by Claire Adams
I gazed at the bare trees and the blowing snow. Maybe I could hibernate all winter, spend my time with Clarity, and figure out what I wanted to do in the spring. Even imagining it had me itching with cabin fever. I needed something to do—a job, a purpose—and it annoyed me that everyone else could see what it was but me.
I stopped Clarity. "Where do you think I should go from here?" I asked.
She smiled. "How about home to my father's for a glass of wine? It's not Christmas yet, but there's no reason we can't all have dinner together."
"Pizza!" Jackson declared. "I might not be able to defend people in court, but I can throw a good crust."
"We'll pick up the ingredients and meet you there," Alice said.
I caught Clarity's hand as the doors opened. "That's not what I meant," I said.
She looked up at me with a twinkle in her deep green eyes. "What do you want to do? For a job, I mean," she blushed.
"I can't go back to journalism. No one will hire me. Sure, the exposé article did a great job, and it got great attention, but no one is going to hire me without recommendations. And, despite standing up to Barton, he still holds my credit. No one is going to hire someone that has been discredited by Wire Communications."
"So you want to go back to teaching here at Landsman?" Clarity asked.
I grabbed both her hands. "No. Absolutely not. It wasn't the right fit for me in the first place, but I am not going back to a job that puts obstacles between you and me."
"You should talk to the president of the college," Clarity's father added as he zipped up his winter coat.
"It doesn't matter if I declare our relationship or not," I said. "I want to do more, do something myself, instead of teach others about it."
Patrick chuckled. "A man of action. How did I know my Clarity would choose a man of action? Stop, for just a moment, and listen. You should talk to the president of the college."
"Dad, he just said he's done with academia," Clarity reiterated.
"I don't think of the students as a dusty old discipline," Patrick said. "I've been consulting with the student protestors and advising them on how to approach and change administrations. Along the way, I may have put it in their heads that it is important to have an outlet for their message."
"Especially after the student newspaper's right to free speech was compromised when they took down our article," Clarity added.
"So, we put it in the president's head that Landsman College would benefit from a mirror publication. One intended to be an off-campus, independent newspaper with the sole mission of holding the college accountable," Patrick finished with a big smile. "What do you think about that, Mr. Bauer? Sound too academic for you?"
I rubbed my neck. "It sounds like a great public relations move on the part of the college president. He can appease a lot of students by allowing dissenting views to be heard in a public fashion."
"No," Clarity bumped her hip against mine. "He means what do you think of it for you?"
"For me?" I asked. I shook my head. "I don't think I can work for someone else again. The idea of being censored or forced to write from talking points is too much for me. I'm not going to be someone's outlet for perfectly spun stories that paint the college in just the right light."
"That's the beauty of the whole idea, don't you see?" Patrick asked.
I shook my head again and zipped up my own parka. "What do you think is going to happen the first time the independent newspaper has a story that trashes a long-held administrative privilege?" I asked. "The president will come to visit me personally and see if I, as the most experienced journalist, can make some diplomatic edits to the articles. I can't put up with that anymore. That's not the kind of journalism I want to pursue."
"Aha! So you do still want to pursue journalism. I was right!" Clarity grinned at her father. She pulled on her mittens and put a colorful hand on the door. "I knew we'd come up with something perfect for you."
"We? Who?" I asked. I stood my ground and crossed my arms. "Don't think I'm going to put up with Dunkirks ganging up on me."
Patrick clapped me on the shoulder. "That, you'll have to learn to live with; the other things, though, are what this position was created to fight."
"What position?"
Clarity let go of the door and put her bright mittens on my arms. "I agree that you should never have to compromise your writing again. That's why you are the only person the students requested to head up the off-campus newspaper."
All my tension melted away, leaving me in a muddled state of shock. "Head up?"
"Yes!" Clarity laughed. "I think we proved that neither of us is really cut out for investigative journalism, but you have an eye for a story, and you can advise students to do the real work of it. That's why they want you to be the editor-in-chief."
