Read Between the Lines

by Erica Spindler

  That was it. A test. A chance to redo the past and let it go. Katherine shifted her attention to the front of the room as Marilyn began to speak.

  “...glad you could all be here. I’m Marilyn Fuss and this is my husband, Ron. Because we can’t participate in the experiment, we’ll be conducting the weekly interviews, compiling and interpreting the data and generally overseeing the groups. If you have any problems or questions, feel free to...”

  Katherine’s gaze wandered across to Michael. He was sprawled comfortably in a chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him. His eyes were directed to the front of the room; his lids were partially lowered, giving him a look of lazy attentiveness.

  But she knew Michael Tardo too well; he was bored to tears. Michael needed action. He needed fresh air or smoky bars, loud music or lots of laughter. He’d never been suited to a classroom—she should know, she’d covered for him when he cut class more times than she could remember—he’d always found the academic atmosphere suffocating. As Marilyn coughed and cleared her throat, her attention flew back to the front of the room.

  “Sociology is the study of human behavior. We believe that behavior is shaped largely by the groups to which people belong and by the social interaction that takes place in those groups. Therefore...”

  Katherine’s gaze crept back to Michael. It looked as if he were doodling on the paper in front of him. She sighed. Michael would never change. He would always be the bad boy of the cool crowd, always the first one with a joke and the last one to leave a party. With a small shake of her head, she returned her focus to Marilyn and Ron.

  “The social scientist looks for behavioral patterns. In this case we believe, and are attempting to prove, that there’s a predictable relationship between cohabitation and behavior we usually type ‘married.’ Once a pattern is established we’ll attempt to prove the correlation between...”

  Katherine dared another peek at Michael. He’d shifted in his seat, and his fingers drummed a tune on his thigh. He wore the same faded black jeans as the other night; his thick wool sweater was also black. Her eyes trailed slowly upward across his broad chest and shoulders to rest on his mouth. As she watched, it curved slightly, as if from an amusing secret, and she jerked her gaze away.

  “...surveyed a random sample of people to determine what qualities, or behavioral characteristics, they considered those of married couples. The results of that survey should define ‘married’ behavior in our society, and are the qualities we’ll be monitoring you for.” Marilyn shoved her glasses back up her nose. “Of course, we can’t reveal the results of the survey without running the risk of influencing your behavior either in support or denial of our theory. From this point we’ll--”

  Michael stifled a yawn. Why did scientists—social or otherwise—have to be so damn boring? Why couldn’t they simply and quickly explain what the deal was, then get on with it? At the rate things were going, he would be here all night.

  His gaze strayed to Katherine. Tonight she looked more like one of the students than the professor. Her hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail; feathery wisps escaped their confinement and framed her face. He cocked his head as he studied her. Maybe the virginal white she wore added to the illusion of youth. Or maybe it was the way the bulky sweater acted as a foil for her delicacy, or the way the garment’s soft, fuzzy fabric contrasted with the smooth perfection of her skin.

  Michael smiled to himself. He still wasn’t used to seeing her without her glasses. The first time they’d met those glasses had been balancing on the very tip of her nose, and she’d been squinting to make him out. He’d pushed them back up then and a hundred times after. Tonight, he’d reached out to do the same, and they hadn’t been there.

  He shook his head, remembering the day they’d met. She’d been disheveled and flustered; he’d made a crack about the size of her books compared to the size of her. Even through her thick lenses he’d seen her eyes snap as she’d pinned him with her volatile gaze and said, “Small stature, big brain.” He’d understood right away that Katherine Reed couldn’t be swayed by a quick grin or a handsome face.

  So they’d become friends. She’d helped him through classes, had listened to his dreams when everyone else expected jokes, had lectured him on the merits of both study and sobriety. For his part, he’d introduced her to people she would otherwise have been too introverted to meet, had gotten her invited to the best parties, had made her laugh when she was sad.

  Michael’s smile faded. That had all ended in their senior year. One day everything had been fine, the next she’d been cool and reserved. Who could blame her? He’d gotten drunk and come pounding on her door for help once too often.

