“Hello.”
“Hi, it’s Katherine.”
“I can’t apologize. I know it’s wrong of me. Horrible timing. I’m still your professor, Katherine. I need to wait until the end of the semester. And I know it’s terrible timing with your date tomorrow, but I can’t . . .” He sighed—“I can’t apologize anymore for my feelings. Maybe I shouldn’t visit anymore. Even though I love Ethel . . . and you.”
Could tomorrow possibly be worth their present agony?
“Katherine . . .”
“Yes.”
“Cancel tomorrow night.”
“Please try to understand.”
“I can’t.”
He hung up on her.
Chapter Sixty-Five
Friday morning, Grandma dropped her off near the back entrance to the Administration Building. “Remember I won’t pick you up until after one thirty. I’m taking Gladys to her eye appointment.”
“I remember. Thanks for the ride, Grandma. I love you.”
Katherine took the elevator to the second floor. In Quinn’s history class, she slid her crutches near the base of her chair and sat down as gracefully as possible.
With his back to the room, Quinn printed Freedmen’s Bureau on the chalkboard. A few minutes after class started, Angel arrived and sat down. She proceeded to tear a piece of paper out of her notebook and wrote something before passing it to Katherine. She waited until Quinn wasn’t looking her direction to read it.
“Your ex-boyfriend Joe’s concerned that you don’t have his number. He still would like you to call.” At the bottom in large numbers, Angel wrote his number, followed by a large smiley face.
Uneasiness ebbed in the pit of her stomach, reminding her of the Micro. The reason Joe wanted her to call was he wanted to hear the whole story.
“In March of 1865, the Freedmen’s Bureau was established to help solve everyday problems of newly freed slaves—problems such as food, healthcare, and reuniting family members.”
Katherine glanced up from her note taking. Quinn’s Yale-blue polo looked like he’d left it too long in the to-fold pile. The collar tips were flipped up, and large crease marks wrinkled the front. Had he gotten up late?
“The bureau was successful in implementing over one thousand schools and several black colleges. For those of you who are graduate students searching for a thesis topic, this would make a fascinating subject.” Despite his disheveled appearance, his lecture was fascinating.
“I have your essays here.” Quinn pointed to a pile of light blue booklets on top of his desk. “If any of you have questions regarding your grade, my office hours are from eleven thirty to one thirty.”
Angel bent over and picked up Katherine’s crutches off the floor and handed them to her.
“Thank you. If you see Joe, tell him I’ll call him soon.” Katherine flung her backpack over her shoulder and glanced toward the front.
“He and Anna have an agreement.” Angel picked up her exam and started for the door. “They can’t call any member of the opposite sex. That’s why he’s been waiting for you to call.”
Katherine nodded and waved for Angel to go on ahead of her.
With his arms crossed in front of him, Quinn remained seated on the front of his desk. Katherine reached for the light blue booklet that bore her name.
“Professor Benton, do you mind putting it in my backpack for me?” She turned her back to him. Leaning forward, he unzipped the front pouch, rolled the booklet, and tucked it inside.
“I hope you’re going to change before your date with Miss Wazzu.”
“Evans already lectured me.” He zipped the pocket closed.
“If you don’t, she’ll think you need a wife.”
He raised his dark brows. “I do hate ironing.”
“Yes, I suppose that’s why you’ve blind dated with such passion.” She planted the crutch tips a foot in front of her and started toward the door.
“Katherine . . .”
She regarded him over her shoulder and recalled Cindy’s remarks: when Quinn was depressed, he didn’t iron. He was depressed because of her, the sweet man.
“Evans said that Hungerbottom is welcome to join us tonight.”
She nodded. “Thank you.” Hopefully after tonight, they’d never have to have another professors’ get-together to discuss Quinn’s dates.
In Evans’s and Cindy’s class, she sat in her usual seat in the second row, unzipped the front of her backpack, pulled out the light blue booklet from Benton’s class, and flipped to the back. Written in dark blue ink, a B-minus marred the page. Her heart sank like a canoe filled with cement. She scanned through the booklet for Quinn’s comments.
