Life Goes On--Chapter 2

CHAPTER  2

My apartment isn’t too large, but bigger than the one’s usually rented by second year college students. I tossed my keys into the 19th century Tiffany bowl someone had given me two centuries before, and went into the kitchen to put a small macaroni and cheese casserole from the freezer into the oven. I do not miss the old days where I kept a pot of stew in front of the fire at all times, throwing in new food whenever I had it.

I was just settling down into the leather overstuffed recliner in front of the picture window overlooking the mountains with my reading assignments for the next day when the phone rang. That might be my least favorite invention. I groaned and crossed the room to my desk to answer it.

“Ms. James?” a male voice asked.

“Speaking,” I told him only half politely. I really dislike phones.

“This is Professor Barnes. I was wondering if you could meet with me next week to discuss your midterm.”

Weird. “Umm…we haven’t taken the midterm yet.” I frowned at the phone, but put the receiver back to my ear when he started talking again.

“I know. I like to discuss the questions with students before the test to make sure that they’re on the right track with the material.”

“Oh. Okay. I guess I can stop by. Is next Monday at four fine?” Definitely weird.

“Perfect.” Was it me or did he just purr? Creep! “I will see you in class Thursday. Goodnight.” He hung up before I could reply.

I stared at the receiver before I replaced it. I would never have thought that the slightly stooping, sixty year old man would have called me in such a way. I couldn’t remember if I’d seen a ring on his finger, but if there was one, I think I would have to hurt him. I can take getting hit on my random men, but a man cheating on his wife, I cannot stand.

I sighed and went out onto the balcony to stare at the mountains. I picked this university for the scenery more than anything else. I didn’t need another degree, so why should I study in an ugly box? The sunset over the mountains did a great deal to relieve the ache I felt forming in my temples after that phone call. I honestly couldn’t believe that my professor would proposition me, but what other explanation was there? I know that if he was serious about the midterm he would have mentioned it in class and had us arrange meeting times then.

The timer on my oven rang. Oh, the beauty of modern conveniences. I took my casserole into the living area and ate while I watched the evening news. More death and destruction; same old, same old. There were a couple human interest stories, though, which always warm my heart—if only everyone could take the time to do more good than harm. After supper I checked my appointment book, adding in the meeting with Professor Barnes. I had a meeting with the Habitat for Humanity club the next day to discuss the plan for the house we were working on this Saturday. I’d spent enough of my life living in a dirty hovel and I wanted to make sure that other families don’t have to do the same.

I was just settling down, again, to read over my assignments for the next day when I saw that the teaching assistant for Professor Barnes class had included his email address on the syllabus. I decided that it couldn’t hurt to have a bit of foreknowledge about the meeting with Barnes. Maybe it really was purely a professional meeting and he’s just socially awkward enough for it to come across as creepy—it wouldn’t be the first time this has happened to me. I sent a short email to the TA to ask him about one of the questions then slipped in a comment about not knowing how to prepare for the pre-midterm meeting with Barnes.

I guess he was online at the same time I was because I was browsing one of the on-line newspapers when I got a reply:

Gretchen,

You’ll want to focus on how Harold’s death at Hastings affected the future of England, specifically how the Norman kings’ rule differed from that of English kings.

I admit to being ignorant of a meeting between Professor Barnes and the students prior to the midterm. I’ve never known him to arrange any meeting except when the student risks failing the class. I’m hesitant to make any guess as to what the two of you will discuss, but if you wish for me to be in the area during your meeting, I will be there. I understand and respect a woman’s need to protect herself from harassment of any type and if…if his intentions are less than honorable I will stand by you.

Please, let me know what else I can do for you,

Nick

I decided that having back-up would be a good thing no matter what happened, so I quickly responded with the date and time of our meeting and my thanks that I was probably over-reacting, but it would be better to be safe than sorry (for his safety, not my own, but I didn’t include that part). Our final correspondence of the night was his message to me confirming that he would be in the waiting area outside Barnes’ office during the appointment, but that we wouldn’t try to infer more about it than what we already knew.

