Fall Semester

by Stephanie Fournet

  How long will that last now that Dad is in the ground?

  The unwelcome thought gave her a frisson, and she shivered.

  “You cold, honey?” Helene asked, looking down at her.

  Yes. On the inside.

  “No,…just thinking.”

  Helene regarded her with sympathy and nodded.

  “You’ll be okay,” she reassured.

  “I know.” Maren tried on a brave smile, but her friend didn’t stop studying her. Helene looked as if she were debating her next words.

  “So,…did you see him? At the funeral?” Her voice had dropped to a near whisper.

  There was no doubt in her mind that Helene meant Malcolm. Maren allowed herself to look away, fixing her eyes on Lane’s guitar. He had started into Phillip Phillips’ “Home.”

  “Yep.”

  A long moment passed.

  “Did you talk?”

  “No.”

  “He didn’t go to you afterward?” she asked, sounding surprised.

  Maren turned her eyes to Helene again.

  “I think he lost his nerve,” she said. It was true. Just not the whole truth. But Helene could probably read enough in her face to see that Maren likely had not welcomed an encounter.

  Both women pretended to listen to the music for a time.

  “He couldn’t take his eyes off you, you know.”

  Maren said nothing. Of course, she knew.

  “Settle down—

  It’ll all be clear.

  Don’t pay no mind to the demons,

  They fill you with fear…”

  “Look, Maren, I’m the last person to speak well of him, but it’s clear that he’s in love with you.” Helene paused until Maren could not help but fix her eyes on her again. “And I’m willing to bet that you love him, t—

  “He really hurt me, Helene,” she said, dismissing her friend’s words.

  Helene raised her hands in a defensive gesture.

  “Honey, I know that. I do,” she said. “But like I told you yesterday, he had that same haunted look that Jess chased me with—except magnified by a factor of ten. No, a hundred. Like this rift between you was killing him….He told me he loved you…and I didn’t think that prick loved any—”

  “Don’t call him that!”

  Maren clamped her mouth shut when a few heads—including Jess and Rob’s—turned in her direction. This was definitely not the place to be having this conversation. Maren rose from the settee, grabbed Helene’s hand, and headed off the porch into the yard.

  Had she just defended him?

  Yes.

  Wasn’t he, indeed, a prick?

  Yes.

  Did she love him?

  God, yes!

  Once they were a safe distance from the porch, Maren dropped Helene’s hand to find her smirking supremely.

  “Oh, just stop it,” she snapped. “It’s not like that.”

  Helene narrowed her eyes, but the smirk was still there.

  “Not like what? And why not?”

  Maren growled in exasperation.

  “He is what he is, and that’s not going to change,” she said, teeth clenching. “He went behind my back. He told my family things I didn’t want them to know. Things that hurt them. How can I trust him again?”

  “I don’t know, Mare, but he admits that he made a huge mistake and he’s sorry.” Maren found the reasonableness of Helene’s tone irksome.

  “That might not be enough,” she countered. Helene shifted her weight, considering Maren’s words.

  “So, does that mean he’s not really worth the trouble?” she asked, genuinely. “I’m still having a hard time seeing him as anything other than Dr. Vashal, department pr—”

  “Don’t say it!” Maren cut in. She watched Helene struggle to contain a smile.

  “Sorry. What I mean is that I can’t picture him being…lovable. But,…” she paused and shrugged her shoulders. “I didn’t think that the Great Jess Dalton could be lovable, either, so what do I know.”

  It was Maren’s turn to smile. Both women looked back at the porch to the man in question. Jess had certainly turned out to be quite lovable. And devoted. He glanced over to catch them staring at him, and he gave Helene a curious but smoky look. Helene rolled her eyes at Maren, pretending to ignore him, but her face glowed.

  “I’m happy for you,” Maren said. Then she let herself picture him. “And for the record, Malcolm can be very lovable.”

  Helene’s brows rose.

  “Wow. ‘Malcolm’. It’s so weird to hear you call him that,” she said, shaking her head. “But, please, do tell. I mean, I know about the dinners—incredibly sweet, by the way. What else?”

