“I’ll see you in a few.”
Laney placed the phone on the bed. Lying back down, she turned her head toward the wall to try to avoid the questions hanging on the tip of Missy’s tongue.
“Who was that?” Missy placed her elbows on her knees and leaned forward, the textbook now on the floor. “He sounded cute.”
Laney didn’t talk about Jason that much with Missy for exactly this reason. She wouldn’t understand how to be best friends with a guy and keep it platonic.
“How can someone sound cute?” Laney raised her eyebrows. “For all you know, he’s a fifty-year-old professor.”
“Are you holding out on me?” One corner of her lip lifted into a smirk and she placed her hands on her hips like a scolding mother.
Laney sighed and rolled out of bed. She went to the mirror in her closet to brush her hair. Wincing from the pain in her head, she took it slow.
“I think you’re holding out on me. You don’t primp for fifty-year-old professors.” Missy walked over to help Laney brush her hair. She avoided the sore spot and Laney relaxed, feeling safe and calm. She closed her eyes and imagined her mother brushing her hair when she was seven years old.
“So . . .” The brush stopped moving. “Do you like him?”
Thoughts swirled in Laney’s head. Jason encompassed the feelings of safety and home, but William was her one true love, even if it meant she was insane.
“He has a girlfriend.” Laney rotated a pen between her fingers. It was always difficult to look nonchalant when you were trying too hard.
“That doesn’t answer my question.” Missy spun Laney around and took her by the shoulders. “He wants to be a doctor and he saved your life. What more could you ask for?”
“He has a girlfriend, Missy.” Repeating the words might finalize the conversation. “End of subject.”
Two sharp knocks came at the door. As it opened, Jason walked in with a bouquet of red roses. Biting her lip, she glanced at Missy. Her jaw hung open, her eyes wide, with a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth and her finger twirled around one of her blonde locks. She was gawking. Even Laney had to admit he looked really good tonight. His jeans fit perfectly around his backside and his deep green shirt really brought out his eyes. She knew that Missy wanted to stay more for fly on the wall reasons than anything else.
“I’m going down the hall to see Morgan. It was nice to meet you, Jason.” She gave Laney the thumbs-up behind his back and headed out the door.
Jason walked over, handed Laney the flowers, and pulled her into an embrace. She wondered if he could feel her heartbeat, which was much too fast and erratic. When he let go, she quickly scrambled to her closet.
“Let me put these in something.” She kept her face away from his as her cheeks grew hot, certain they were as red as the sign above her parents’ antique store. “Thank you for the flowers.” Laney kept her back to him. “They’re beautiful.” The only other flowers she’d ever received were the bouquet of pink carnations her father bought her on her sixteenth birthday. The birthday Jason never even acknowledged.
“It’s the least I could do. I feel like I owe you a lot more.”
She turned to him. “Don’t be . . .” His face showed the same anguish she heard in his voice earlier. “Don’t be stupid. I’m fine.” She thrust her head back into the closet, cheeks certainly glowing by now. After rummaging for a few more moments, she held up a tall Tupperware container full of dry spaghetti. “Why don’t you sit down and stay awhile.”
Jason bypassed Missy’s chair and sat down on Laney’s bed.
Losing all control over her hands, the container slipped and the spaghetti spilled all over the closet floor. Jason jumped off the bed to help her pick up.
“I’m such a klutz.” Laney gathered a bunch of the spaghetti and placed it in a Ziploc bag. She had to constantly remind herself that Jason had a girlfriend and she didn’t have feelings for him beyond friendship. It was ludicrous to act this way when he was around.
“You’re supposed to rest . . . doctor’s orders.” Jason put the last handful in the bag. “Come sit down with me.”
His smile invited her over. Lowering herself onto the bed next to him, Laney tilted her head back against the wall. The throbbing pain was still there, but it was numbed by Jason’s presence. She turned her head and smiled at him.
