by Claire Adams
His grip lessened but did not let go. "I'll tell you the truth," he said. "And I want you to report everything to the Honor Council. I want to be held accountable for all of it. I'm not going to hide from it anymore."
I closed my eyes because I felt myself drowning in his intense gaze. "Tell me the truth."
"I was a different person when I started working here." I felt Ford lead me to the sofa and we both sat down. He moved his grip down my arm and held my fingers fast again. "I had been discredited as a journalist and my career was over. I never wanted to be a professor, but Landsman College made me an offer and I had no other course of action."
"I don't understand, lots of people apply to work here. It's a dream job for most," I said.
Ford brushed my hair back from my shoulder and silenced me with a shake of his head. "I wanted to be somewhere else. I wanted to be a journalist again, but that career door had been slammed shut in my face. So, I started work here and hoped it would save me from self-destructing."
I looked up from our intertwined hands. "Self-destructing? How?"
"I drank. A lot. All the way down to the cliché of the professor who tips a little whiskey from a flask into his coffee when the students aren't looking," Ford said. He tried to smile but it slipped away. "I tried to drink it all away but it didn't budge. So, I started making other bad decisions."
"Were you trying to get fired?" I asked.
He squeezed my fingers and nodded. "I think I was. I wanted a reason to fight for my old career, to face what happened at my old job, and I just couldn't do it myself. I needed the money."
I blinked hard. "I wish you had known my father then."
A real smile burned through the haze of Ford's torment. "Me too. He's too nice to kick my ass, but a few well-chosen words from a man of respect can cut through a lot of bullshit."
My heart warmed as he referred to my father as a man of respect. Ford was keeping me and my father at arm's length and I didn't know why, but those words had me hoping he would help us when it came down to it.
Ford cleared his throat and let go of my hands. "Libby expressed interest. She flirted. A few other students flirted too, but I never thought about it. I never intended to anything about it."
"What happened?" I asked. Hope fluttered again in my chest.
"The first alumni/donor dinner was a huge success for Landsman College. I was invited, but only stayed for a few minutes. I was blind drunk and lucky that no one noticed. Then there was Libby. She saw me, the state I was in, and she took her chance."
Ford hung his head and took a few deep breaths. "I could have written it off as a drunk mistake, but that only made the connotations worse. So, so I tried. I tried to make something out of it. We saw each other a few more times, but Libby was not who I thought she was. When she saw how I lived, that I didn't own a car, or have a fancy condo, she demanded that I change. I pointed out we meant nothing to each other. I guess she rewrote it in her head since then."
I edged away, uncomfortable with the mix of disgust and sympathy I felt for him. Ford had made a terrible, immoral, and reprehensible mistake, but there he sat telling me the whole truth of it. I felt like crying, but I also felt like comforting him.
He looked up and pinned me with a stormy-blue stare. "You mean a lot to me, Clarity," he rasped. "It has nothing to do with who your father is or that my job is on the chopping block. It has nothing to do with your age, our situation, or anything else but this."
He reached out and brushed a hand across my cheek. The searing undercurrents of his caress struck hotter than lightning. He felt it too.
"I should have thrown it all away to be with you," Ford said. "But, now it's too late. The least I can do now is help your father and save you."
"Save me?" I asked. I snapped out of the spell his confession had woven and stood up. "I don't need saving. I don't need protecting. As far as I can tell, between you, my father, and me, I'm the only one that can be trusted to seek the truth."
"The truth is not so simple," Ford warned.
"That's it," I cried and headed for the door. I had to escape before I gave into the urge to collapse in his arms. "I know you think I'm silly and naive but I can't help it. I prize honesty, I want the truth, and if you're not going to help me get it, then I will uncover it myself."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Clarity
I collapsed on Ford's saggy sofa. From there, I realized the only real things of substance that Ford had in his apartment were all media. Two newspapers were stacked under his coffee table. Bestselling nonfiction books were in random stacks. Magazines were all dog-eared or folded open. His tablet was charging on the edge of the table next to me.
"I wonder how many of these things tell the real truth," I sighed.
Ford raised an eyebrow and sat down slowly on the opposite arm on the sofa. "What do you mean?"
"Online media, print media, it's all just the same. The story is slanted no matter what. The only difference is some people make it go their way," I said.
"Come on, you can't think like that. You're too young," Ford joked.
I sat up and tossed the magazine next to me onto the coffee table. "So, what? That's it? The difference between being a child and being an adult is a working tolerance for dishonesty?"
"Things just get complicated. The older you get, the more demands there are on your time and money and ability to believe," Ford said. He scrubbed a hand over his chin and frowned at his own statement. "What you lose in believing in honesty, maybe you gain in insight to other people's motives."
I groaned and flopped back again. "I don't want messy motives. They're never easy to understand. I just want the facts to work, to tell the truth, and for the people who are wrong to be punished instead of the ones who are trying to do good."
Ford slid onto the sofa and nudged me with his elbow. "The best articles always reveal or hint at the subject's motives. People are interesting but mostly static, motives shift and move. Motives are action."