  Every time he thought about his past and the person he’d been during those years, regret washed over him. He’d been out of control; so afraid he was like his no-good father that he’d done everything in his power to be just that. He shook his head. It was funny. He’d been running straight toward the thing he feared most.

  He lifted his eyes once again to Katherine’s face. He’d missed her friendship more than he would have thought possible. He hadn’t expected to long for her smile at the oddest times and for no reason at all. Nor had he expected loneliness or the bittersweet quality of remembering.

  Of course, back then he’d thought himself tough, cool, invincible; he’d thought he didn’t need anybody—especially a shy little bookworm. And as he’d often been during those years, he’d been wrong.

  About a year ago, he had learned she was in town, teaching at the college. He’d wanted to look her up; a dozen times he’d started to, but he never had. And he wasn’t sure why.

  Now they were going to live together. Michael shook his head as he drew a series of meaningless shapes on the edge of his paper. Originally he’d thought this whole venture would be a breeze. Now he wasn’t so sure. Her anger of minutes before had reminded him that she used to get mad at him--a lot. He swallowed a laugh. She would get annoyed over one of his crazy, irresponsible stunts; he’d egg her on by laughing or teasing; she would end up spitting mad and lecturing him on whatever it was she considered he’d done wrong. Funny thing was, eventually she’d lectured some sense into him. With another shake of his head, he looked back up at Marilyn.

  “After this evening, you’ll meet with us once a week, at times with your partner, at times independently. Ron and I will ask you about your week, about your feelings for your partner and so on. We’ll evaluate your response according to the information you give us tonight. For the study to be valid, you must be absolutely frank with us.” Marilyn glanced back down at her clipboard of notes. “Some of you are being supplied with living areas available in the married dorms. Others of you have adequate housing off campus. Either way, remember to stick to your normal routine as closely as possible.”

  “That’s right,” Ron said, clearing his throat. “In addition, I know some of you are having trouble getting your significant others to understand what we’re doing. See me before you leave and I’ll set up a time to meet with them and try to make some assurances. Are there any questions?”

  There weren’t, and the rest of the meeting flew by in a flurry of filling out forms and answering questions. By the time the session broke up at ten-thirty, Katherine was exhausted. After a round of goodbyes, she slipped into her coat and headed toward the door.

  “I’ll walk you to your car,” Michael said, falling in step beside her.

  She shot him a glance from the corner of her eyes. “That’s not necessary. I don’t need protecting.”

  “I know. But I want to.”

  “I guess I can’t argue with that.”

  “Nope.” His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Not without being rude, anyway.”

  They were silent as they stepped outside into the cold, black night. Neither spoke as they crossed the parking lot, and Katherine was achingly aware of him beside her. Once, when she slipped, he steadied her with a hand on her elbow, and she thought her heart would fl
y out of her chest, it was beating so fast.

  When they finally reached her car, Katherine breathed a small sigh of relief. “Here it is,” she said, pulling out her keys and meeting his eyes. “Thank you. I appreciate your escorting me.”

  “Anytime.” He didn’t move.

  Her pulse fluttered. “Well...good night.”

  “It doesn’t have to be,” he murmured.

  The blood rushed to her head. “Excuse me?”

  “It doesn’t have to be good-night. We could have coffee, or hit a late show and a diner after.”

  Longing, so poignant she ached, washed over her. Yes rushed to her lips; she choked back the word a moment before she uttered it. Feeling hot and flustered, she cleared her throat and tried to act normally. “I’m very tired, Michael. I have an early class and—”

  “No problem, Katie.” He touched her lightly on the nose with his index finger. “Your nose is cold.”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought I’d move in Saturday.”

  The breathlessness was back; she swallowed past it. “Fine,” she murmured, fumbling with the keys.

  “Let me.” He plucked them from her fingers, unlocked and opened the door.