  A memory of that day in the Mac lab leapt to her mind. He had gone there. For her. Just to watch over her.

  “He’s intense. Protective.” Maren folded her arms across her chest to ward of the chill as evening approached. “Too protective, really.”

  Helene didn’t say anything for a moment.

  “Is that why he did what he did? Telling your parents…whatever he told them. Was he trying to protect you?” she asked, already seeming to know the answer.

  “He told them that I was sacrificing my career for them,” she said, bitterly. “And that they shouldn’t allow it. He told them that I’d already done myself enough damage by leaving Denver. Do you know how that must have made my dad feel?”

  She paused to let Helene grasp her outrage. But Helene just studied her.

  “How did it make your dad feel, Maren?” she asked. “What did he say?”

  He’s exactly what you need.

  Forgive him.

  “That he didn’t want me to use him as an excuse not to live my life,” Maren admitted. “But that doesn’t change that fact that Malcolm crossed the line.”

  “No doubt,” Helene acknowledged. “He crossed the line….But what makes you think he’d do it again, given how much damage he’s done this time? Do you really think he’s going to go there a second time?”

  Maren sighed and answered with complete honesty.

  “I don’t know.”

  Helene nodded, slowly, sagely.

  “Last question: You said that he is what he is, and that’s not going to change, right? So, is your life better with or without him in it?”

  Maren started shaking her head, even though the question was like a punch in the gut.

  “That’s not a fair question,” she said, evading.

  Helene was about to press, but Ryan and Kit approached to make their goodbyes. The sun was going down, and it appeared that the little party—the life-saving burst of happiness in the middle of their sadness—was breaking up.

  Through the window to the kitchen, Maren could see that a few neighbors were helping her mother and aunt pack up all the food, but otherwise, the space looked empty. She walked inside with her friends, getting the last of the hugs and promising to get together soon. Even Rob gave her a tentative hug.

  “See ya soon,” he said, gently.

  “Thanks for coming, Rob,” she said, meaning it. The awkwardness between them had almost completely evaporated, and she was relieved.

  Helene closed her in a hug, and Jess stole the opportunity to hug them both, making them laugh and pull back.

  “We’re going to Bisbano’s,” Jess said. “Dennis, Amy, and a few others will be there. Why don’t you join us?”

  Maren scanned the kitchen, watching as the remaining women put the space back in order. Soon, they would leave. Aunt Jackie was going home tomorrow.

  “I don’t know,” she said, shrugging. “Maybe I should hang here tonight.”

  Helene nodded, understanding.

  “If you change your mind, just text, and I’ll come meet you in the parking lot,” she said, dropping her voice to a whisper. “Give my unfair question some thought.”

  Maren rolled her eyes.

  “Honestly, Helene, I don’t see why it matters to you,” she whispered back.

  Helene sh
rugged.

  “I don’t know. I guess it’s the look I see on your face when you think about him,” she said, smiling sagely again. “Definitely unfinished business.”

  Helene tucked herself under Jess’s arm, gave a wave, and left.

  When the last of the lasagna was packed away, the dishwasher running, and the counters wiped, neighbors and friends slipped into the night, leaving only the surviving Gardners, Aunt Jackie, and one Robin Davis, who might have left earlier if Lane had ever let her out of his reach.

  Laurel had made tea, and the six of them sat around the island, adjusting to their new lives moment by moment. Maren sipped her tea and noted that the physical contact between Lane and his girlfriend was definitely not one-sided. She hid her smile in her tea cup at the way Robin ran a soothing hand up and down Lane’s back. His shoulders had gone slack, and he leaned toward her touch like a puppy. It looked comforting.

  Maren felt a pang of longing for Malcolm.

  It’s better that he broke my heart now, instead of later…Right?

  She considered that it would all be well and good—if he had broken her heart without the intention to stick around. By all accounts, Malcolm Vashal now had no desire to walk away.

  Helene’s question came back to her. “Is your life better with or without him in it?”