Chapter Twenty
Clarity
"Are you listening?" I asked Ford. "You have that funny look on your face again. Is it really that bad?"
"What? No. I'm just having trouble concentrating on your writing," he said.
"I know, it's the characters, isn't it? Everyone knows what they want except for them. I'm too far in their heads. The whole plot is just getting gummed up." I tossed the pages down on the coffee table and slumped back.
Ford sat up and retrieved the short story. "You're overreacting. Besides, I wasn't ignoring you—I was just enjoying my new couch."
I rolled my eyes. "Yes, you do keep pointing out how comfortable it is. What if I liked the old one?"
"Sentimental reasons?" Ford asked.
"Yes, that saggy sofa was one of a kind because it was the location of our first time. I just don't think I can date you without it," I quipped.
"And here I thought things were going well," Ford sighed. "Maybe you'll like the new couch more if you finish nit-picking your perfect story here."
I took the pages he handed me and started to read again. Within a few lines, Ford's lips pressed to my neck, and I knew he wasn't listening. I wasn't even listening as the soft yet fiery caress of his lips trailed down to my shoulder.
The pages dropped out of my hand as I turned and met his mouth with my own. Ford's stormy-blue eyes flickered open then burned a deep midnight blue that meant the wave was coming.
We'd been dating for over a year, and spring was just around the corner, but I couldn't help miss the heavy snowfalls that kept us holed up in Ford's apartment most of the winter. Despite all the excitement of my coming graduation, all my mind could focus on was Ford's breath as his lips leisurely teased me.
"I should have finished the story this morning," I murmured against his heated kisses.
"I seem to recall we both got a little distracted," Ford said.
Our lips plunged together at the mentioned memory. Waking up curled against his broad chest made it impossible to get out of bed most mornings. That particular morning, I discovered a ticklish spot just below his waistline, and we had spent a long, delicious time exploring to see if he had any more.
My fingers slipped under the hem of his shirt, but Ford caught my hand. "Oh, no you don't. You made me squirm enough this morning."
"I can't get enough of you," I confessed.
It was a long time before the clock chimed and jolted us both out of our languid passion. "Oh, god, do I have to go to the office?" Ford groaned.
"If I have to go to class, then you have to go to work," I said. "Besides, that office is what got you your splendid new couch."
"Speaking of the couch," Ford hooked an arm around my waist and swung me back against him. "We really should think about breaking it in. I bet it would be more comfortable after that."
I blushed and shook my head. No matter how many times Ford and I made love, he still managed to make me feel shy and nervous with fluttering excitement. "I can't be late for class. You know who my professor is, right?"
Ford let go and flopped back against the couch cushions. "Yeah, who knew that Jackson would be such a rigorous professor? I mean, I certain
ly had no idea or I wouldn't have ever suggested you take on a creative writing concentration."
I stood up. "I have to make this deadline, or I don't graduate. Now, help me get the characters right."
"No. No way," Ford shook his head. "I'm impressed with how you can handle fiction, but it just isn't for me."
"You figured out the motive behind the science lab thefts. Why can't you help me figure out my hero's motivation?" I asked.
"Probably because I can't even figure out my own," Ford chuckled. "I want you to stay, but I want you to graduate. See? It doesn't make any sense. The world is much better off if I stick to non-fiction."
"See?" I cried. "I should be early to class, not late, because I need Professor Rumsfeld to help me!"
"You really call Jackson that?" Ford asked.
"Yes. Why?"
Ford sat up and caught my hand. "Because I remember you slipping up and calling me by my first name all the time. You don't call him Jackson by accident?"
"He's my professor," I said.
"I was your professor."
I looked down into Ford's midnight eyes and melted. "You were always different, and you knew it. I should have known it the first moment we met, but there were all sorts of rules in the way."
"Not like now," Ford said. He tugged my hand.