“I still can’t believe you almost caught that guy yesterday.” Laney finally relaxed, clutching her furry turquoise pillow to her chest.
Jason shrugged. “He took your bag and then assaulted you. What else could I do? I thought . . .” He looked away, lowering his voice. “I thought I was going to lose you yesterday.”
His fingers ran along the edge of the sheet, smoothing out an invisible wrinkle. “Anyway.” He turned to her with sudden energy, smiling wide. “I figured whatever was in the bag was pretty important.”
“Yes.”
When Laney first developed the characters in her book, she had promised she’d keep it to herself. Her dad had helped her with the historical accuracy, but he was useless when it came to story writing. Other than Laney’s immediate family, the book was off-limits. The thought of people criticizing William’s undying devotion to his country or his relationship with Anne was unthinkable. She knew they were set in stone. They were real in her mind, and any change put her fantasy world in a state of disarray.
“Why didn’t you just let him have your bag? Things can be replaced.” His trusting smile and proximity were unlike any temptation Laney had faced before. Her resolve was melting away at a rapid pace. She owed him something for risking his life.
“I’m writing a book.” Laney couldn’t look at him. She mentally kicked herself for giving in so easily to Jason. The ease she felt next to him on the bed unnerved her. She’d have to find a way to shake it, or she’d do something regrettable.
“And your book was in your backpack?” He sat up straighter, leaning in. “Wow, I can’t believe I’m friends with an author.”
“Aspiring author.” Laney realized that it felt good to tell someone about her writing, like she was revealing a deep, dark, repressed secret for the first time.
Jason leaned back against the wall next to her, his shoulder brushing hers. “What do you write about?” He put his finger to his lips. “Let me guess . . . history. You know, with your parents owning an antique shop, I’m sure you’ve caught the bug.”
“Do you think I’m that predictable?” Laney kept her shoulder against his. Of course, she was that predictable. Except for the occasional book world stalker, her life was so far from interesting.
“Don’t tell me you write horror stories. I can see the storyline now — girl goes to college and starts killing unsuspecting boys who bring her flowers.” He smiled and the dimple on his right cheek formed.
Laney shook her head. “You really like to entertain yourself. Maybe stand-up comedy is a better career path for you than medicine.”
“Hey, doctors need a lot of humor to make their patients feel better.” Jason squeezed her arm. “So, what’s your book about?”
“It’s a historical fiction novel.”
“Knew it.”
“It includes a little bit of everything . . . action, revenge, and romance.” She hesitated speaking the last word, certain he could tell that she began to feel the urge to push him down on the bed and kiss him.
“Can I read it when you’re finished?” Jason’s interest in her writing unnerved her. Laney’s writing world existed between herself and her characters.
“Only if you’re patient. With all the school work being thrown at us, it might take a while.” She walked over to her backpack and pulled out the leather-bound notebook. “I’d like to have someone to hash out ideas with sometimes.”
“I’m your man.” Jason sat crisscrossed on the bed.
Laney could get used to the idea of their friendship. His absence from her life during high school had left a gaping hole that was hard to fill. Besides, he was easy to ta
lk to and she trusted him.
She opened to the first page of her journal. “I’m sorry I ruined your chance of going on the cruise in the harbor. Missy said they had dinner and a dance.”
“No big deal. Jennifer was ticked, but she got over it. It’s not every day that you get to see a beautiful woman almost take down a mugger.”
He laughed as Laney’s face burned again. He leaned in closer, and she took in every detail of his face — his hazel eyes, square jaw — she even noted a small scar next to his lips.
There was a knock on the door and Missy and Morgan tumbled in giggling, ruining her chance to discuss her book — and other things — with Jason. Morgan gawked even more than Missy, pushing her red hair over her shoulder.
“This is your room. You don’t have to knock.” Laney’s hands were balled into fists. With Jason distracted by the girls, she made a shooing motion with her hand. Hopefully, Missy got the hint.
