Telling Vanessa would be torture. The date was the last thing she wanted to think about. Much less talk about it. But Corrie knew that Vanessa wouldn't let go of the idea now that she'd latched on to it. She sighed. "It was fine."
"Honey, the way you're staring off into the wild blue yonder, it must have been pretty spectacular." Vanessa stood, her arms crossed over her chest, waiting. It was obvious that she wasn't going anywhere until Corrie threw her at least one crumb.
And, come to think about it, Corrie realized, she could tell her about the date. It was what happened afterwards she had to keep quiet about. She still had to think about it. "We went to that seafood place on the beach. You know. That one that hangs out over the water when the tide's high."
"I've seen it. Is the food good?"
Corrie chuckled. "Yes, it was. Considering the weather-beaten condition of the outside, I was a little skeptical about the safety of eating there. The building looks as though it would collapse in a stiff wind."
"Okay. Menu aside. How was the date?"
Corrie was afraid she'd press. "I had a good time. We ate dinner. Ben was disappointed because it was Sunday and the band was off. He wanted to dance."
"Ooh. My kind of man. What happened next?"
"Not too much. The storm came up, and we thought we'd better get home rather than stay in town."
"And then…?"
"And nothing. We barely walked in the door when the lights went out."
Vanessa shook her head slowly. "Corrie Wallace, there are plenty of things a man and woman can do with the lights off."
"Well, Vanessa. I prefer to know a man a little better before I get to that point." She did, and just because she hadn't practiced what she'd preached didn't mean she was wishy-washy. After all, it hadn't been her doing. Cory and Ham had apparently had a good time, but she had no way of knowing for sure.
Unless her dreams were any indication.
Vanessa drew back, her hands held up in mock surrender. "Okay. Okay. I guess things didn't work out for the two of you."
That was an understatement, Corrie thought to herself. "No," she told Vanessa, her words slow and measured. "I don't think I'll be seeing Ben Chastain again." She paused. "Let's leave it at that."
"Okay. I know enough to let it lie."
Corrie raised an eyebrow. "Really?"
Vanessa shrugged and pushed open the door and backed into the office. "I'll just get to work."
"You do that," Corrie returned softly. And I'll just stand here and wonder how I could have let things get so awfully out of hand.
****
Ben pulled into his slot in the faculty parking lot with only a few minutes to spare. It was odd, but he'd felt weird all the way here. Almost as if he was seeing the highway, the town, and the campus for the first time. He shook off the notion. He was probably just out of sorts after the strange experience of the night before.
He had hoped to have time to sit in his office and review his lesson plan for the day, but the lingering farewell had cut into the time he'd planned for that. He guessed he'd have to do it cold. He barely had time to run up to his office, grab his briefcase containing his notes, and make it to the classroom.
Any thoughts of Corrie would have to wait.
Where had that come from? He hadn't even been thinking of Corrie at the moment the notion popped into his head. He swung out of the car, locked the door, and sprinted up the back steps to his office.
He was going to have to shove everything about this weekend to the back of his mind until he could get through the day. No matter how much he wanted to think of Corrie, he had something more immediate to think about now.
He had a class to teach.
You can't just use her and leave her like that.
Ben stopped in the middle of the hallway in front of his office. Who said that?
Nobody answered.
He shook his head, squared his shoulders, and marched over to his desk. He reached into the kneehole and retrieved his briefcase. Without bothering to inventory the contents, he turned and hurried down the hall.
You don't want to forget her.
Ben stopped in the middle of the quiet corridor and cocked his head. Where was that coming from? He hadn't been thinking about her. He listened, but there was nothing. There wasn't a soul in the hallway but him.
The carillon chimed the end of the nine o'clock class period, and noisy students spilled out of their classrooms and into the hall, jostling Ben out of his thoughts. He drew in a sharp quick breath to revive himself.
Then he shook off the eerie feeling and pushed his way through the throng.
****
The part for the generator arrived by United Parcel the morning after the blackout. Corrie called J. R. Jessup, and he promised to hurry right over to install it. In the meantime, she tried to distract her overloaded mind with work, though all she managed to do was keep pushing what had happened aside each time it shoved its way into the front.
The bell on the registration desk dinged.
Corrie glanced up from the computer, but Vanessa had already shot out of her chair, passing Corrie fast enough to cause the papers on the desk to rustle in the breeze.
"I'll get it," she said as she pushed though the door.
"I guess you will," Corrie murmured to Vanessa's back. She chuckled at Vanessa's school-girl eagerness.
It was just as well. Corrie was in no mood to deal with any member of the opposite sex today. She shook her head. Maybe she'd swear off them permanently.
But she couldn't forget the way Ben had kissed her earlier that morning. Of all the kisses they'd shared over the past weekend, that one had seemed the most real. She raised her fingers to her lips, still tender and bruised.
The other kisses had been different. Some had been tentative and questioning. Others had been passionate and dizzying. Most of those kisses, she realized now, had been Cory's and Ham's, and if she thought about it long enough, she could probably figure out who had been responsible for which. But that last kiss this morning had definitely been theirs: Corrie's and Ben's. And it shouldn't have been an ending.
