True North Book 3 - Finding Now Kate and Sam

by Allie Juliette Mousseau

  “Oh, fuck! That’s it!” I nearly shouted. “You’re fucking brilliant, you know.”

  “Yes, actually, I do know.”

  I laughed and we hung up.

  While I took my run on the greenway next to the sound, I plotted.

  Monday came along and, as I walked into Professor Jolie’s class that morning, I held myself at the entrance. My regular flirtation with her wasn’t going to cut it after what had happened. My options: say hello like a normal person and walk away, not say anything at all … that got me thinking. It was obvious she was a survivor, and I was guessing under the hard exterior, she had a soft center. So my advances had been easy for her to deflect, they put her into survivor mode. What if I didn’t say anything?

  At that moment my fellow classmate, Lexy Bordeau, came up to me to tell me how much fun she and her friends had had at the concert Chasing North had played on Saturday night. She was wondering if we had a website and Facebook page.

  Nice timing. A little serendipity never hurt. I walked in with Lexy while she was raving about the performance and how the crowd reacted and how Chasing North was so great we could go all the way if we wanted.

  Before I knew it I was at my seat and Lexy decided to sit with me. Not what I meant to have happen, but it was what it was. I focused on the lecture and let the cards fall where they may.

  The afternoon buzzer went off and everyone gathered their stuff and took off. I made sure I procrastinated just enough so I’d be one of the last students, but not enough so that it was obvious I’d done it deliberately. I sauntered down the steps and casually welcomed her back. To my surprise, she stopped me for a short conversation.

  Her eyes. Her beautiful pale blue eyes … no I wasn’t imagining it. They pleaded and grasped for something she was too afraid to name or touch.

  Tonight had to work.

  Chapter Ten

  “Come to Me”

  Goo Goo Dolls

  Catherine

  “When I said I wanted to take you home, I didn’t really mean via city transit,” Sam said lightly. He wasn’t taunting or making fun, and his remark didn’t set me off.

  He got comfortable on the loveseat while I grabbed us a couple of beers from the fridge. I took a kitchen chair with me and sat opposite him.

  “Thanks.” He opened the bottle and looked me over. He made feel very conscious of the fact that I was still wearing my “professor” clothes.

  “Give me a second.” I went over to my bedroom area to grab some clothes to change into and saw the new clothes I’d thrown on the bed earlier. All of the adrenaline I had going for me crashed at that moment and I breathed out a huge sigh. I bowed my head but tried not to feel utterly defeated as I turned back around to face my new friend.

  “I won’t hold you to anything you said out on the roof,” I said. “I need to make that clear because I’m more complicated than you could possibly imagine.”

  “Try me,” he challenged.

  “Okay then. Take a look.” I indicated the bed.

  Sam came over. “Jeans and a t-shirt? Nice. Love the shoes.” He shook his head, confused. “Okay, I’m not sure what I’m looking at here, Jolie.”

  “They’re pretty harmless, right? Just clothes.”

  His brow creased in consternation. He was trying to put the pieces together, but I hadn’t given him everything he needed to do it.

  “That would have been one of my favorite outfits … a little over six years ago,” I offered. “Instead I only wear that stuff now.” I pointed to my open closet.

  “Your work clothes?”

  “My self-imposed work clothes. Professors at UW are pretty laid back and pretty much wear anything they want,” I explained.

  “Okay.” He turned to me. “And obviously you’ve bought these recently and never worn them.”

  “How do you know?”

  “They still have the tags,” he said softly.

  I shook my head. “Of course.”

  “We all have a story, Jolie.”

  “No. We don’t all have a story like mine. And don’t get me wrong, some people have wonderful stories, while others have terrible ones, and I’m sure some even have more horrible stories than mine—or at least different. Pain is pain however you go through it. But my pain has become a monster that I can’t fight.”

  “I’ll help you take it on.” He was so sincere.

  I stared down at the clothes, attempting to understand. “Why would you want to?”

