It didn’t take long for Sarah’s body to start trembling. She came soon after.
Breathing heavily, she went limp. “I needed that. And this.” She swept her wineglass to her lips.
“Ah, you have to get drunker to reciprocate. I get it.”
I sensed her gaze zooming to the heavens. “You know that isn’t the case. I need some Dutch courage to call my mom,” she said in all seriousness.
I nodded, wondering if now was the best time for them to chat.
Sarah stood, water dripping from her. Bypassing toweling off, she eased into a plush robe. “I’ll be in the library.”
“Good luck.”
She left, but I stayed in the tub.
Chapter Seven
In the garage, I had one foot inside the SUV, preparing to swing my body behind the steering wheel.
Sarah stuck her head out the kitchen door. “Hey, can you pick up diapers on your way home?”
I pried a manila folder out of my mouth. “Sure. Anything else?”
“Surprises are always welcome.” She rested her cheek against the doorjamb, chocolate eyes imploring. “Your shirt is inside out.”
I glanced down, swearing under my breath. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”
“I thought it’d be funny if you showed up the first day like that, but I just couldn’t go through with it.” She shrugged.
I tossed the folder and bag into the passenger seat and removed my blazer.
“Are you going to give the neighbor’s a striptease?” Sarah’s hand darted to the garage door control panel. The door started its downward descent.
“I’m running late,” I growled, lifting my shirt over my head.
Sarah whistled. “Do you always wear one of my sexy bras on the first day of school?”
I sighed. “It was the only clean one I could find.”
“Uh-huh.”
With my shirt back on, I said, “See you this afternoon.”
She blew me a kiss.
I thrummed my hands on the wheel, waiting for the garage door to reopen. “The woman loves to test me,” I said to my reflection in the rearview mirror.
The parking lot outside the history building was full. As was the next one. Half a mile away, I finally nabbed a spot and had to make a run for my office to grab all the syllabi. At the far end of the hallway, a familiar and terrifying figure emerged out of Dr. Marcel’s office.
I ducked back into my office, using my satchel as a cover, breaking into a cold sweat. This was the last thing I needed today of all days. Correction. This was the last thing I needed ever.
What the fuck was she doing here?
Why was she speaking to Dr. Marcel?
There were a zillion other questions and fears raging inside, but it was difficult to focus.
Think, Lizzie!
I peered furtively into the hallway to see if the coast was clear. Luckily, Meg, my blackmailing ex, had her back to me as she retreated through the exit on the far end of the hallway.
I sucked in a deep breath, releasing it in hopes of cleansing my aura, or whatever therapists called it. Fortunately, before therapy, I had trained myself to force down any type of emotion to focus on the matter at hand: my first class of the semester was starting in under three minutes.
Lecture first. Then, if needed, have a mental breakdown in my office before my next class.
I dashed down the two flights of stairs and arrived with seconds to spare, out of breath and still slightly shaken from the Meg sighting. My voice warbled some when I greeted the students, but it became stronger with each word as I forced myself to step away from weak Lizzie to professor Lizzie.
Later in the day, Dr. Marcel poked his head out of his office as I happened to be walking by. “Lizzie, do you have a moment?”
“Of course.” I entered, easing into the wingback chair, praying to the history gods this conversation wouldn’t have a thing to do with Meg. My fingers dug into the leather armrests.
He took his seat behind his desk and folded his hands. “How was your first day?”
“Not bad, aside from the usual craziness of students petitioning, some practically begging, to enroll in a course that’s already full.”
“Ah, yes. As if they didn’t know all along they needed to fill their history credits in order to graduate.” He looked around his office. “It’ll be weird not being here next fall. I may even miss the frantic pleading of seniors.” His watery eyes glistened with fondness.
“I imagine so. The department won’t be the same without you.”
He waved a wrinkled and spotted hand. “It’s time for new blood to sit in this chair.” Dr. Marcel cleared his throat and shifted in his leather chair. “Meg was here earlier.”
“Oh,” I forced out, hoping my tone didn’t match my Code Red panic level whirling through every fiber.
Dr. Marcel bobbed his head absently. “She came to talk… to me.”
“I see,” I said, not understanding why I needed to be informed.
He sucked in some air and tossed his hands up in a desperate way. “She’s, uh...” He shifted in his seat again. “Meg asked if I thought you’d be okay hearing from her.”
“Umm…” Proper words wouldn’t form on my lips.
“I understand your hesitation.” He leaned on his forearms. “But, perhaps it’d be helpful for the two of you to talk. Closure. Isn’t that what experts say?”
I nodded, dumbstruck. Not speaking to Meg was enough closure for me.
“She doesn’t want to blindside you, which is why…” Even Dr. Marcel seemed incapable of seeing why I should agree.
Blindside? The word was entirely inadequate. It was as if Meg dropped Little Boy, the atomic bomb that devastated Hiroshima, into my lap.
“Do you know why she wants to talk?” It was my turn to clear my throat. “After all this time?” Not to mention the last time I saw my ex was when I shoved Meg into a cab after finding her in a hotel working, using this term loosely, as a prostitute to support her addiction.