  Maren found herself cataloguing the memories. His condemned eyes that had drawn her in. His laugh, deep and sensual. She remembered the first time she’d heard it as they had stood together at the David Solomon reading. She had been so aware of him.

  Her mind skipped to the days at the conference. How they had made each other laugh. The way he’d defended her against Jess, protective even then. Maren’s heart spasmed in her chest when she recalled his devotion while she’d had the flu. Looking back, it was clear to see that a kind of love was embodied in every moment, every touch.

  And not long after, she had kissed him. What she had felt for him—what she had felt between them—was pointless to refute. He had tried to deny it then. Why was she trying to deny it now?

  Because I can’t bear to lose anyone else.

  It was a startling thought. Startling for its truth as well as its strength.

  “I’m going up to change out of these clothes,” Maren said, unable to sit still a moment longer. “Mom, would it be okay with you if I joined Helene and the others at Bisbano’s for a little while?”

  Erin nodded and gave an encouraging smile.

  “I think you should. In fact, Laurel and I had a talk,” she said, eyeing Laurel, who nodded her assent. “I think I want to drive the Touareg for a while, and I think that Laurel and I can get along with one car between us for now. Why don’t you take the Jetta home with you until the semester is over?”

  Maren felt her stomach tighten.

  “Mom, I don’t need that. I’ve got my bike,” she said, frowning. “And I was even thinking about staying here for a while with you and Laurel.”

  Erin slowly shook her head.

  “No, I don’t think that’s a good idea. Laurel and I need to figure out what this house feels like with just the two of us,” she said, coming around the island to stand by her oldest daughter. “Maren, we’re so grateful for what you’ve done for us through all of this, but you need to get back to your life. And we need to get back to ours.”

  “This is my life, too, Mom,” Maren said, gesturing to the kitchen, the rest of the family, the grief. Lane and Jackie both wore cautious looks, while Robin had the grace to study her tea cup and feign deafness.

  “Of course, darling, that’s why we think you should take the Jetta,” Erin said. “You can come over every night for dinner if you want to. Or not. Whatever works for you with school….and your personal life.”

  She said the last words with a meaningful glance that had Maren narrowing her eyes. Lane’s mouth quirked into a smile.

  “This is not a discussion, Maren. This is the way it’s going to be,” Erin declared before Maren could protest again.

  “Fine,” Maren said. “I’ll take the car. But you have to promise to call me the minute you need it back.”

  “Done. Now, get upstairs, change, and pack your bags,” Erin teased. “I’m officially kicking you out.”

  “You can’t tell me what to do,” she teased back. “because I’m moving out.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder with mock drama and headed for the stairs.

  Maren could hear Perry’s whimpers and excited scratches before she was halfway up, so she took the stairs two at a time.

  “Perry!” she squealed, opening Lane’s bedroom door. Perry launched himself at her thighs, tail spinning and tongue slapping. His black toenails raked down her legs mercilessly. “Ow! Perry, sit!”

  The little rat terrier struggled to obey, but his glee at finally seeing her was nearly too much, and he quaked in a semi-squat, never quite achieving a full sit. Maren joined him on the floor and pulled him to her lap, allowing him to lick her chin as he convulsed with delight.

  “I know. I know. I missed you, too, love.” She scrubbed his sleek back until she found his favorite spot just behind his left shoulder, and he folded over in her lap, unable to resist the hard-wired impulse to swipe his hind leg through the air to match the scratches she gave. Perry gave a satisfied moan, finally relaxing. Not one to seem overly sentimental, he sneezed twice on his mistress, stood and shook himself off as though he’d just had a bath, and hopped on Lane’s bed, eager for whatever adventure came next.

  Maren stood, brushed the dog hair off her skirt, and grabbed her duffle bag.

  “We are going home, Perry.” The canine cocked his head at the familiar word, but he showed no objection.

  Maren packed up clean and dirty clothes, trading her funeral attire for a pair of jeans, a garnet sweater, and her Converse. She had just zipped up the overstuffed bag when her phone rang. Over the last few days, Maren had made a habit of checking to make sure the caller wasn’t Malcolm before answering, and she was relieved to see Helene’s name and picture across the screen.

