“Whoa, Luce,” Jen grabs my elbow to stop me from face planting. “You look awful.”
“You look pretty shitty yourself,” I mumble, wiping the palms of my hands on the grass in front of me.
“Yeah, but I’ve been drinking water—you need to hydrate.” By now my Dad has made it to my side, and he’s looking worried. He grabs my hand, and I realize it’s shaking.
“Lucy, do you think you can finish?” He’s bent down to wipe the dirt off my knees, and I feel like I’m about six years old.
“I’m fine, Dad. I just need a bottle of water and a few more peanuts.” To prove my point, I take a big swig of Dasani and walk briskly to the pier. Well, as briskly as I can with bloody feet and a head that’s spinning like a top. Will’s organizing lifejackets and paddles when I sneak up on him from behind.
“Hey, sexy boy,” I call as I grab my water shoes from the pile of supplies laid out on a big blue towel. He turns and gives me a breathtaking smile. Well, at least it takes my breath away, and that’s all that matters.
“Hey, precious.”
I wrinkle my nose in thought. “You know, that one might just be the winner. It sounds like something you’d call an aging Siamese cat. Or like the street name for heroin—Mama needs her precious…”
“Aww, come on, now. My Aunt Julia used to call me precious,” he says, feigning hurt.
“Sorry. I’m pretty sure it’s what the serial killer calls the girl before he chops her up and buries her under his grandmother’s rose garden.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah, well, it’s creepy.”
‘Okay, so you’re saying I win the pet name contest?” He looks almost wistful, and I’m feeling a little shaky myself. I love our game.
“I’m afraid so,” I say, my voice thin with fatigue. “Does this mean no more silly nicknames?”
“I think just plain Lucy is the most beautiful name I’ve ever heard.”
Well. Okay, then.
“Hey, Joanie Loves Chachi, we’ve got a race to finish here.” I can tell Jen is in no mood for our level of adorable—her face is twisted in pain, and she’s limping in her water shoes. Will leans forward and tugs the back of my ponytail, but that’s the extent of our physical contact as we move our kayaks into the water.
The first ten minutes in the lake are delightful. I’m just so damn glad not to be using my legs, and my arms are strong and fresh. The sun hits my back and I feel better than I have since I got that message from Dr. Richards (once again, I have to ask—who sends a job offer in an email?). I’m couched between Will and Jen, and our brisk but relaxed pace makes me happy. We are so far behind that most of the other groups are already enjoying a celebratory beer at the finish line, but I can’t find the energy to care.
After about half an hour, though, the exhaustion begins to kick in, and my arms are screaming in agony. Jen has fallen behind, and Will and I stop for a minute to let her catch up. Once she arrives, it’s time for me to resume paddling, but my arms feel like they are made of lead. God, can’t this be over?
“God, can’t this be over?” I wail, to no one in particular.
“I want to die,” answers Jen.
“C’mon, we’re almost there,” Will calls back to us.
“Shut up!” Jen and I yell simultaneously. I swear, I do love him, but he needs to stop being so damn cheerful or I’m going to crack him over the head with something sharp and heavy. We’ve gone about another ten minutes when Jen accidentally drops her paddle in the water. She cradles her head in her hands in frustration, as Will does a U-turn and gets her back on track.
“You guys go on without me,” she pants. I see the tears of pain and exhaustion in her eyes, and I immediately realize that this is more than just random complaining.
“C’mon Jen, just take a few minutes, you’ll be fine,” I urge. I’m not being entirely selfless here—I can use a break, too.
“No, a few minutes won’t do it. I can’t finish. Y’all go on without me, and I’ll call Dax and have him pick me up over there by the public docks.” She’s crying, and it’s making me want to cry, too.
“We’re not going anywhere without you,” Will says with certainty. I nod in agreement, then realize I’ve let my paddle slip out of my kayak as well. “Oh, shit, my paddle’s gone, too. Maybe we should just quit.” I’m closer to tears than I care to admit. I’m just so, so tired.