  “Don’t you believe you’re worth fighting for?” he asked.

  “It’s not that.” I let out a chest full of frustrated air. “You’re the most upbeat person I’ve seen … in a really long time. I don’t want to drag you down into my world. It’s dark, and the terror I feel is relentless.”

  “Like the day behind More Hall.”

  I nodded. “Every day I live by balancing on a tightrope. If I’m careful and walk that perfect straight line I can hold the pain in and function almost like a normal human being. But when I deviate? Let’s just say there is no net.”

  “So let me be your net,” he offered.

  I was speechless and just stared at him. He was serious. “Why do you want to be my net? You’re twenty-two, you’re so full of life.” He was, and it was contagious. “Why would you want to waste your time with a woman who has so many issues that she can’t even bring herself to wear the clothes she likes?”

  “Put me in your act,” he said simply.

  “What? What do you mean?”

  “Every day you walk a tightrope, you said, and when you try to deviate, you fall. So now I’m here. I’ll catch you. Day by day, make me a part of your plan until my presence becomes normal.”

  “Normal.” That was impossible! But then I heard a very small voice say, “How?”

  “By allowing me to be your friend. Every day we hang out, even if it’s just for a little while.”

  “You didn’t answer my question before. Why would you want to do this?” I lifted my eyes to meet his. I wanted an answer, because none of it made any sense.

  “When I first saw you, you were so stunning I couldn’t think straight,” Sam began.

  “When you first saw me you were looking at my ass,” I reminded him.

  “Okay, you’re right.” Sam admitted with his hands in surrender. “But in my defense, it is a really fine ass.”

  I rolled my eyes and swallowed a flattered laugh.

  He continued, “But as the weeks went on, I saw that your intelligence matched your beauty, and Jolie, combined … you left me breathless. I had to get to know you. Then when you got sick behind More Hall, you showed so much strength …”

  “Strength? I freaked out and puked all over you.”

  “You fell apart and pulled yourself back together again. That took raw guts, Jolie. Trust me, I’ve known a couple people who’ve lived through some nasty things. It takes a hell of a lot of strength to get to the other side of it.”

  I worried my bottom lip. He saw me as beautiful and strong?

  “I can see the pain behind your eyes and the shadow you’re trying to live with—twenty-six years old with a PhD—you stopped living at some point and became driven. And your clothes—you’re trying to be invisible, which is virtually impossible for you because you have an amazing body.” He cocked an eyebrow at me, and if I had felt any anger at his intuition and bold assessment, it melted. “I want to know you. So, are you going to give our friendship a chance?”

  In six years no one had ever done this to me, made me want to come out of the hiding place I’d built. I knew my voice would be pained and small but I spoke anyway.

  “How do we do it?”

  I expected his face to light up with his telltale smile, but it didn’t. Instead he became really serious. “No plan, Jolie. We live for each moment, each day. We find now and hold ourselves in that space until we’re ready to make a new one.”

  “Okay … Sam. Friends.” I held out my hand to his.

  He regarde
d it for a moment, took it like he was about to shake it, then said, “Ah, what the hell,” and yanked me up against him, putting his arms around me and folding me into a deep hug.

  I liked the feel of him very much.

  The next two weeks went really well. Sam kept our meetings simple. We met each night for dinner at Kells, and then he rode the bus with me back home and dropped me off at the elevator. Conversations were never about me, he never put any pressure on me to talk; instead he told me wonderful stories about his huge family back in North Dakota until I felt like I knew them.

  One of my favorite parts about our new friendship was the texting. Usually when I came home from Kells to the silence of my apartment, I dreaded being alone with my thoughts, but now like clockwork Sam texted me every night. Thursday night was no exception.

  Sam: Miss me yet?

  If I had to admit it, yes, I missed him very much already and it had only been about 30 minutes since he’d left.

  Me: **eye roll**

  Sam: You’re a pretty little liar. But I forgive you. Get some sleep tonight. I have something special planned for this weekend that you’re going to love!

  Something special? My heart thumped.