“I didn’t know if anything was going on in here.” Missy giggled, collapsing onto her bed. “As your nurse I need to discourage any acts of physical exertion.” Laney really liked Missy sometimes, but at other times her maturity level made her hard to deal with.
“Hey, I was just leaving,” Jason stood up. “Classes start tomorrow, and I want to be ready.” Disappointment crossed his face, giving Laney the courage to fight.
“You don’t have to leave.” She wanted to feel comfortable opening her world to someone else. If she waited, she might chicken out.
“I’d better get going. You need your rest and I’m sure I’ll see you around tomorrow.” Jason grinned at Missy and Morgan. “Nice to meet you ladies.”
The girls giggled as he slipped out the door.
“Thanks, Missy.” Laney buried her face in the furry pillow.
“You’re the one who told me that he has a girlfriend. Don’t get mad at me.” She scrolled through her phone and blasted some god-awful song while Morgan reclined in the chair.
Laney grabbed her backpack, stuffed the notebook inside, and stormed off to the lounge.
Laney’s first class began at eight o’clock the next morning, so she set her alarm for seven. She walked into the bathroom to see a line of eight girls were mirror-primping, but at least she found one free shower stall. The exception to the mirror hogs was Dawn, her resident assistant. The junior hadn’t come to college to earn her M.R.S. She walked into the bathroom around the same time as Laney, looking like she just rolled out of bed.
On the way into the dining hall, she caught a whiff of bacon and her stomach growled. There were fewer students at breakfast than she expected. Maybe college students liked to sleep in, or spend excessive time in the bathroom, which was the case on her floor. Although the bacon smelled good, she decided on a bowl of cereal and a bagel.
One wall of the dining hall consisted of only windows, looking out over a large pond. Lily pads covered the water, encircled by swamp reeds and cat o’ nine tails. A morning mist rose from the pond, and Laney thought she caught a glimpse of a kayak at the far end. She sat down by the windows to enjoy the view.
She had a few minutes after finishing her cereal, so she reached into her bag for her notebook. A piece of paper fell to the floor. She picked it up, thinking it was a receipt from a local ATM. The texture of the paper was parchment, which she found strange because she didn’t own parchment paper. When she opened the note, she saw an etching in impeccable calligraphy:
I am waiting for you and I am closer than you think.
Did Jason think this was some kind of funny joke? If it wasn’t him, then Laney wasn’t sure who would put a note like that in her backpack. She scanned the dining hall. Two students lounged at the table next to her each reading a book. A group of older girls engaged in animated talk on the other side of the room. Nobody appeared suspicious. Nobody paid any attention to her. Laney scratched her head.
Then it became clear — the man in the subway station, Jonas Webb.
Chills ran through her body. Jonas wanted the journal in her backpack, and he slipped the note into her bag when he took it from her. It made sense. Laney grabbed her backpack and headed for class, looking over her shoulder the entire way.
Chapter 4
Laney stared at the calculus problems on the sheet in front of her, working to prevent the mysterious note from invading her thoughts but failing miserably. The classroom was located on the bottom floor of the Rogers Library, the large brick building across the quad from her dorm. She realized that college professors decorated less than high school teachers. The room consisted of four blank, cream-colored walls. The desks were set up in rows with a teacher’s desk at the front. The only other thing in the room was a chalkboard behind the teacher’s desk. Laney frowned. With no distraction but the tedious problems, her mind drifted.
She slouched in her chair at the back of the room and managed to keep her mind focused on derivatives and off the stranger for the remainder of the class. Professor Samuels was the stereotypical calculus teacher, minus the pocket protector. At the end of class, he handed out the syllabus and their first assignment. Laney stuffed the papers into her bag and bolted out the door. The remainder of her classes that day — and throughout the week for that matter — proceeded in a similar manner. Day in and day out, she went through the motions, concentrating mostly on keeping her mind off her attacker.