I pulled back. "There are still rules, like not missing class just before graduation."
"Fine, just add dedicated to the list," Ford fell back in defeat.
"What list?" I shouldn't have turned around, but he caught my curiosity.
"The list of things I love about you." He smiled up at me. "You're smart, outspoken, talented, and dedicated. What on earth are you doing with me?"
"Flattery will get you nowhere," I said.
He patted the couch cushion next to him. "There's nowhere I'd rather be than right here."
I gave in to the gravitational pull of him. The look of delighted shock when I slipped over his lap was worth being late to class. Ford caught me in a searing kiss, and we rolled onto the couch. It still surprised me how every time his hands swept across my body, I felt the current flow between us, just like the first time.
Except this time was different. Ford slowed then leaned back and looked deep into my eyes. There was nothing between us now, no past worries or current scandals, no rules, and no hesitations.
"I love you, Clarity," he said.
And I returned the sentiment with every fiber of my body and soul.
We'd made hot, passionate love, but I never said the words. Standing in line at the coffee shop later that morning, it was all I could think about.
Why didn't I tell Ford that I loved him?
Even though I held my short story covered with Professor Rumsfeld's comments, all I could do was think about Ford. He loved me, and I heard him say the words over and over again in my head. Why on earth had I not said them back?
I will tonight. As soon as I see him, I promised myself.
The coffee shop was packed, and the caffeinated buzz was the perfect distraction. As the line moved slowly, I started to consider Professor Rumsfeld's questions and comments. Ford was horrified at how much red ink Jackson used on my stories, but I loved it. It was hard to explain to Ford the mixture of excitement and dread I felt. I loved the challenge, but was plagued by doubts.
"I don't get it," Ford had said earlier, "your writing is just about perfect to me."
Ford was biased, and now I knew exactly why. He loved me.
"Standing in line, smiling to yourself. And I thought I was the one with the good news," Lexi said.
I grabbed my friend in a tight hug then shrieked when I saw Jasmine was with her too. "I feel like I haven't seen either of you in forever," I said.
"Not a surprise since you don't spend much time on campus anymore," Jasmine said. "Must be nice to have a boyfriend with an apartment and a car."
"Your new boy toy has a motorcycle and a house on the shore. You can't complain," Lexi told Jasmine.
"Tell me all about him. I want to know all about it. I'm so glad I ran into you!" I almost launched directly into my story about flubbing up the first 'I love you' with Ford, but Jasmine always had a new, exciting boyfriend to tell us about.
She talked about his plans to ship the motorcycle to Italy and drive from the top of the boot down to the heel. "Of course, we'll have to wait until we get back from Las Vegas to leave."
"Las Vegas first? Don't you mean graduation?" I laughed.
"That, too, but since Lexi is getting married in Las Vegas, that's pretty much number one on my list," Jasmine grinned.
Lexi slapped her arm. "Thanks a lot for giving away my good news before I got a chance to share it!"
I took a step back and clutched my short story to my chest. "You're getting married? Carl proposed?"
Jasmine giggled. "The man hardly talks, but he made a whole big speech and convinced her."
"Alright, enough," Lexi said. "It's my turn to brag about my proposal and my wedding."
Jasmine tossed her hair. "It's not my fault if I tell it better."
"Well, can you do this?" Lexi asked. She flashed a bright, diamond engagement ring before our eyes.
"Me first, I haven't seen it yet!" Jasmine shrieked.
I smiled at Lexi over our friend's drooling face. "Congratulations, Lexi. I am so happy for you. So, why are you heading to Vegas?"
"We," Lexi said. "We are heading to Las Vegas because there is no way I'm getting married without both of you next to me."
"And Ford," Jasmine said. "Ford has to come too."
Lexi rolled her eyes. "That's her way of asking how things are going for you two?"