I leaned away from his elbow, but the sag in the couch brought us closer together. I fought off the gravity that pulled me towards Ford and said, "I'm glad I have a reason to turn down that internship at Wire Communications."
"What reason is that? You're not going to actually list this sideline private college corruption as a reason to decline one of the most prestigious internships in media arts, are you?" Ford leaned in to study my face.
"Why not?" I asked, "Then they won't have to guess my motives. Maybe it'll make a great subject for whomever takes my place."
Ford scrubbed his stubbled chin again in a sign of exasperation. He was so close I could smell the faded traces of his cologne. "Don't give up the internship," he said. "I'm not saying that success is better than honesty, but don't you imagine that sticking with this internship is the only kind of revenge your father really wants?"
In order to push my shoulder away from his, I had to press my knee against Ford's thigh. Immediate heat flooded from where our legs touched all the way up to my cheeks. "I don't want to be there," I said. "No matter how far the internship lets me go in my career, I'll always know where and how it started."
"No." Ford turned to me, our legs pressed tighter together. "You're a great journalist. You can make it there without letting it taint you. Just let things like this slide right off of you. They won't be able to touch your integrity unless you let them, and I don't think you will."
His words set fire to my mind as his proximity was heating every inch of my body. I forced myself to inch away and shook my head. "I'd make a terrible journalist. I'm not willing to play games or spin the truth. Let's be honest, I should quit pretending," I said.
The thought of quitting was an ice cold bath over my senses. I jumped up from the sofa and squeezed my eyes shut. My whole carefully planned life had a fatal flaw. One little thread got pulled and the whole thing came apart. Without a career in journalism, I didn't have a writing career based in current events, facts, and concrete styles. Suddenly I was completely
at a loss and the feeling overwhelmed me.
A gentle hand reached out. "Clarity?"
I pried one eye open to look at him. Ford was hesitant, leaning over the coffee table, but he brushed his hand up from my arm to my shoulder. This time I did not flinch or pull away. I felt like any movement might cause me to fall over into a deep abyss.
Ford must have felt it too because he cleared his throat. "Clarity, you don't have to rethink your whole life. Everything will work out the way it's supposed to," he said. He came around the table and cupped my cheek in his hand. "You're taking too much of this on yourself. Your father didn't want you burdened with any of this and everyone would understand if you took a step back from it. Your life is allowed to go on."
He dropped his hand as I met his gaze. Ford's movements were jerky, as if he were unsure of every millimeter he moved. Then I saw his eyes. Ford's stormy-blue eyes were deep with concern, but his face was rounded in an expression of restraint. He wanted to comfort me but knew I might think his physical touch inappropriate.
I glanced around the empty, Spartan apartment, then threw myself into his arms. "I just feel like everything has changed," my voice wavered as I pressed my cheek to his strong chest.
Ford's arms closed around me. One hand trailed up from my waist to smooth down my hair and the repetitive motion lulled me to peace. "I know how you feel," Ford confessed. "When I had to leave Wire Communications, I felt like my whole life had been stopped and rerouted."
I nestled closer in his arms but couldn't help my question, "why did you have to leave?"
"I found out a truth that no one wanted revealed. When I threatened to publish it anyway, I was discredited." Ford gave a self-deprecating laugh. "By the time they were done making their point, it was a definite rout."
I leaned back and look up at Ford. "That's what I don't understand. You keep talking about retreating and playing it safe, but nothing about you personally tells me you would do that? Why? Why did you give up in your fight?"
He traced a finger down my arm and then clasped his arms around my waist again, not ready to release me from the hug. "I tried at first, but there was no way around it."
"Couldn't you have pushed the story to light some other way? Did you consider taking it to a rival media outlet?" I asked. My ideas made me step back, anxious to see if there was a way out of the situation that Ford had not noticed.
He hesitated to squash my hope. "The competitors weren't interested; it showed I would bite the hand that feeds me. My only choices were to bow out or get sued for more than I will ever have in eight lifetimes."
"Then a good attorney would have noticed the discrepancies and looked for another motive," I said.
Ford stood back and laughed. He chuckled all the way across his small living room to lean against the kitchen island.
"What's so funny? I'm trying to help," I snapped.
"I know, I know," Ford held up both hands. "It's just I wish you would realize the complete about-face you've had in the last few minutes."
My mind ran in a panic over why I had let Ford hold me. "I, I don't know what you're talking about," I said.
"A minute ago you were saying how you hate messy motives and you just wished people would stick to the facts. And now you're telling me a lawyer could have built a case for me based solely on motives." Ford chuckled again. "See? You are going to make a great journalist yet."
He meant it as a compliment, I could tell by his easy smile, but my shoulders were stiff with indignation. Ford was laughing at me again like I was some kind of entertaining child. I wondered if he laughed about his students with his other professor friends.
"You keep saying I'd make a great journalist," I said. "Why don't we test out your theory?" I started to circle Ford's apartment. "There might not be a lot of stuff here, but I think that means there's a story here instead."
Ford straightened up and shoved his hands in his pockets. "I already told you more about my story than I should have said. It all boils down to the fact that I am a boring college professor with very bad interior design instincts," he said.