“Yes, but she should really be the one to tell you her purpose. That is if you meet up with her, which is entirely up to you.” Dr. Marcel stared at the bookshelf behind me, clearly uncomfortable having this conversation. He was the one who had arranged rehab after the hotel incident, and while he didn’t know all the details, he was aware Meg’s behavior had been deplorable. Not just her prostituting herself but how she’d treated me.
To head off having to say no to my mentor in case he once again pressed the issue of Meg contacting me, I asked, “Does she have the same phone number?”
“I think so.” He looked it up on his phone. “Here, just in case.” He grabbed a pen and jotted it down on a notepad, the university’s seal at the top. It seemed so inappropriate to have Meg’s name on anything related to the university after she’d flushed down one opportunity after another.
I took the paper from him.
“It’s up to you to call or not,” Dr. Marcel said in his fatherly way.
I nodded, rising from my chair. Considering my work number and email was on the university website, if Meg really wanted to get a hold of me, she could. Not to mention I’d never bothered changing my personal phone number.
He stood, walking me to the door with his hand on my back. “We still on for dinner at the end of this month?”
“Yep,” I said in the least peeved tone I could manage since it wasn’t his fault Meg the home-wrecker was back in Fort Collins.
“Good.” His lack of a more verbose response made it clear I wasn’t the only one who wanted to end this awkward conversation.
I forced a smile and left his office, heading straight for mine with my head down, avoiding eye contact with fellow professors as students chased them down in the history wing hallway. After shutting the door, I started to tear the phone number up but stopped myself.
Why did my blackmailing ex want to meet, and why had she gone to Dr. Marcel to arrange it?
I got home around four after te
aching my second class.
Sarah, with Fred on her hip, met me at the kitchen door. “How’d it go?”
“Fine,” I muttered, patting Sarah’s head and kissing Freddie’s cheek. “Where’s Ollie?”
“You okay?” she asked, taking a step back to get a better look at me.
“Yeah. Why?”
“You just petted my head like I was Hank.” Her face crinkled with concern.
I kissed her cheek. “Sorry. Long day.”
“That doesn’t bode well for the semester.”
We wandered to the front room, where Bailey and Ollie sat watching television. Or rather, Bailey was engrossed in Judge Judy, and Ollie was reaching for me.
I took her in my arms. “How’s my favorite girl?”
Ollie clapped.
“I thought I was your favorite girl,” Sarah teased.
“I’d put you in the woman category.” I held Ollie close.
Sarah jiggled her brows. “I’d put you in the baby momma one.” She motioned for us to switch twins. “He needs to be changed.”
I rolled my eyes. “Nicely played.”
Bailey stood. “I better get to class.” She stretched her arms overhead as if waking from a deep sleep.
“What class?” I asked with too much eagerness, a rookie mistake when dealing with the likes of Bailey.
“Um… geology or maybe Scientology.” She wore an evil grin. “See ya tomorrow.”
Sarah said goodbye.
Bailey bolted.
When the coast was clear, I said, “Are we sure Bailey is actually enrolled at CSU?”
“Just because she isn’t jumping up and down with excitement doesn’t mean she’s conning everyone.”
Perhaps, but even the so-called cool freshman showed some excitement about being out of the family home and starting college. “Let’s hope you’re right. I don’t need any m—” I stopped myself from saying more and opted for, “drama this semester. Ready, Freddie?”
Sarah followed me to the nursery with Ollie in her arms. “Our little girl doesn’t want to be left out.” She waved a hand in front of her nose to alert me to Olivia’s stink bomb.
“She takes after you with her timing.” I bumped the nursery door open with my hip. “How’d it go today?” It was the first time since summer started that I was away for the majority of the day.
Sarah set Ollie down on her changing table. “Good. Bailey was a great help, and Maddie stopped by for lunch. You?”
“Fine.” I cleaned Fred’s bum, holding his legs in the air, while he twisted and turned, having a great time.
“That’s the second fine since you got home. Let’s get the kiddos in their bouncy chairs so you and I can talk.”
I bottled-up a groan, not wanting to dump my Meg drama in Sarah’s lap. She had enough going on with the twins and her mom.
“Don’t bother,” Sarah said in tune with my feelings. “I can feel it.”
“What?” I looked over my shoulder.
“The eye roll or whatever.” She held up Ollie, completely changed. “I win again.”
“Not sure you’re setting a good example for our children with the way you race me with everything.” I finished securing Fred’s diaper.
“Says the woman who loses in all baby-tending categories.” Sarah nuzzled her head against Ollie’s. “What happened today?”
I sighed. “Can we talk about it later?”
“Helen and your father are coming over for dinner.”
I squeezed my eyes shut momentarily. “That’s right. After that, then.” I paused. “I thought your mom was joining us.”
“She cancelled.” Her voice was flat.
Their talk on the phone had cracked the door open to getting past the Troy situation, but as far as I could tell, neither was willing to settle the matter completely. Not yet.
By the time Dad and Helen left, both of us were the walking wounded, and the only thing either of us wanted to do was get some sleep, leaving the Meg conversation for a different time. Or maybe I could avoid her and not have to open the wound all over.