The barista called me up, and I had a few seconds to order my coffee and pull myself together. Somehow the subject of marriage seemed a lot more exciting now that I was dating someone serious. Before, it was always easy to wave off marriage as something that other people did. I didn't think I would have to worry about it until I was established in my career and had a healthy bank account.
Not that I'd done very good at sticking to my life plan in the last two years. I still felt so young and so unsure about everything. Was that why I hadn't told Ford I loved him?
"I know we're young, and it's crazy," Lexi said as she followed me to a table by the window.
"I don't think age has anything to do with it," I said. "You and Carl are really in love."
Lexi set her cup down on the table and looked at me. "Why do I get the feeling you have a question for me that's not about bridesmaid dresses or bachelorette party hats?"
"How do you know when you're really in love?" I asked.
Jasmine sat down. "That's easy," she said.
Both Lexi and I snorted with laughter.
"I know," Jasmine said, "I don't seem like the 'love' type, but I'm not stupid. Love is what you feel when there isn't anything else. No doubt, no shyness, no restlessness. Why do you think I haven't settled down yet? I haven't felt like the whole world goes away when I'm with someone."
"I'm writing that down," Lexi said. "You're saying that at my wedding."
"But I was planning on doing all sorts of jokes about your short skirts," Jasmine said.
Lexi shoved our friend, and the two broke into a fit of giggles. It felt good to laugh and joke, but I was too stunned by what Jasmine had said.
It was true. I loved Ford.
"Sorry, ladies, but I have to go," I said. I stood up and sloshed our coffees.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Clarity. Am I talking about the wedding too much? I promise we can talk all about your father's new art retreat." Lexi reached to catch my hand.
Jasmine swatted Lexi's hand away. "Can't you see the girl's had a major revelation? Bet she's going to see that Mr. Bauer down at The Mirror. I bet she's going to tell him she loves him."
I took a deep breath and tried to look dignified. "Maybe. First, I better get him a coffee."
Thomas opened The Mirror office doors for me when I arrived. The short story was tucked u
nder my arm, and two coffees balanced precariously in my hand as I reached for the door handle. I didn't want his help, but it was obvious I needed it.
"Thanks, Thomas. Good to see you. I heard you got a job working down here," I said.
"I'm surprised we haven't bumped into each other before," Thomas said.
I felt the slide of unease and wondered if he had gotten the job just to be near me again. Since leaving journalism, I hadn't had to deflect Thomas' uncomfortable adoration every day. Ford had pointed it out to me how my classmate pined for me. He had tried to use it to build up my confidence, but it just made me feel bad. I didn't love Thomas the way he loved me.
Then I saw Ford, and I realized I was right not to lead Thomas on. When it was the real thing, real love, there was no room for doubt.
Ford was on the phone in his fishbowl office. Despite the office using the latest technology, his desk was covered in mounds of paper. Ford waved a notepad around as he discussed something quite loudly with the person on the phone.
"He's a good boss," Thomas said. "Much more demanding and on the ball than when he was a professor. But I guess I don't have to tell you he's a different man nowadays."
"Different? How?" I asked.
Thomas gave a sad smile. "Isn't it obvious? He's in love. Once he left campus, and you two were able to be together, he turned into a completely different person. He's driven, he's ambitious, and I bet he's doing it all for you."
I looked at my lovelorn classmate and caught a glimpse of a young woman staring at us. She wore the same tirelessly hopeful expression that Thomas used to turn on me. "Who's that?" I asked.
"Mindy," Thomas said. His whole face brightened. "I've been thinking about asking her out."
"Then don't hesitate," I said. "There's no room for doubt when it's love."
Thomas grinned and spun back through the maze of desks to join Mindy by the copier. Within seconds, they were both laughing about something, and the look on their faces buoyed my courage.
I turned back and caught Ford watching me through the glass walls of his office. His words, his hands, the whole passionate morning crashed over me, and for a moment, I couldn't move. Then he gestured for me to join him, and my feet moved so fast I felt like I was flying.