I closed my computer and picked up the pile of neglected printouts as I walked towards my bedroom  laid them on the bedside table and went into the bathroom for a shower. I sighed as I examined my face in the mirror before I undressed. For some reason, I’ve been called beautiful for most of my life. My thick reddish gold hair, which usually curled gently down my back, was tangled and frizzy. The abnormally warm March was wreaking havoc on it. The light brush of freckles over my nose and cheeks hadn’t extended their reign over my heart shaped face since I actually was twenty-four years old. I hadn’t gotten a decent tan since then, either. I’ve been told that my pale green eyes are evidence of my old soul…to me they just look tired. I scrunched my face to see what I’d look like with wrinkles and wondered if I’d ever earn them for myself. Wrinkles are a badge of honor to be worn proudly…or so says the girl who hasn’t aged a day in over nine hundred years. Was I beautiful? Probably not this century, since I was six inches too short according to the magazines and not as petite as I could be given my height. Fifty years ago, though, I was a babe—curvy girls were definitely in.

I sighed again and turned the water on before I undressed. Indoor plumbing is definitely the best thing ever invented and I spent five minutes just enjoying the hot water. Then I felt guilty about wasting the water and quickly finished the task. Shaving was still something I found annoyingly tedious and made me wonder why women had bothered to make it fashionable in the twenties. I put on a pair of men’s boxer shorts, probably the most comfortable thing I’d ever found to sleep in, and a t-shirt before I climbed into bed to read myself to sleep.

My Wednesday was as hectic as usual. Most of my classes met in some form or another on Wednesday, but it left me Friday free, which was really worth it. Also, it’s a common day for club meetings, not that I have a lot of clubs, just Habitat, which meet twice a month, plus I volunteer at one of the local elementary schools reading with the kids on Friday mornings and work at the food bank Sunday afternoons. It’s not a fancy life, but I feel at least somewhat fulfilled. Most of my classes were interesting, but the discussion for my American Civil War class was duller than dirt. Actually that’s a lie. I’ve taken some environmental science classes and dirt is actually quite fascinating. Nobody talks in the discussion section, so it’s just fifty minutes of listening to the TA, Alexa, try and coax responses for her obvious questions. I choose to answer one question during each session, just to get my points, though I see the pleading looks Alexa has sent me begging for more participation. I don’t like to attract attention to myself, though, so I don’t comply. My goal in life is to blend in with the wall. The Habitat meeting went well, though there were the usual tangents and complaints, like you’ll find in any group made up of more than one person. Mostly we were arranging rides to the job site this weekend and discussing what we’d say at the state conference the next weekend. We don’t have much say in the way the organization as a whole is run; we are just a university club, socializing when we don’t have a job set up by ‘corporate’ within driving distance, but we do send a representative or two to the annual statewide conference to learn all the new procedures and share our progress.

I don’t attend the conferences because I’ve worked for Habitat for about twenty years in four different states and I don’t want to risk being recognized by someone who knew me under a different name, but yet the exact same face. In any case, I was acting as a driver on Saturday so I arranged a meeting time and place with the three others who’d be riding with me. I was reaching for my bag when I noticed a shadow fall across my chair.

“Gretchen?”

“Yes?” I asked, looking up at the tall, dark haired, dark eyed man standing in front of me. He looked familiar though I didn’t know him, but then except for the few people in the club that I regularly socialize with, and the leadership of the club, just about everyone in the room only bore only a passing familiarity. “Can I help you?”

He frowned at me slightly. “You don’t recognize me?”

“Uhh...sorry. I’m awful with names and faces. I call people I’ve known for months by the wrong name and if they’re in the wrong place, they’re as good as a stranger.” I laughed softly, wracking my brain to figure out where I know him from. Nothing.

“I’m Nick, TA for Professor Barnes’ class,” he said slowly.