  Katherine slipped inside and busied herself with starting the car and fastening her safety belt. When she’d run out of things to do, she looked back up at him. “Well... I guess I’ll see you Saturday.”

  “I guess you will.” He smiled down at her as he shut the car door. With a quick wave, he turned and walked away.

  Katherine watched him go, feeling as if she’d just tiptoed through an emotional mine field. With a small sigh, she headed home.

  Chapter 3

  At six o’clock Saturday morning Katherine’s eyes flew open, and she knew more sleep was only a sweet dream. She rolled onto her side and closed her eyes anyway, then groaned as a picture of Michael floated on the back of her eyelids.

  This was crazy, she thought with a frown. Why couldn’t she put him out of her mind? They hadn’t spent time together in eight years. And in those eight years, she’d only thought of him... every day, she finished, cursing her own honesty.

  Frustrated, Katherine tossed aside the covers and climbed out of bed. After yanking on her robe, she headed to the kitchen to make coffee. She could handle living with Michael, she thought fiercely, slamming the cupboard door. She spooned coffee into the filter basket, shoved the pot onto its burner, then flipped the switch on. They had nothing in common; he would probably bore her silly. Sure he would.

  Then why was she so rattled? With another groan, she stalked to the bathroom to shower.

  Michael’s knock came at twelve minutes after one. Katherine sprang up from the couch and the magazine in her lap hit the floor with a sharp slap. She smoothed her black wool slacks, picked up the magazine and took a deep breath. She’d been on pins and needles since she stepped out of the shower, vacillating between wanting to call the whole thing off and being determined to see it through. Determination had won. Squaring her shoulders, she crossed to the door.

  “Hi...” The greeting died on her lips. He was holding a huge bouquet of long-stemmed red roses. Delight eased up her spine. Michael had brought her flowers.

  “Hello to you, too.” He held out the bouquet. “Happy Valentine’s Day, I guess.”

  With trembling hands, Katherine took the arrangement. She buried her face in the blossoms. Their subtly sweet scent filled her head. “They’re wonderful,” she murmured. “But you shouldn’t have.”

  He bent to retrieve a box of half-dead plants. “I didn’t. The card’s there.”

  “The card?” she repeated.

  He shrugged. “Yeah. I met the delivery boy at the door. Where can I put these?”

  Delivery boy? They weren’t from... he’d let her think... Her cheeks heated. Would she ever stop acting the fool over Michael Tardo?

  “Anywhere,” she muttered, setting the flowers on the iron-and-glass entryway table. She plucked the card from its resting place, but didn’t open it.

  Her gaze skimmed over him as he deposited his box of plants next to the bouquet. His hair was still rumpled from sleep; there was a long crease on his right cheek where his face had been crushed into a pillow. He’d just gotten up, she thought, instantly annoyed. She’d been crawling the walls since six o’clock; he’d been enjoying a peaceful sleep—and probably not alone. Katherine gritted her teeth. Michael would never change.

  He hauled in two suitcases and a garment bag, then dropped them onto the thick white carpeting. “Aren’t you going to open it?”

  “What?” When he motioned, she looked down at the card clutched in her hand. Annoyed with herself, she pulled the small, plain card out of the envelope.

  Say yes. Dean.

  Michael peered over her shoulder. “Say yes to what?”

  “Excuse me?” Katherine shot him a frosty glance.

  “The card.”

  A choice expletive sprang to her lips; she swallowed it. History was not going to repeat itself, she decided resolutely. “I know what you meant,” she said, slipping the card back into its envelope. “That was a polite way of telling you to mind your own business.” She tucked the card into her pocket. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  Michael cocked an eyebrow. Katherine had changed. Eight years ago she wouldn’t have let that pass. Her cheeks and eyes would have heated, and she would have shot back an indignant reply that would have led to a shouting match. Today she hadn’t even blinked. He shook off a vague disappointment. “I’d love one.”