Nothing. Nada. Not a word.
He always penned a comment or two. She flipped through each page of the essay.
Nothing.
The gall of the man!
Wide-eyed, Katherine stared at Cindy’s PowerPoint presentation. B-minus, my foot!
“One of Jefferson’s main goals, as you all well know by now, is the expedition was a diplomatic outreach to the Indians of the Louisiana Purchase and the Pacific Northwest.” Cindy clicked to a slide of Sacagawea.
Oh, Cindy, we’re not eighth graders.
Quinn had finally shown his true colors: he was nursing a wound and deliberately getting retribution. After class, she’d crutch down to Charlene Strauss’s office and give her an earful. If she wasn’t in, she’d head to President Morrison’s office. Just like Grandma, she’d go straight to the top.
After the bell, Katherine remained seated while Cindy wound the cord to her laptop.
“Is Ethel picking you up?” Cindy glanced over at her.
“Not for an hour.”
“Anything new with you and Brad?”
Evans obviously hadn’t told Cindy a thing. Maybe he didn’t think she could keep the secret. “I’ll know more after tonight.”
“About Quinn or Brad?” Maybe Cindy had always been on Quinn’s side and Evans on hers. It made sense.
“Do you know what the man had the gall to do?”
Cindy glanced toward the hallway. “Quinn or Brad?”
“Benton, of course.”
“No.” Brows raised, Cindy waited.
“He gave me a B-minus on an essay that I . . .” Katherine tried to keep her voice steady. “On an essay that I wrote before my accident. On an essay that I know undoubtedly reflected my three-dimensional understanding of the most important battles of the war.” Inhaling deeply, she squared her shoulders. “He gave me a B-minus simply because I’m answering my questions about Brad. He’s getting retribution for his wounds.”
“Katherine, listen to yourself. You’re implying—”
“Since day one, he’s been playing games with me, and this one—”
“Don’t do anything rash,” Cindy whispered. “You and I both know you could hurt his career. Be careful.”
Katherine shimmied down in her seat. “He’s the one who was rash. He gave me a B-minus!” She covered her eyes with one hand. “One B-plus, a B-minus, one solid A; I’ll have to get an A-plus-plus, on the final to keep my—”
“He’s not thinking clearly these days.” Cindy glanced toward the open door.
“What do you mean?” Between parted fingers, Katherine peeked at her one-eyed.
“Talk to him first. You owe him that.”
Chapter Sixty-Six
Katherine didn’t want to pray—she wanted to stay in the exact ill-tempered mood that she was in, so when she faced Quinn Benton, she could vent in such a manner. But while she was in the elevator, a familiar inner voice reasoned with her.
“Lord, I don’t want to give this to You. Right now, I just want to take matters into my own hands and tell him exactly what I think about him. He knows this is solid A material.” The elevator ascended one floor. Katherine sighed. “Help me to be diplomatic. Help me to handle Quinn . . .with love.”
She shouldn’t have vented to God; now she might not be as effective
in getting her point across. “Help me, Lord, to be sensible and sensitive and to handle this maturely. He didn’t even write any comments!”
Instead of a black marker on yellow paper, Quinn Benton, Ph.D, Professor of History was inscribed on aged brass and secured to the front of his door. She inhaled and knocked.
“Come in.”
She nudged the door open, maneuvered inside and tapped the door closed with her left crutch. Seated at his desk, Quinn acknowledged her before he glanced at the clock. “When’s Ethel picking you up?”
“One thirty. She’s taking her sister Gladys to the eye doctor.”
“Take a seat.” He motioned to his new antique student’s chair—solid oak with masculine lines, it was the first time she’d seen it in his office. For a moment, she wanted to reflect on some of her and Quinn’s finer memories. She sat down and set her backpack near her feet.
He swiveled his chair to face her and intertwined his fingers in front of his stomach. Up went the index finger steeple. Maybe he was praying.