“You two are not quitting, dammit,” Will growls, as he swings around to prevent my paddle from floating towards the shoreline.
“We can quit if we want to, Fisher.” Jen’s face is still in her hands, so her voice is muffled, but I can hear the anger edging up on her. I give Will a helpless look, and see that his mouth is set in a straight, hard line.
He slides his kayak over until he’s right next to Jen. “You aren’t quitting because you know you can do this, and because Lucy and I can’t do it without you.” He raises his head and looks over Jen’s hunched back at me. “And you aren’t quitting because this was your damn idea. You are both going to finish. I don’t care how long it takes. I don’t care if we’re here until midnight. So take a breather, and drink some water, and get it together.” He paddles off a few feet, then turns. “And quit dropping your fucking paddles, I’m not chasing another one.”
Jen and I sit in silence for a moment. Will’s a few yards away, checking his iPhone, giving us a moment to compose ourselves.
“Who the hell died and left him a pair of balls?” Jen finally mutters.
“Shut up. He’s right. Stop being a girl and get yourself together. We can’t do this without you. We won’t.”
“Why not? Do you both have some innate need to see me broken and suffering?”
“No, you idiot—we love you. We won’t do this without you, because it won’t be any good if you’re not part of it.” I’m yelling now, because she’s so damn hard and it just gets frustrating sometimes.
“Fine, you guys love me now, but after you get together and live happily ever after, I’ll just be the third wheel that y’all feed and water like a stray dog. All I’ll have is Dax and his stupid friends.”
I can’t believe she’s saying this. It’s so unlike Jen to show any kind of feelings or vulnerability. And how could she think we would ever dump her?
“Jenny, you don’t really believe that, do you?” She doesn’t answer me. “Do you?”
“I don’t know,” she wails. “I just worry. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.”
“And you’re the best friend I’ve ever had. Nothing is going to change that.” I reach out and splash her with my paddle. She splashes me back, harder, because she always has to be the best. And I let her.
***
By the time we cross the finish line, I’m seriously thinking I’m going to puke. I’ve never felt so tired, sick, and disoriented in my life. My Dad rushes to me with a huge towel and a water bottle, and even Dax takes Jen’s kayak and tells her to sit on his jacket and rest. I seek out Will, who’s pulling my kayak and his into the grass, and he gives me a tired smile. I try to smile back, but my stomach has its own ideas, and instead I lean over and vomit in the grass. It’s just a bunch of water, but it’s still gross.
My Dad pats my back timidly, then wraps me in the big towel and leads me to the back seat of his car. Dax has already gathered Jen in his arms and carried her to his truck, and I can see her feet sticking out of the window. I try to yell out to her, but my voice is suddenly useless.
“Jen’s going home, love. You can speak to her tomorrow. Why don’t I take you back to the house and you can have a nice long bath. Then you can sleep in your old bed, and I’ll bring you tea and toast when you’re feeling up to eating, eh?” Tea and toast is my Dad’s remedy for everything, from a broken heart to a broken bone, and right now is sounds so wonderful I almost begin to sob.
My Dad leaves to get the rest of my supplies from where they’ve been abandoned at the finish line, and I feel a text message beep through my phone on my right hip.
I pull it out and see it’s from Paul: How did you do?
We just finished. How about you? I fumble with my thumbs, which feel swollen and numb.
Pulled a hamstring in the run, had to quit. Not my best day.
I know this shouldn’t please me, but I’ll admit it, it does. I’m too pleased to even type back some fake, sympathetic message, so I just drop the phone in the cup holder beside me and lean my head against the seat rest. I must doze for a second, because the jolt of the engine turning startles me awake.
“Are we leaving? Where’s Will?” I mutter weakly. I don’t know why, but it seems important that I talk to him before I leave.
“I’m right here.” His voice is close and gravelly, because he’s leaning in the window of my door. The sun is setting behind him, and I can only see his silhouette from my vantage point in the backseat of the old family Volvo. He reaches in and rubs my shoulder gently. “You did it, Luce. I’m so proud of you.”