  Me: I’m in bed but I can’t get any sleep with my phone beeping with your messages.

  Sam: You’re in bed?? What are you wearing?

  I closed my eyes and smiled. The thought of telling him I was in a soft, lacy camisole top with a pair of boy shorts made sweet sensations stir in my belly.

  Me: Be good.

  Sam: Oh, I’m very good!

  I bet he was.

  Me: We both have class early.

  Sam: Set the phone close to your pillow.

  That was a new request.

  Me: Why?

  Sam: So I can sleep next to you.

  A sensation like soda pop filled my veins with rising bubbles that seemed to start at my toes and rush to my head. I held the phone and rolled to my side as I settled the device on the side of my pillow.

  Me: Done.

  Sam: Good. Did you feel that small breeze against your skin? That was me imagining I was kissing you goodnight.

  I imagined his voice saying those words, low and serious, and it made me close my eyes and catch my bottom lip between my teeth.

  The next morning I was jumping out of my skin with excitement. I got dressed quickly and raced to school. Again, Sam had brought another long lost feeling to the surface—anticipation.

  I was sitting at my desk, and the class was filing into their seats. I realized my leg was bouncing up and down. Nervously? Excitedly? Did it matter? I tried not to look up at each student as they came through the door, but I did allow my eyes to drift. Lexy came in and took her now usual chair next to where Sam sat. Quickly I started shuffling papers because I felt like the entire class could see right through me. A second later, Sam stopped at my desk. I only saw his jeans and silver studded belt, but I knew it was him. He was wearing a Nirvana t-shirt and a blue plaid unbuttoned outer shirt. And … Oh. My. God. He smelled amazing.

  “Hey, Professor.” Something as casual as a smile should not make me as weak in the knees as his did.

  “Hey, Sam,” I remarked simply, like a professor should, even though on the inside I felt ready to burst.

  He set a folded piece of paper onto my desk and went up to his seat.

  I slid the paper off my desk and into my briefcase. That would burn a hole in the leather and my brain for the next hour and a half while I waited to read it.

  Once everyone got settled in their seats, I stood in front of my desk and leaned back against it on my hands. “Today’s lecture is on biofuels …”

  Holy shit! Did I just …? Oh my God, I did!

  I was pressing out my breasts and letting my glance linger on Sam. Did he notice? Well, Lexy was talking to him, but his eyes were stuck on me. So, yes. Yes he did.

  Teacher mode, Jolie, I reminded myself.

  The lecture went quickly, and by the time the bell went off, Lexy walked out, irritated. A few minutes later Sam winked at me as he walked by. I played unaffected, but in reality I was holding back a blush.

  When the classroom was empty and I was alone I pulled out the paper.

  Come out of your comfort zone. Meet me at the Fenix Underground, 9 pm. Wear your new clothes.

  - S

  That was one hell of a request. The remainder of the day, I flew on autopilot. Going to Sam’s concert tonight would be like nicking off three items on Headshrink’s to-do list. I didn’t know if I could do them all at once like that. I had planned on wearing the new clothes to Kells first, where I was comfortable, but I hadn’t gotten the nerve up to even clip the tags.

  Was it weird? It was like, because Sam seemed to believe in me, I wanted to believe in myself, and I wanted to prove to him he wasn’t making a mistake by putting that kind of faith into me. It made me want to wear the clothes, go somewhere I’d never been and listen to the kind of music that had been my favorite. It was pretty obvious from his style and the acoustic jam he performed at Kells that Sam and I held the same musical tastes.

  If I overthought this, I’d panic and wouldn’t do it. So, how could I do it without overthinking?

  First, I graded papers through the rest of the afternoon and then headed home. I ate a couple of yogurts and took a shower.

  Then the showdown began.

  I could only imagine what it would have looked like to an onlooker. Me, in a towel, staring at the clothes that now lay over my armchair, with a pair of scissors on the table between us.

  I was so freaking dysfunctional.