  Katherine led him to the kitchen, trying to ignore the trail of garments he left in his wake: gloves on the couch, scarf on the bar and finally, his coat thrown over the back of a kitchen chair. Drawing a slow breath, she resisted the urge to go back and pick each one up. How could she have forgotten what a slob Michael was? His dorm room had always been total chaos.

  She took two cups from the cupboard, then crossed to the coffeepot. “Still take it black?”

  “Uh-huh.” He smiled and met her eyes. “Still take it sweet?”

  A lump formed in her throat. He’d teased her once that she would never find a lover as sweet as she took her coffee. But she had—once. Her fingers shook as she spooned sugar into the cup, and she cursed under her breath.

  “You have a nice place.” He leaned against the counter and folded his arms across his chest. “But I’m not surprised. You always preferred nice things.”

  Except when it came to men, Katherine thought. Then her taste ran to dark, wild and dangerous. Even now, with his mussed hair and sleepy eyes, he was the most appealing man she’d ever known. She handed him his coffee. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”

  “Great.” For the next few minutes, Michael followed her, listening as she pointed out where the clean linen was kept and explained how to use the washer and dryer. Decorated in whites and creams, her home was tasteful and serene. But as in Katherine herself, there were hints of fire: the shocking-pink pillows on the white couch, the African ceremonial mask in the otherwise stark bathroom, the huge, wildly colored dried-flower arrangement in the hallway.

  Michael shook his head. Yes, Katherine liked nice things. Her cultured mother and father had been quick to point that out the first time they’d met him. They’d also made it clear they didn’t approve of their daughter’s friendship with the likes of Michael Tardo.

  “This is my... bedroom.”

  She cleared her throat and pulled the door shut, but not before he’d gotten a good look at the large, blatantly feminine room. Michael smiled. She was obviously embarrassed to have him see it. A surge of warmth and protectiveness washed over him. Katie had always been sweet and shy with men. It looked as if some things about her hadn’t changed.

  “Here’s your room. There’s plenty of closet and drawer space, but if you need...” She glanced over her shoulder at Michael and the words died on her tongue. The softest smile played about his lips and the expression in his eyes was tender—almost lov
ing. Her chest tightened and she looked away. She would never make it through the next eight weeks if she started imagining loving glances and tender smiles. She’d bought into that madness eight years ago and all it had gotten her was a broken heart.

  “Nice,” Michael said, his eyes lingering on the gentle curve of her cheek. “Mind if I get unpacked?”

  Firming her resolve, Katherine turned and faced him. She couldn’t quite meet his eyes and silently swore. “No, go ahead. I’ve got some work to do. You just do... whatever.”

  “Don’t worry about me, I’ll be out of your way shortly.” He checked his watch. “I’m meeting someone at three.”

  He had a date. There was a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach; she ignored it. “Oh. Well... you’ll probably want to clean up before you go. Make yourself at home. If you need anything, I’ll be in my study.”

  “Thanks.” He smiled. “Look, Katherine, before we get into this, are there any idiosyncrasies that set your teeth on edge? I’d rather prevent gunfire than dodge it. We used to have a pretty volatile relationship.”

  Just having him here was enough to set her whole nervous system on edge. As for fireworks, she was going to try her best to remain as unemotional as possible. “No,” Katherine answered as they began walking back to the entry way. “The purpose of this experiment is to evaluate any changes in your normal behavior pattern as a result of cohabitation. It would invalidate the conclusions if I made you conform to my likes and dislikes.”

  Michael shrugged and crossed to his suitcases. “Okay. But I won’t be easy to live with.”

  Where did he get the flare for understatement? she wondered, watching as he carried his suitcases back down the hall. And who was he meeting this afternoon? Scowling at her thoughts, she slipped into her study and closed the door behind her.

  * * *

  Michael heard the vigorous rock and roll even before he reached the door and raised his eyebrows—rock was hardly Katherine’s favorite music. If he remembered correctly, her tastes ran more to pop and chick ballads. He pulled out his key, opened the door and stepped inside. Maybe this was another of her students’ experiments—something like a study to evaluate the behavioral effects of listening to abhorrent music.