Chapter Eight
“Lizzie!”
I whipped around on the quad, trying to locate the voice, dread bubbling in the pit of my stomach.
“Lizzie!”
I groaned.
Meg reached me simply because my legs had failed to move.
We eyed the other, unsure where to go from here.
“Hi,” she said with a shyness I didn’t know she possessed.
I nodded, my fingers gripping the strap of my bag across my heart.
“You aren’t going to make this easy, are you?”
“W-what?” I stuttered.
“Talking.”
“Not my strong suit.”
She bobbed her head, shoving her hands into the pockets of her jeans. “Right. You prefer sticking your head in the sand.”
I nipped the retort, “Better than tucking into booze.” Instead, I remained silent.
“You never responded to the voice mail or email…” She trailed off while students streamed past us as if we were unwanted obstacles.
It was the third week of the semester, and everyone was starting to hit their stride when it came to schedules and overall business associated with university life.
Meg puffed her cheeks full of air, held it for several seconds, and then let it seep out. “Can we go someplace more private?”
Nope, I screamed in my head. “Uh…”
Several nicknames for Meg rolled through my mind. Hooking Meg. Blackmailer Meg. Home-wrecker Meg.
“Lizzie, please. I need to say something to you.” She looked vulnerable.
That extinguished my nerve to say no, turn around, and walk away for good.
“My office?” I posed.
She put out her hand for me to lead the way.
My mind continued to scramble for words to get me out of this situation. I hadn’t seen Meg in years. Not since she’d reached her rock bottom, after skimming the surface of it for many months and making me wonder if she’d ever reach it. Back then, she blamed me for much of her woes, including selling her body since I had stopped handing over wads of cash. Even though the cerebral part of me knew I wasn’t to blame, the emotional side bobbed in guilt, like a child tossed into a pool on the first day of swim class. Leveraging my guilty conscience was one of Meg’s greatest weapons in her destroy-Lizzie arsenal. Maybe it was time for me to re-read Macbeth, Shakespeare’s masterful play where guilt was the motivating factor for all the crimes and drove everyone insane. Would it be rude to thumb through my copy while she spoke?
We reached the nearly deserted history wing, relief flooding my system. Not everyone knew Sarah’s animus for Meg, but it wouldn’t take Einstein to put two and two together. Ushering her inside, I closed the door before anyone got an eyeful of my ex, who was also a former student often seen in these halls.
I skirted around the visitor’s chair and desk as if Meg was a praying mantis. Plopping down in the safety of my chair, I picked up a cheap green pen with CSU written on it. “So?” I focused my attention on the pen in my hands, clicking it repeatedly.
“How have you been?” She tried not looking at the pen, but it was hard not to.
Click.
“Good.”
Click.
Meg readjusted in her seat, the vinyl cushion creaking. “I hear you have twins.”
I nodded.
“A boy and a girl.”
I nodded again followed by a click.
“And you’re married...” Meg motioned with her hand for me to fill in the blanks.
Was she stalking me? Several clicks. And did she expect me to open up about marriage and my two beautiful children? They represented everything good in my life. Meg was the snake in the garden. Mixing the two would bring down my entire world. She had to know that. Was that why she mentioned them? Years ago, she leveraged threats to my career to get me in line. Was she hedging my family was my weak spot? She was right, of course
. I’d do anything to protect Sarah and my children.
As if in tune with my worry she was stalking me, Meg said, “I visited Janice in California. She seems to be settling into domestic life well.”
“Oh.” I didn’t know what to say.
“We had a good talk.” She perked up. “I hear her cousin Bailey is your nanny. Small world.”
Much too small at the moment. Click, click, click.
“I finished my PhD, and I’m shopping for a teaching gig. A permanent one to get back on my feet,” she tossed out.
“Oh.” Slowly, I looked up. As far as I knew, Dr. Marcel wasn’t looking to fill any entry-level positions, and I had a hard time believing he’d hire her after… everything. The office grapevine reported she had her sights on Boulder, a city known for being granola and quite possibly more accepting of a woman with a sordid past. Their love for pot was slightly worrisome. My biggest concern was its proximity to me. Although it was a forty-five-minute drive, it was way too close, but it wasn’t like I could stake claim on the entire state or region. Or could I? How good were Dr. Marcel’s connections there? Should I remind him the majority of Boulderites had their alarms set for 4:20 as a way to discourage Meg from being hired?
Meg’s deep green eyes roamed over the items on my desk as if searching the open books and journals for a blueprint for whatever she wanted to say to me. “I’m going through the steps.”
I tapped the pen on the edge of the desk. “I’m not following.”
“The steps for recovery. I’m on step nine.”
“Which means?” I wiped my left palm on my trousers.
“Making restitution.”
“How’s that going?”
“At the moment, not well.” She offered a bashful smile.
I blinked.
“There’s your deer in headlights look.” There was a trace of humor in her tone. “I know I can’t take back all the pain I caused you, but…” She straightened in her chair. “I’m sorry, Lizzie, for—” Her voice faltered, showing a crack in her bravado.
My instinct was to comfort her. Damn that guilty conscience!
A Conflicted Woman Page 7