It was my turn to laugh, but a thought struck me. "You live like you don't make any money, but you are a college professor. I know you have a decent salary, so the money must all be going somewhere."
"Gambling," Ford muttered.
"I don't believe that for a second," I said. I glanced at the secondhand dresser Ford used as a combination entryway table and television console. "I'd think you are saving all your money for something big, except you have no motivation. No pictures of fancy sailboats or brochures for fancy vacations."
"Guys don't really make vision boards," he grumbled.
I turned and crossed my arms in triumph. "I think you're sending all the money to your family. The only family you mentioned at Thanksgiving was your sister, so you must be helping to support her."
Ford's stormy eyes flew to a framed photograph on an otherwise bare shelf. "So what if I send a little money my sister's way? That doesn't really tell you much about me. Lots of people feel beholden to the bonds of family," Ford said. "Like you."
I scowled at the reminder of my father's situation. It was much easier to focus on Ford. "Oh," I said as I did the math in my head. "You were forced out of Wire Communications right when your sister was considering medical schools. That's why you didn't put up a big fight. That's why you settled for the job at Landsman College. You wanted to make sure that your sister got to go to the medical school of her choice without having to worry about money."
Ford paced into the kitchen and then back to the living room. "I get that people like to figure me out like a puzzle, but it's really not all that interesting," he snapped. "I did what any other person would do for a family member. I did exactly what you are thinking about doing for your father."
"What? Lying low? Just taking the hit and crawling away?" I asked. "I'm thinking about exposing the people that are trying to trick my father into helping them. I'm thinking that no matter what the consequences are, I want the truth to be known and I want to be the one to tell it." The volume of my voice dropped away when I saw the angry set of Ford's jaw.
"I took the hit so my sister wouldn't have to," Ford bit out. "For the same reason that you are not already running all over campus raving about donor corruption. You don't want to do more harm than good. You're hesitating because you are just like me and, no matter what, you want to make sure you do what is best for the people you love."
I sank back down on the edge of the sofa. "I just don't want to make things worse. I'm not going to give up, though."
Ford sat down on the coffee table directly in front of me. "The best thing you can do is continue on your life just like you were before. Don't give Michael Tailor a reason to target you or squeeze your father anymore," he said.
I held my breath and looked at Ford. It was amazing how in a few short months, he had become entangled in my small family. I trusted him with thoughts I had not yet voiced even to myself.
"There's nothing else they can do to my father," I said. "Actually, losing his position at Landsman might be the best thing for him. You know how much he goes on and on about painting. Surely Michael Tailor is not going to be able to stop him from retiring and taking painting lessons."
Ford frowned. "That's not your father's worry and you know it."
I threw my hands up. "No. He's worried, like you, that I have enough room in my life to stand up for the truth. My future, my career, everything is flexible. If you think about it, and stop thinking about me as a child, then you'd see that I'm the only one that can take down someone like Michael Tailor. There's nothing he can do to me that I can throw back at him or recover from."
One corner of Ford's mouth quirked up. "Even if doing so is directly against your father's wishes?" he asked.
I sprang off the sofa again and marched over to poke him in the chest. "If I'm the only one that can protect my father, I'm not going to let anyone talk me out of it. Not him, not you!"
<
br /> Ford caught my accusing finger and held my hand. He chuckled again and then laughed out loud when I tried to yank free of him. "I'm not laughing at you. I just love how you are defying and protecting your father all in one breath."
"Isn't that what family does?" I snapped.
Ford held my hand with both of his and a quiet sadness settled over him. "Yes, but you shouldn't have to deal with any of this. Can we, just for a minute, regret that you have to be involved?"
"What good is that?" I held still as each brush of his fingertips sent tingles up my arms.
He didn't lift his eyes. "You should be studying, going to parties, making plans for winter vacation, and flirting with boys," Ford said.
"The last thing I need right now is some 'boy' trying to take me out to dinner, as if this isn't way more important," I said.
Ford tugged my hand and brought me closer. "You deserve to have a normal and easy life. Especially when you're in college."
I leaned back an inch, overwhelmed by the magnetic pull of Ford's body. "I like this. I mean, my life. I like my life, complications and all."
"I just hope you know that you don't have to face this alone," Ford said. "I know you have your father too, but, if you need someone else ... I'm here for you."
Our faces were inches apart. My hand was still captive between in his fingers. My whole body cried out to nestle into the spot against his chest where I had hugged him before. My shoulder fit just underneath his arm, my head cradled between his taut chest and strong shoulder. One step and I could slip back against him and feel our bodies align.
"Thank you," my voice came out breathless. "Thanks for being here for me. Even if your advice is condescending and full of male ego. I appreciate that you're trying to protect me, and my father."
Ford shifted towards me and my heart leapt with joy. Relief, I told myself, it was just relief. Clearly Ford felt the same magnetism that I did. I wasn't just a foolish schoolgirl flirting and floundering her way through a difficult situation. I wasn't just imagining things.
He brought my hand up and pressed it to his chest. I slid it over to feel his heartbeat, and Ford jerked back. He shook his head and looked around as if snapping out of a dream.