It should have — could have — been the start of something good. She shivered as a brief chill worked its way through her body.
Perhaps, it still can.
Corrie looked around, wondering if her thoughts were so apparent that Vanessa had read her mind and commented, but Vanessa wasn't there.
Corrie was all alone.
She shook the odd feeling off and turned her attention back to her work.
But her mind wouldn't stay focused on the computer code on the screen in front of her. Corrie stared at the display, but instead of numbers, she saw the images from a half-forgotten dream. Of two people in each other's arms.
Corrie's breathing grew rapid and shallow, and her arms and legs grew languid and heavy. The sensitive place deep inside her ached with need.
It can be that way for you.
Corrie jerked her head upward and looked anxiously around the room. Who was that? Why was she hearing that strange, but also so familiar, voice?
She forced herself to look back at the screen, but the code appeared to be nothing but gibberish. There was no way she was going to make sense of it in her present state of mind. She scooted her chair away from the work station and got up. She had to do something — anything — to clear her head.
She stumbled out of the office and into her quarters, turned on the cold water in the bathroom, and splashed it on her face. Feeling a little more clear-headed, she made her way to the kitchen.
There was still an inch or so of cold coffee left in the bottom of the pot, but Corrie would have settled for the dregs. She poured it off into a mug and zapped it in the microwave just long enough to remove the chill. When the timer dinged, she grabbed the mug and brought it straight to her mouth.
The aroma was almost enough to revive her, but Corrie drank the dark brew down, eager for the energizing kick from the caffeine.
"Please tell me you're not drinking that sludge."
Corrie looked at Vanessa over the brim of her mug. "Of course I am. It's very good sludge too."
Vanessa grimaced. "I'll make a pitcher of iced tea. It'll have almost as much caffeine as that…" She shuddered and went on. "Toxic waste, and it'll be a lot more refreshing on a hot day like today. I promised J. R. a glass."
"Go right ahead. I was happy with my mud." Corrie glanced out the window. "How's he coming with the generator?"
"He's all done. The part snapped right in. He even cranked it up. Purred like a kitten."
"I'll take your word for it. The real test will be the next time the lights go out." And Corrie couldn't help hoping that a long time would pass before that would happen. "How much do I owe him?"
Vanessa looked up from the tea pot. "He said this one is on the house. It didn't take but a couple of minutes."
Corrie grinned. "And it gave him an excuse to come see you."
"I'm sure that was a factor," Vanessa replied smugly as steam started to hiss and boil through the pipes and hot water poured into the tea basket. "Oh, he left something for you out by the counter."
"For me? Shouldn't he be bringing you gifts?" Corrie arched a brow.
"It's a painting. Said you asked his father to repair the frame." Vanessa shrugged. "Anyway, it's finished. He propped it up against the registration desk."
Corrie thought a moment. "Hmmm. I thought he'd returned all the stuff I'd asked him to restore." She shrugged. "Guess I forgot this one." She put down the mug and went to investigate.
The painting, swaddled in brown paper padding, was leaning against the desk as Vanessa had promised. The size and shape still didn't ring a bell, so Corrie did the only sensible thing. She hefted it up to the desk top and tore away the wrapping.
She gasped when she recognized the painting it had concealed. How could she have forgotten this one?
This had to be the painting that Ben had seen in his retro-cognitive vision.
****
Ben sat at his desk in the cramped and crowded English Department office and stared at the long, yellow legal pad in front of him. He'd tried to describe his experiences at the Venable House Inn, but each attempt had resulted in yet another wadded up and crumpled, yellow ball, going into his overflowing trash can.
"Can I help you with anything, Dr. Chastain?"
Ben looked up to see the student secretary he shared with three other professors standing in the open doorway. "No, Kellie. I'm just having a hard time getting my thoughts organized this afternoon."
Kellie gestured toward a fat, scented candle on the desk. "Maybe you need to send some smoke signals out to your muse." Then she turned and walked away.
Ben glanced at the candle and grimaced. If only it were that simple. Light a candle, and inspiration would drop from the sky. He shook his head, disgusted with himself.
Besides, it wasn't a matter of not having any ideas. He had plenty. And he'd put them down. Several times and in graphic detail. But each time, when he'd read what he'd written, he had felt as if he were revealing something private.
Oh, it was a wonderful story. And it would sell a lot of books. He laughed ruefully. He would have had no problem writing that story if it had been about strangers. But, he couldn't relate the intimate details of what had happened between Corrie and him on behalf of Cory and Ham. It was too private.
Too personal.
He had never been the kind of man to indulge in locker room gossip the morning after, and he wasn't about to start now even if the reasons were nobler. Literature or not, he wasn't going to write about what had happened between Corrie and him, even if it had been for the good of Cory and Ham. He would not have his and Corrie's personal life put on paper for everyone's perusal.
He stared at the blank sheet. There had to be a way to tell the story without compromising Corrie. There had to. He leaned back in his chair and linked his fingers behind his head and tried to think.
