. She struggled to gain her composure when she heard his steps in the hall.

“Here we are. Lasagna for two.”

He placed the food out on the table and they ate in silence. Randy tried once or twice to talk of school or the weather, but she couldn't get words past that lump in her throat. She put her fork down a few minutes later, and pushed the half-eaten plate away.

“I've had enough.”

“You've barely touched it. Are you all right?” The concern in his eyes was almost her undoing, but she swallowed down the tears.

“I'm just not hungry tonight. I had a big lunch.” It was a lie, but it was better than telling the truth. She wasn't hungry because the only man she had ever loved was about to walk out of her life. “Let's get back to work.”

Randy took the plates to the kitchen sink and wiped off the table. Sitting down at the table, he pushed the notepad across the table to her.

“This part is all yours.”

She looked at the blank page and thought of the Center and her students. If Randy was going to leave, the only thing she had left was the Center. It was a place she could do something that meant more than just earn a paycheck. She thought of all her students and all the kids that played there in the afternoons.

“Well, first, I would want to restart the conversational English classes, and the after school program for children.” She wrote that down on the paper.

“What else?” he prodded. “Isn't there something you would like to see them do that they're not doing now?”