  “I’m going to wear you tonight and I’m going out,” I told the inanimate objects before I swiped up the scissors and quickly snipped the tags, letting them fall on the floor before I lost my nerve.

  I took a step back and contemplated something else. Sam hadn’t offered to pick me up. He’d figured out I had a thing about cars, so it was cool that he backed off and asked me to meet him. It put the ball in my court to do what I wanted to with it. He wasn’t pushy or demanding. I liked that about him. I also liked that he told me to wear the new clothes. He obviously hadn’t seen me in them yet.

  “I got it!” I blurted into my empty studio apartment.

  I’d do my hair and makeup and then I’d put on the clothes, so I wouldn’t have to look at myself in the mirror. I would be able to feel them and see them on me, but that wouldn’t be as intimate as it would be seeing myself wearing them in the mirror.

  Good idea, Jolie.

  I styled my long hair to be wavy—almost bedhead-mess—from a pic of Scarlett Johansson that I found online. Sam told me at lunch the other day he thought I looked like her. It was a very nice compliment.

  After my makeup, I turned to face the blue jeans. I took a deep breath through my nose. I really wanted to put them on. I reached out my hand and barely grazed the soft denim with tentative fingertips. I closed my eyes and felt the ache in my gut as a memory tried to wedge itself into my mind.

  That’s overthinking, I scolded.

  No, it isn’t, it’s remembering, a tortured voice responded back.

  Last time I wore a pair of jeans, my leg bone had broken, piercing through the fabric. Gleaming white bone had shown through, my blood soaking the denim.

  With that memory, my heart palpitated in my chest. My breathing was labored. And suddenly I was there, transported by my own mind’s magic. It was over, long gone, but it was still all too real and ever present. Dr. Jensen said to think about just one memory and learn to deal with just that one without letting the next one and the next come, pushing themselves into the forefront to overwhelm me. Sam had said something like that too …. What had he said?

  “We find now and hold ourselves in that space until we’re ready to make a new one.”

  I held myself here, in the now, in this space.

  Me, alone, in the seared grass, my leg impossibly numb but throbbing at the same time. The stench of gasoline and smoke and blood a
nd burning rubber, mixing with the night air. Ethereal until I heard …

  Stay right here, Jolie. Truth was, that old moment was gone. It wasn’t real anymore.

  It was real … I was real, his voice seemed to breathe.

  You’re just sitting on the floor in your apartment, Jolie, I reminded myself. Feel the plush, tan fibers pressing against your naked skin.

  As if I were an airplane passenger going down in a crash, I grabbed the jeans and pressed them to my face like an oxygen mask. I pulled in a deep, quivering breath and got a whiff of the department store the jeans came out of. Whatever that new clothes smell is made of wrapped itself around my senses and brought me reeling right back to the present.

  I spoke muffled words. “Jeans don’t make bad things happen. They’re not alive, just cloth someone cut and sewed together. They. Are. Safe.”

  I stood up defiantly and quickly put my legs through and pulled the jeans on. I didn’t button them or move, I simply felt their presence. They fit like a glove, or maybe a glass slipper. A moment later, I fastened them and moved around my apartment, running my hands down along the legs, and remembering how much I liked wearing jeans.

  Peering over at the shirt, I knew it would be too much, so I pulled a black sports bra on over my head instead. I knew I wasn’t going anywhere tonight, as much as I would have liked to. My body was still trembling at the memory.

  Going to the fridge, I took out a bottle of wine and poured myself a glass. Sam had brought it over a couple of days ago. I quickly downed a glass, and then poured another.

  By now, it was already nine o’clock. I thought about texting Sam and telling him I wasn’t going to make it, but he had probably already started his set. Taking my wine, I sat on the couch and allowed that electric feeling of victory to come through me. I opened my briefcase and pulled out my master list.

  Wear the clothes you like. I checked it off. It was cheating a little I knew, I had to actually wear them out, but I deserved a victory dance this evening and this was it. I vowed to myself I’d wear them to Kells tomorrow.