“How may I help you?” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he regarded her.
“You know why I’m here, Quinn.”
Nodding, he pressed his lips together. “Usually, you call me Quinn when you’re mad at me. Except for the other night; there was almost a lyrical quality to your voice.”
She unzipped her backpack.
“You know me quite well, Professor Benton.” She glanced from the light blue booklet to his eyes. “You didn’t even leave a comment. One comment would have at least helped me understand why you gave me such a low score. A B-minus all alone on the page is a tad devastating.”
“I’m afraid, Miss King, you don’t understand the true meaning of the word . . . devastated.” There was a down-turned, almost moist look to the corners of his eyes.
He was hurting.
“A country can be devastated by war; a person can be devastated by grief. An individual who is devastated by a B-minus is using the wrong adjective, or has a warped perception of life.”
“I am highly disappointed and desire an explanation.” When he was in his professor mode, there was nothing flighty about him.
“I too am highly disappointed.” His dour expression matched his wrinkled polo. “After Monday, I thought for sure that you would divulge your true feelings for me.”
“And I haven’t—therefore I get a B-minus. Interesting grading system, Professor.”
“Why haven’t you?”
His voice held such a tender note that she could not lift her gaze. She kept it fixated on her bare knees.
“Did he kiss you on Wednesday?”
“No. You know he didn’t.” Was Quinn trying to break her before tonight?
“Why not? He intended to. All the signs were there.”
“I told Brad I needed to slow things down. A lot’s happened this week, and . . .”
“You were thinking of me.”
“I still have questions that I intend—”
“Why? To return a wrong for a wrong? I was your professor. I still am for one more week.” He leaned back in his chair. “You didn’t have time for a relationship, remember? You wanted to focus on your studies? And despite everything”—he inhaled—“I looked forward to the recaps because of you.”
Maybe it was the pitifully sweet way he’d said it, but a “Me too,” escaped her.
“What’d you say?” The break in his whisper lifted her gaze.
She lowered it quickly to the hem of her skirt. She was so tired of Evans’s game, of hurting Quinn. Tonight had become too painful. She couldn’t follow through. Tonight, when he saw her seated alone at Alex’s—he wouldn’t appreciate it.
“I said, I looked forward to the recaps, too.” She met his love filled gaze and followed it to the picture of his sister. There were now two framed pictures on top of his desk. The new photo was of Katherine—the close-up of her father and her on graduation day, taken four-plus years ago.
It was one straw too many.
Quinn just stared at the picture. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she recalled Grandma’s sentiments.
“I have a call to make.” Benton rolled toward his desk and, swiveled his chair, so his back was to her. He dialed a number and crossed one leg over the other. “Hello, Lisa, it’s Quinn Benton. Regarding this evening, I’m sorry, I’ll have to decline. The young woman that I’ve told you about . . . —yes, Miss Moscow. It appears she’s come to her senses—Yes, thank you.”
He hung up the phone and wiped his eyes. “I have another call to make, Katherine,” he said with his back still to her. He again dialed ten digits.
“Hello, Claire.”
Katherine remained seated. Claire was Miss Palouse.
“It’s Quinn Benton. I have a Miss Moscow in my office, and it’s very clear that like we thought, she’s completely in love with me—Yes, I wanted to thank you for your prayers and your friendship. I’ll continue to keep your situation in prayer also—Thank you, good-bye.”
He hung up the phone and wiped his cheeks. “I have one more call to make, Katherine.” Swiveling his chair to face his desk, his profile was now visible.
She wiped her cheeks, and sniffed as he dialed the last number. Only seven digits this time.
“Ethel, it’s Quinn Benton.”
Katherine stared. Grandma was taking Aunt Gladys to an eye appointment. Wasn’t she?
Quinn cleared his throat. “I have a young woman in my office, a Miss Moscow, and it’s very apparent that she’s come to her senses—Yes.” He turned to look at Katherine. “She’s finally admitted that she’s head-over-heels in love with me.”