  “I’m on my way. I just have to drop Perry at the house first,” she said, by way of answering.

  “Maren…” Helene gasped, sounding breathless. Maren could hear the distinct rush of traffic in the background. Clearly, she was not calling from the pizza parlor.

  “Are you at Bisbano’s, Helene?” she asked.

  “I am, but I came outside,” she said, sounding anxious. “Maren, I have to tell you something.”

  The tone of Helene’s voice alarmed her, setting her heart scampering.

  “What is it? Are you okay?” The edge in her own voice made Perry’s ears perk.

  “Maren, it’s…” Helene whispered into the phone. “It’s Dr. Vashal…Malcolm…He had some kind of accident at the cemetery.”

  Accident. Cemetery.

  “Oh, God.” Her breath left her in a rush. She was going to lose him. Forever. And it would be far worse than any broken heart. Maren turned toward the bathroom; she was going to be sick.

  “It’s a concussion, I think,” Helene said. “He’s at Lourdes…I thought you’d want to know.”

  “What?!?” Maren cried. Had she heard right? “He’s okay?” She swallowed the bile that had climbed up her throat.

  “Apparently. Amy was just repeating what she’d heard in the department office,” Helene explained, sounding incredulous. “It seems that Sheridan is his emergency contact. That shit’s messed up, Maren. Who puts his boss as his emergency contact?”

  I should be his emergency contact.

  “Oh, fuck,” she muttered, cursing herself. “What happened to him?”

  “Amy said he must have tripped or collapsed or something,” Helene ventured. “He hit his head on a gravestone. Evidently, a groundskeeper had to call the ambulance.”

  “Oh, fuck!” Maren wailed. “I’m the worst girlfriend in the world!”

  “So, I take it this means you still care for him,” Helene leveled, dryly.

  “Of course I care for h
im!” she shrieked. “I love him!”

  “Then get your ass over to that hospital and work this shit out,” her friend commanded.

  Two seconds later, Maren was tripping down the stairs with her duffel bag slung across her shoulder and Perry hard at her heels. Erin, Jackie, and Laurel still sat at the island, sipping tea. Lane and Robin had disappeared.

  “Mom! Can Perry stay over?” she asked, flying past them to the kitchen door. “Where are the keys to the car?”

  “Maren, what’s wrong?” her mother asked, looking more confused than concerned.

  “I have to see Malcolm,” she said, spotting the keys on the hook by the kitchen door. “I’ll explain later. Perry, stay!”

  She didn’t wait for any response, but Maren saw her mother’s satisfied smile as she closed the door behind her.

  Night had fallen. She started the car, glancing at the clock on the dash: 6:32. The funeral had ended more than four hours ago. Maren checked her phone before she threw the car into reverse. There were no calls or messages from Malcolm since the night before. He had not tried to reach her from the hospital.

  Had he given up on them? Or was he too bad off to call?

  Both explanations scared her now. She found herself speeding as she turned from Corona onto Mount Vernon. What if he was hurt worse than Helene knew? What if he was still unconscious?

  An image of Malcolm in a coma materialized in her mind’s eye as she crossed Kaliste Saloom. The hopelessness, the powerlessness she’d felt at her father’s bedside came back to her. Maren had told her father a thousand times how much she loved him; she’d thanked him for every day of her life. But she would never know if he’d heard any of it.

  She almost hit the brakes when a memory flooded her mind.

  “What I really want you to do is to keep talking to me…even after I’m gone….If there’s any faith, any order, any love in the universe—and I truly believe there is—then I will be able to hear you, and nothing in this world or the next could keep me from attending to you. I promise you that.”

  “Dad.”

  She turned right onto Starling Lane and immediately pulled over. He was gone. She would never see him again.

  And yet, saying his name aloud felt…powerful. Maren’s hands shook on the steering wheel. She told herself that it had been an emotionally exhausting day. The news of Malcolm’s accident had been too much of a shock. But she closed her eyes and drew a breath anyway.