“Shoot!” I slapped my forehead. “I knew I knew you from somewhere stupid…not that the class is stupid, just…” I shrugged. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay, the only time I’ve stood in front of the class was on the first day’s introduction. I’d expect better recognition skills if I led a discussion section or something.” He smiled and I felt it to my toes. Woo. Cutie. His smile faded. “I wanted to talk to you about that email you sent me.”

“Uh, first, why are you here? Forgive me if I’m leery about being randomly approached.”

“Oh. Sorry. I’ve been volunteering for Habitat since I was an undergrad. I guess you blend into the crowd too, since we’ve been attending meetings together for, what, a year and a half and I didn’t make the connection until tonight.”

“Touché.” I looked around the room and realized that it had emptied already. “Do you want to talk here or go somewhere else?” My stomach gurgled; I hadn’t eaten supper yet.

He heard it. “Have you eaten? We can stop someplace and get food.”

“Yeah, let’s go somewhere. I don’t like to miss meals.” I’ve had to go days without food, so I’m always the first person to suggest eating.

He laughed. “Not many girls would admit that.”

“They’re stupid.” I grabbed his arm and my bag and dragged him out of the room. “Let’s eat.”

We walked quickly across Grounds towards the Corner, which has two blocks or so worth of restaurants of every denomination. I pointed us towards a Mexican place. “Good?”

“Yeah, it’s one of my favorite places.” He stuck his hands in his pockets as we waited just inside the door for a table. “Do you come here often?”

“Every couple weeks or so. I’ve made a goal to eat at every restaurant this town has to offer, but there are a few that I eat at regularly for one reason or another.” I waved at Patrick who works behind the bar; we dated a couple times last year.

“Is he one reason?”

I looked up at Nick’s face. He was staring at Patrick as though he was sizing him up for a challenge. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was jealous.

“No idea what you’re getting at,” I told him blandly, but I was happy when a waitress finally showed us to a table and took our drink orders. There was no reason for him to feel jealous, at least, not since we’d just met for real today. I studied his warm brown eyes and the way his short hair stood up at odd angles as though he’d just gotten out of bed. His strong jaw line belied his otherwise scholarly appearance and careful observation of his shoulders and chest showed that they weren’t as thin as they first appeared.  

“So,” I started, setting aside my menu after deciding to order a pork chimichanga, “what are we going to do about Barnes?”

Nick handed his menu to the waitress who’d just arrived at the table bringing our drinks, and ordered a couple of tacos. I passed along my own food request. He waited until she’d disappeared again before answering.

“I don’t think we should really do anything. I’ll stay close in case you need back-up.” He took a sip of his soda.

“Yes, that’s what we decided in the email. Why are we here?”

“You were hungry,” he informed me, completely deadpan.

I stared at him for a full minute, deciding that he had to make the next move. When he made no endeavor to speak, I raised my eyebrow at him. Finally he cracked.

“I recognized you at the meeting tonight and I figured that it would be more polite to introduce myself now than wait for either class tomorrow when we really wouldn’t be able to discuss anything, or Monday. I told you that I wanted to discuss the email, more or less in case you wanted to talk about it. I also volunteer for One-in-Four, so I’ve been trained how to…well, deal with these kind of situations.” He sipped his soda again and I saw him seem to transform into a counselor or something.

“Nah, I’m not the type to go around complaining about getting hit on. I would like to know for certain that I’m the only person he invited for a meeting next week, but I have no idea how to get that kind of information without scaring him off.” I saw Nick’s eyebrows rise and I held up a hand before he could speak. “What I mean is, if his intentions aren’t educational, then I want to stop him. Sure, we could clear this up now by simply asking him what he wants, but I don’t want to make him back off because then he’ll just prey on someone else and I can’t forgive myself for that.”

“You really shouldn’t put yourself at risk.”

I made a brush off gesture. “Trust me, he won’t hurt me.”