History class was once a week, and unlike the rest of her courses, she looked forward to it. Her excitement was twofold — the class itself and the fact that it was in Taylor Hall, the mysterious castle. Most of the buildings on campus had industrial 1960s architecture but tucked in a grove of evergreens in the southeast end of the quad was a stone castle, complete with two massive towers that rose like sentinels, protecting the campus from any and all invaders.
After calculus on Friday, Laney walked towards the majestic structure, passing many students on their way to their nine-fifteen class. She slowed in front of the science building. Jason leaned against a railing, talking to a couple of girls. His laugh carried through the air, his smile visible from the walkway. Maybe one of the girls was Jennifer. The girl closest to him resembled the head cheerleader from their high school. Laney lowered her head and kept moving so she could make it to class on time and avoid making a fool of herself.
When she got inside, it was evident that the hall had been renovated to meet the college’s current needs. Instead of the grand entrance that she had expected in front of her, a receptionist in a plaid dress suit welcomed students from behind a desk. To the left of the desk, a long hallway stretched past several offices, and to the right a stone staircase curved up to the second floor. Looking at her class’s room number, Laney climbed the stairs. The walls lining the outside of the corridor were the original stone.
At the top, Laney searched the room numbers until she found the correct classroom. It was smaller than the one for calculus. There couldn’t be more than fifteen desks, positioned to create a circle. Was she in the right room? United States History should be in a lecture hall. A guy with a sketch pad sat nearby, busy working on a drawing. His hair was tied neatly at the nape of his neck. He didn’t look up from his scribbling as she took him in. He appeared at least two years older than her and had one of those faces that reminded you of someone you couldn’t quite put your finger on. His rugged look was more fit for the cover of an outdoor magazine than GQ. Laney didn’t want to take her eyes off him, but she suddenly had an intense interest in what he was drawing. He shut his notebook and glanced up as more students entered the classroom, so she quickly turned away to pull her schedule back out of her bag. Before she could ask the guy if she was in the right class, a little old man whisked into the classroom.
“Good morning ladies and gentlemen! I am Professor Richard Rice and you are in Advanced Local History. Of course, I am very happy to have you here.” As he made his grand entrance, he hung his trench coat and driving cap on the wooden coatrack in the corner of the room. He was balding, with gray hair on the sides. Profes
sor Rice had a spring in his step and a deep sparkle in his eyes. The word that came to Laney’s writer mind was magnetic.
Laney raised her hand to indicate that there had been a mistake. “Excuse me, Professor. I don’t think I’m in the right class. I’m signed up for freshman U.S. History.”
“What’s your name?” The professor pulled a piece of paper from his battered briefcase. A cascade of papers spilled over to the floor, but he kept his eyes on the attendance sheet.
“Delaney Holden.” Her cheeks reddened at the sudden attention. In her peripheral vision, she felt the long-haired guy’s eyes watching her.
The professor scanned his short list. “Yes, Miss Holden. You are in the correct class. Your name’s right here. They must have moved you from United States History after examining your entrance scores.” He put the list to the side and swept the papers off the floor and back into his briefcase.
An uneasy feeling welled up in Laney’s stomach. Could she handle an upper-level history class? Professor Rice walked over to the small group and sat at the empty desk between two students, both looking much older than her, now that she knew she was the only freshman in the room.
“As I said before.” The professor cupped his hands together on the desk. “I am Richard Rice and you are in Advanced Local History. I guarantee this will be unlike any other class you have ever taken. I believe in the philosophy of learning by doing, so our class will mainly be fieldtrips to local areas of interest. Several years back the school purchased a fifteen-passenger van. So, naturally, our class size is small.”
The sketcher next to Laney raised his hand. “Will this interrupt our other classes, Professor?”
“First of all, call me Richard. We’ll all know each other well by the end of the semester. Second, please don’t raise your hand in this class. I enjoy free flow in discussions and I don’t want to hamper any creativity. To answer . . . excuse me, what is your name?” His attention directed on the longhaired guy.
The Weaver Page 3