I’m feeling weepy again, and I want to tell him that I never could have done it alone, that he and Jen are my heroes, that I got a job offer from LSU and I don’t know what to do about it, but I just nod, and lean my forehead against his arm. He kisses my brow, but before he can move any closer, I choke out “Don’t! I just threw up.” He moves back a few inches and shakes my hand, which makes me smile.
“Are you okay to drive?” I imagine him going home alone, to his empty house, and I don’t like it.
“Of course—but I think I’ll jog home.”
“You do that, smartass.” I mumble as he grips my shoulders and leans me slowly back into my seat, then reaches over and buckles me up like I’m a toddler. I’d tell him to stop if he wasn’t so friggin’ cute. My eyes are already slamming shut as he whispers “Goodnight, Luce,” and brushes my filthy, matted hair behind my ear.
***
After a hot bath, several hours of sleep, and yes, tea and toast, I’m beginning to feel normal again. My neck feels strong enough to hold up my head, and my feet, while still throbbing, are a bit better. I’m propped on my Dad’s couch, watching some Kardashian show on E! and eating Malteasers. (I keep telling my Dad that they make the same candy in America--Whoppers--but he insists they aren’t as good, and picks them up at the British market when he stops to get his PG Tips and Jaffa Cakes).
“Darling, do you want some more tea?” Dad calls from the kitchen. I’m floating in tea as it is, and I’m in too much pain to walk to the bathroom, so I pass. It’s strange to be hovered over—I haven’t enjoyed this kind of parental attention since I had my tonsils out in sixth grade—but I’ve been shamelessly soaking it up.
“Would you like a blanket for your feet?” Dad asks as he comes into the living room.
“No, Dad, God, sit down. I’m this close to feeling bad.”
“Just taking care of my girl.” He plants a kiss on the top of my head as he walks past to his man chair, a massive brown recliner he’s had since I was in kindergarten. “So are you going to tell me what’s on your mind? Because I know you, and if you’re conscious, you’re talking. Why so quiet?”
“I’m just exhausted, Dad.” My eye roll is half-hearted, and he goes in for the kill.
“If you don’t want to tell me, that’s okay. I know it’s hard for you, without Mum around to listen to your troubles.”
Oh, jeez—guilt much, Dad? I sigh deeply, because clearly we’re going there. “I don’t have any troubles, Dad. The opposite, in fact. I was offered that job at LSU.”
“Really? That’s fantastic, sweetheart. And you thought you’d blown it.”
“I did blow it. I have no idea why they want to hire me. But it’s a great program, and the job market is terrible right now. I can’t afford to turn a solid offer down.”
“So what’s the problem?” Instead of answering, I look at my lap, because I think he knows what the problem is. “I’ll go out on a limb and says it’s Will?” When I nod, he gives a little chuckle. I don’t see what’s so damn funny. “Sweetheart, certainly you two can work something out. People mix relationships and careers all the time.”
“Dad, it’s different in academics.” My voice is dangerously close to a whine, so I try to rein it in. “I can’t get a job at Southeast Texas—universities never hire their own graduates. It’s kind of considered professional cannibalism.”
“Well, if you two get serious, perhaps Will can get a job at LSU?”
“Doubtful. They’ve got a full slate of legislative specialists, they don’t need any more. Plus, he just got tenure here—he couldn’t leave, even if he wanted to.” I pause for a second, then add “And we are serious. I mean, I am.” My voice breaks—damn, I shouldn’t be talking about this when I’m so worn down.
“I know you are, honey. And Will is, too. I can see it .” He gives me a little wink, and I stuff another Malteaser in my mouth. I’m not sure I can eat my way out of this predicament, but by God, I’m going to try.
Chapter Fifteen
Monday morning arrives and I’m still sore and queasy from the race. As tempting as it sounds to call in sick, my first class has an exam scheduled, so I limp into the building and straight to the lecture hall. My arms are so sore, I can barely raise them to write the exam questions on the whiteboard. Once the students are busily scribbling away in their blue books, I slump in the chair at the front of the room and try my best to keep my eyes open. Sleeping in my old bed wasn’t as relaxing as anticipated, since my ancient twin mattress has more lumps than my upper thighs, and the bedspread is too short for my legs.