“I don’t mean to sound chauvinistic, but stronger women than you have gotten in over their heads in situations like this.” His jaw twitched. “I don’t think you know what you’re getting into. It is easier than you think to be sucked into a situation that you cannot get out of, even when you think you are prepared for it.” He gave me a significant look, as though that alone would get me to back down. What he didn’t know is that I have had centuries of practice dealing with pricks of every shape and size, both literally and figuratively. I didn’t spend all my time flaunting my feminine wiles looking for a husband; I spent quite a bit of time practicing various combative tactics that would help me on the darkest and scariest of nights in the darkest and scariest alleyways.

“Trust me. He won’t hurt me,” I repeated, enunciating each word. “I know a variety of hand-to-hand combat techniques,” I told him lightly, as though I hadn’t just offered a veiled threat. I shrugged. “My father wanted me to be prepared for anything.” The last bit wasn’t true; my father wanted me to be a lady, and ladies have never spent time studying the arts of war. Oh sure, women have always done what they had to in order to protect themselves and their families, but ladies don’t do such things.

“Combat?”

I winced at my word choice. “Well, self-defense. I’m an army brat and my dad was over-protective.” Well, rather it was my protective second husband.

“Was?” he asked hesitantly.

“Yeah, he died a few years ago.” Understatement of the…well, century would also be an understatement.

Our food arrived then, and we ate in silence for a few minutes; me, blissfully ignoring just how many calories I was eating. The real reason why I frequent a few restaurants regularly is that I just haven’t been able to replicate the taste of their food no matter how much I’ve tried. I was going to miss the food when I left this town. One day I was going to invest in a professional deep fryer, but explaining such a thing to a nosy landlord was more than I wanted to do. I know, I know. All the professionals say that the same results can be had from a good Dutch oven and a candy thermometer, but I was still left unsatisfied. There was some sort of magic that went on within a small number of restaurant kitchens worldwide and I’d be damned if I could figure it out.

Food. For most of my life it was the most important thing. I’ve lived through more famines than I can remember properly and not because I was eating. I knew that I couldn’t die, so I chose to give my rations to the children who needed it more than me. Food was a luxury for me during those years, a luxury I could afford to give away. Restaurants, now, were my vice; a relatively modern invention that filled me in a way that my own attempts in the kitchen failed. I knew that changes in food made within the past sixty years were taking a toll on my body though. I might not have to worry about heart disease or cancer, but I’d definitely put on some extra pounds recently, more than my once emaciated frame needed, at least. I was going to have to take advantage of the gym membership that came with my university enrollment; maybe even learn how to swim.

I realized that Nick was watching my silent worship of my supper with an amused expression. I blushed and wondered what he thought I was thinking about.

“Enjoying your dinner?” he asked, grinning.

“Oh yes. I love the chimichangas here. Those chain places just can’t compare. Do you want a bite?” I noticed that he’d almost eaten all his tacos. I moved to take another bite of my fried burrito.

“Sure,” and he reached over and stole my fork before it could reach my lips. I rolled my eyes at him as he licked it clean.

“Perv,” I growled under my breath. He gave me my fork back, blushing as he looked both shocked and ashamed at his action.

We idly discussed the Habitat house we would be working on this Saturday, the warm winter we were having, laughed at the fiasco that was politics, and a few other topics that have since slipped my mind. The conversation was easy, even when we didn’t agree. Before we knew it, the restaurant was almost empty and our check had been delivered and was starting to gather dust.

I pulled out enough cash to pay the bill as Nick reached for his own wallet. “I got this.” I told him firmly, waving his money away. And before he could comment further, I grabbed my bag and practically ran to the register. I heard him laugh as he joined me at the front of the restaurant. I was stuffing the receipt into my pocket when we reached the sidewalk outside the restaurant.

“I’ll walk you home,” he told me, not leaving room for argument.

I was opening my mouth to do just that when I realized that there was no point. He volunteers for One-in-Four, which advocates the male role in rape prevention. He was going to escort me home even if it meant following me from a block behind. I told him thank-you and led him in the direction of my apartment, a couple blocks away from the restaurant. He left me at my doorstep and told me he’d see me in class the next day before turning around and heading back towards Grounds.

Chapter 3