“Thank you, Ethel.” He continued looking at her and blinked softly. “I love you, too.”
Carefully taking a step toward him, Katherine held on to the side of his desk and swiveled to sit on Quinn’s lap. He smiled tenderly at her as she wrapped her arms around his neck.
“Quinn, you are so full of yourself. I have not admitted anything.”
He smiled. “You cried, Katherine; when you saw your picture next to my sister’s, you cried. Cindy was right. Giving you a B-minus got you in here. And, Ethel was right too—seeing your picture broke you.” His eyes sparkled as he inhaled deeply. “I have something difficult to tell you.”
She bit her lower lip and waited.
“You can’t hug me for another eight days, at least in my office.” His dark eyes glistened. “Now, carefully untangle your precious arms from about my neck.”
“I understand.” She returned to her seat and smiled at him. Complete eye contact.
“I don’t think you do, not fully. But I’ll tell you sometime, soon.”
“Quinn . . .” She inhaled, trying to prepare him.
“Yes.”
“I am Miss Wazzu.”
“No.” He chuckled and motioned with one hand to the phone. “I just spoke with Miss Wazzu, and her name is Lisa.”
“Lisa is Mashburn’s married niece who lives in Pullman. Evans also had a hand in this.”
“But . . .” He shook his head. “You never would have made it up the stairs at Alex’s.”
She nodded. Though there was a handrail, the carpeted stairwell was steep.
“Evans planned to help me. And I was going to wear this Vandal-gold sundress that I’ve been saving for a very special occasion, and when you finally sat down, I was going to tell you, Quinn, that . . . I love you, too.”
He closed his eyes and let it all sink in. “What about Brad and . . . ?” He shook his head.
“Wednesday night, I told him I was in love with you, and he was such a gentleman.”
“He is a great guy.”
“Talking about great guys, there’s one we ought to call.”
“Evans.” He nodded. “He can’t believe that you made it past the lists. Monday night was his idea.”
It didn’t surprise her. “Put the phone on speaker, Benton. I want him to hear us both.”
“Cindy’s probably in his office as we speak.
” He lifted the receiver to his ear.
There was a double knock on Quinn’s door.
“It’s Evans. Tell him we’re still alive.”
“We’re still alive,” Katherine called.
The door swung open. “We’re just checking in.” Cindy clutched her hands beneath her chin as she entered.
“Oh, honey, look at the emotion.” Evans closed the door behind them. His gaze narrowed as he studied them. “I believe we’ve matched made something . . . beautiful.”
Eyes bright and glossy, Quinn’s gaze locked on Katherine’s.
As harp and string music began to play one of her favorite melodies, Katherine knew that Evans was right: the heart hears what it wants to.
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Saturday evening - Eight days later . . .
To celebrate the end of summer school, Ethel invited Quinn over for supper—meatloaf and mashed potatoes.
“Do you have anything special planned for tonight?” Ethel asked.
“Yes, we have plans, Grandma.” Katherine giggled softly and glanced at Quinn.
“What kind of plans?”
“Quinn and I are going to go for a walk.” Katherine’s cheeks flushed as red as an Early Girl tomato.
“With your foot?” Katherine still wasn’t supposed to put any weight on it.
“We’re just going around the block.” Quinn’s poker face was better than Katherine’s, but his eyes gave him away. They were sparkling.
“You remember what happened the last time you two went for a walk?” Would it be their first kiss since their last one?
Quinn and Katherine helped with the dishes and then with the giddy energy possessed by the young, went out the back door. From the kitchen window, Ethel pretended to scrub the sink, while she kept an eye on the two. With Quinn by her side, her granddaughter crutched her way up the little side street. They took a left on Lewis and slowly headed north. Ethel ambled across the shag carpeting to view them from the far windows. For some reason, they were closing the front picket gate behind them. What in the world? Ethel caught her breath.
Sticky Notes - A clean romance (Ethel King Series Book 1) Page 38