All he knew was that whatever he wrote, however he wrote it, he would be revealing intimate details about what had happened between Corrie and him. Even if Cory and Ham had made them do it. Even if it had been the devil, he couldn't print it for the world to see. Because no matter who had caused it to happen, the reality was that it had been him and Corrie in that bed together when they awoke the next morning.
There was no way he could write about such a personal occurrence. He unclasped his hands and slammed a fist against the desk. He couldn't do it.
It wasn't just Ham and Cory's story. It was theirs.
He drew in a deep breath and buried his face in his hands and groaned. He really needed that chapter to finish his book. And he and the bank and all of his creditors knew how he needed that book.
But no way could he write this story. Not the way it really happened.
He crossed his arms on the desk to make a pillow and rested his head on it. He had to think of something.
Then the phone rang.
Chapter Twelve
Corrie had started to dial Ben's number a dozen times during the afternoon, but had always stopped. Now, as she listened to the second ring, she wished she had this time. She had almost decided to hang up when a gravelly voice answered.
"Ben?" Corrie asked, wondering how the voice could sound so different on the phone from how it did in person.
"Yeah," the voice on the other end grunted.
It wasn't exactly the reception that Corrie had hoped for, but now that she'd called, she'd have to see it through. She cleared her throat. "Um, I don't mean to bother you at work," she told him haltingly. "But, I found something that might help you with your story."
She waited for a reply, but the silence hung long and heavy between them. She pressed the hang-up button. "Ben? Are you still there?"
Corrie thought she heard a sigh then Ben cleared his throat. "What is it?" His voice sounded more like the familiar Ben now, and Corrie felt a little better about interrupting him.
"You know that picture you said you saw when you had your retro-cognitive vision?" She didn't wait for a response. "I think I found it."
Again there was no response.
"It's a landscape with budding trees and a stream in the foreground. The plaque on the frame says 'Vernal Equinox' and the signature looks something like Chatsworth." Corrie squinted again at the scrawl, but the bold letters were as illegible now as they'd been before. Perhaps, if she'd taken an art appreciation course in school, she'd have been able to recognize the name, but Mr. Chatsworth, if that was who he really was, meant nothing to her.
Finally, the silence ended. "Yes, it sounds like the picture I saw."
Corrie drew in a deep breath; maybe she was getting involved in something that was better left alone, but she blundered on. "You're welcome to come over and take a look at it any time. It might help you document your vision for your book," she added unnecessarily.
She heard what appeared to be the rustle of paper or pages turning, then Ben came back on the line.
"I'm busy through most of the week, but I can make it on Friday."
She didn't know why she asked it, but she did. "Will you be staying?" The inn didn't officially open till the next weekend, but…
"Uh, no. I've got exams to prepare. It's that time of year, you know."
"Sure," Corrie murmured, hoping her disappointment didn't show in her voice. "I look forward to seeing you."
"Ditto."
Corrie started to put the phone down, but as she removed the receiver from her ear, she heard Ben's husky voice. "Corrie?"
"Yes?" Her heart beat faster, and Corrie hoped Ben hadn't heard the breathlessness in her voice.
"Would you like me to pick up a pizza or something as I come through town?"
It wasn't exactly a confession of undying love, but it was something. "Thank you," she managed to answer calmly. "I'd like that."
He hung up without saying anything else.
Corrie placed the receiver back on the cradle and
smiled to herself. It pleased her that Ben had offered to bring dinner. It was a gesture that this was more than business, a tiny one but a gesture nonetheless.
Maybe this would all work out after all.
Then Corrie gave herself a mental shake. "Really, girl. You'd think you were in love."
And would that be so bad?
Corrie looked around, but of course, no one was there.
****
Ben didn't know what he was doing speeding down I-10 like he was trying to qualify for the Indianapolis 500. An observer would think he was in a hurry to see Corrie or something.
Aren't you?
He'd almost gotten used to that voice in his head, but sometimes it could still be annoying. Especially, when it seemed to be right on the money most of the time.
Of course, he'd be glad to see Corrie, but that wasn't why he'd come. The painting was the real reason; he almost had himself convinced.
Sparring with his alter ego, conscience, whatever it was, had become too familiar. Though they had argued all the way into Bayou La Batre, and he hadn't come close to winning the argument. He pulled off the road into the take-out chicken place's parking lot and jumped out of the car. He'd rather have had pizza, but without calling ahead, the wait would be too long.
I agree.
Ben shook his head and pushed through the door, listening to the tinkle of the doorbell as he inhaled the rich aroma of seasoned frying chicken.
Remembering Corrie's penchant for healthy food, he ordered the baked chicken, but added an extra measure of gravy and mashed potatoes for himself. Corrie couldn't complain about his dinner selections and neither could he.
I would have chosen the fried chicken myself. It's been a good long time since I've sunk my teeth into anything like that.
"Ham?" Suddenly, it all made sense. No wonder he'd been feeling so odd all week.
"I'm sorry, we don't serve ham," the woman behind the counter said. "Can I get you anything else?"
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