“Dr. Wagner?” Oh shit—had I nodded off?
“Yeah, Todd, what is it?” I sound cranky, even to myself, so I add a smile to even things out.
“I’m not sure what you’re asking in question number two.”
“The one about neoliberal economic policy?”
He nods his head, his brown eyes wide and blank. When did these students start getting so much younger than me?
“Well, Todd, the book this test covers is called ‘The Rise of Neoliberal Economic Policies in Britain, France, Germany, and the United States’, so I’m not really sure what you’re confused about.”
“Well, I didn’t really understand the book.” He has the decency to look embarrassed.
“And I’m thinking the time to talk to me about that was during my office hours last week, not in the middle of the test today.” God—how did some of these kids even get into college? And when did I become so old and cynical?
“Right. Okay,” he murmurs, and heads back to his table. I feel momentarily shitty for not giving him at least a hint, but holy crap, we’ve been talking about this in class for the last two weeks. The rest of the period passes without incident, as I’m sure I’ve scared the hell out of the other students.
Fifteen minutes before class is over, there are three students left in the room—two writing furiously, and poor Todd, staring off into space, presumably waiting for some kind of divine intervention. Out of the corner of my eye I see Jen and Will standing in front of the waist-high window on the classroom door. They each have Chinese take-out boxes from Frosted Lucky Chans, and are eating with gusto, exaggerated bites and eye rolls designed to make my mouth water with jealousy. It’s working.
“Ten minutes, guys,” I call into the cavernous classroom. Okay, so they really have fifteen minutes, but they need to hurry up. I glance at the door again to find Jen’s arm entwined in Will’s, while they devour spicy pork like a bride and groom feeding each other their first piece of cake. I turn my back on my students and give them my middle finger, but they just laugh and continue their feast. I refuse to give them the satisfaction of breaking a smile.
Once my two over-achievers and poor Todd finally leave, I wander over to the office and find that virtually everyone in the department, from professor to student worker, is stuffed in Phyllis’ office. Ooh, something good must have happened.
“What’s going on?” I wander in and squeeze myself between Will and Barbara, the undergraduate adviso
r, reaching for the bowl of candy at the edge of Phyllis’ desk. I’m starving, but my arm’s not quite long enough. Will reaches over and grabs four fun-size Milky Way bars, shoves them in my hand, and leans to murmur in my ear.
“Some kid accused Brickman of sexual harassment.”
“What?” I’m having trouble wrapping my head around Brickman and a sexual harassment claim, because (a) Brickman might be the most asexual human being on the planet, and (b) Brickman is a forty-something woman with no kids, never married.
“Was it a guy or a girl?” Okay, so it’s not my most PC moment, but come on, she’s a forty-something woman with no kids, never married—don’t tell me your mind wouldn’t go there.
“Dunno. Phyllis is being pretty tight-lipped about the whole thing.” He grabs a Milky Way out of my hand, peels off the wrapper, and pops it in his mouth. “We should probably mind our own business.” But he makes no move to leave.
“Oh, screw that. Where’s Jen?”
“In class. We brought you Lucky Chan’s—it’s in the fridge.”
“God, thank you, I’m starving,” I moan as we back out of the office and head towards the kitchenette. “You can get to Phyllis later, right?”
Phyllis loves Will. I mean, absolutely hero-worships him. She’s old enough to be his mother, but there’s a bit of a cougar glint in her eyes whenever he’s around. Will uses this to his advantage, and is the recipient of all kinds of special perks because of it—the best classrooms, the newest computer, the fastest reimbursements after trips. He also gets some primo gossip, when he’s in the mood for it. And he’d better damn well be in the mood for it, because this is the best story we’ve had in the department since one of the TAs quit to do a summer stint on MTV’s The Real World-Cancun.
Lucy Wagner Gets In Shape (A Romantic Comedy) Page 11
