by Nicole Young
“Cereal is next to the icebox. And you already know where the bowls are.” Her cloth never missed a motion. I got busy with my breakfast, unable to shake the feeling that evil hate-beams radiated from the direction of the oven. Through the crunching of all-natural granola, I could hear Ms. Rigg’s cloth making meaningful swoops across the surface, first quiet, then faster and louder as the cotton caught the ring around a burner and banged at it over and over, as if determined to make the metal pay for my sins.
I forced down the last swallow. Without a word, I rinsed my bowl and squirted it with dish soap.
“Leave that for me,” the drill sergeant commanded. Her cloth screeched to a halt.
My hands froze in place.
“I’m the only one who’ll be doing the dishes around this house.” Alexa Rigg’s face torqued into an angry scowl. “Can’t say what you hope to gain at Cliffhouse. But whatever it is, you’ll not be gaining it at my expense.”
At the threat in her voice, I backed away from the sink, scrounged up a paper towel to dry my hands, and hightailed it out of enemy territory, abandoning the thought of a cup of coffee.
I found Denton in the dining room, swigging down his last drop of caffeine. He stood as I entered. His white hair was combed neatly to one side. He must have popped in contacts. And his shirt, tie, and slacks actually matched.
“What’s going on?” I asked, unnerved by his transformation from Mr. Dweeb to Mr. Ooh La La.
He looked at his wristwatch. “Time to go.”
I ran to keep up with him as he swooped to the portico and started the rental car.
I slid into the passenger seat, nursing a tender bicep under day-old bandages. He turned the car around and headed down the driveway. At the bottom of the hill, he stopped for traffic.
“Do you smell that?” Denton wrinkled up his nose and took a few whiffs. “Is that you?”
“Pardon me?” I didn’t like the new, debonair Denton. At least Dweeby Denton had manners.
“I’m sorry, but it smells like body odor in here.”
Blood rushed to my face. I hadn’t taken a shower since yesterday before dawn and hadn’t had a change of clothes in three days. On top of it, my overworked bandage carried a salty aroma this morning. But come on, I couldn’t reek that bad. I subtly aimed my nose toward my armpit. Oof.
I cleared my throat. “It’s not as if I have a change of clothes or the stuff to take a shower, you know. I don’t have two nickels to rub together yet.”
“And when do you plan to have those two nickels? A week from now when I couldn’t even ride in the same car with you?”
He pulled onto the main road.
My jaw dropped. “How rude. Stop the car. I’m getting out.”
He kept driving.
We neared a three-way stop. Straight ahead, the road followed the cliff’s edge along the coast. The fork to the right led up a hill toward civilization. One phone call from the McDonald’s we’d passed on the way in last night and I could escape this isolated promontory. I grabbed my emergency escape handle.
His voice softened. “That was not meant as an affront. I feel that if a person needs help, she should ask for it. You probably don’t even realize you are behaving like Ms. Rigg.”
I stiffened, surprised at his observation. Ms. Rigg was the last person I wanted to pattern my life after. I blew out a breath. “Where are we going, anyway?” When the professor had knocked on my door this morning, I’d assumed he’d be taking me to the restoration project Brad had mentioned. Now, I eyed Denton’s dress clothes, wondering why I hadn’t questioned him earlier.
“I am going to teach. You are going to meet with the Dean of Admissions at Del Gloria College. Summer classes have already started, but I’ve arranged a late enrollment.”
My mouth gaped. “Me enroll in college? Are you crazy?” My last attempt at a bachelor’s degree ended when I’d been thrown in the slammer. With the recent drama in my life, I wasn’t sure I was ready to take another stab at it.
“Tish-isn’t that what Brad called you?” Denton asked.
I bristled to hear him use my nickname. He hadn’t earned that right. I nodded my acknowledgment.
“Then, Tish, let me put things in simple terms. You don’t have a choice.” He punctuated each word.
Waves of rebellion swept through me at his attempted coup. Apparently, with my current situation, Denton figured he owned me.
My teeth clamped in defiance. With no options coming to mind, I’d have to make the best of things until I could get out of Dodge. Anyway, what could it hurt to take a few classes? Hadn’t I always wanted to finish college?
I gave a sigh of reluctance. “Fine,” I said, crossing my arms. “I’ll go.”
3
Denton nodded his approval. “Wise choice.”
The car accelerated.
I glared his way. “You said I didn’t have a choice.”
“Then see what a good decision you made? Now you don’t have to be angry with me for making you do something you didn’t want to do.”
My jaw wiggled back and forth. With a course of action set, I thought ahead to my admissions meeting. “I take it I should clean up a little before my interview.”
“Another good decision.”
I flicked a wrist toward my stale clothing. “I don’t have anything to wear. And I’m going to need a shower.”
He looked over at me as if waiting for something, then went back to driving.
I studied his profile as we drove past homes converted into law firms and dentist offices. Without his chunky glasses, Denton was actually quite handsome. He’d trimmed his moustache to a slim white line. A few errant curls above his ears added a dash of mystery. His shoulders were pulled back in proud posture, completely opposite the slouchy sag he’d carried on the drive from Minnesota. If the guy hadn’t been in his sixties, I’d have sworn I was attracted to him.
“I suggest you take a shower and change your clothes if that’s what you need to do,” he finally answered, taking a left past the McDonald’s at the Welcome to Del Gloria sign.
The road widened into a highway, and a minute later we left the town behind and drove along a flat, open stretch. At a road marked Del Gloria International AI-PORT, the doc turned right.
I twiddled my thumbs. “If there’s an airport nearby, how come we drove all the way from Minnesota?”
“Two reasons. First, you had no identification. Only false documents would have allowed us to fly without giving away the whereabouts of Patricia Louise Amble.”
That made sense. “And second?” I asked.
“Second, it gave me time to analyze you and design your course of study.” He pulled into the rent-a-car lot and stopped the car. “So what have you decided?”
I fidgeted under his stare. “Decided about what?”
“About how you’re going to obtain the shower and change of clothing you mentioned.”
Oh, the humility of it all. I swallowed my pride. “I guess I was hoping you’d help me out with that for today. I have no money. No checkbook. And you cut up my debit card.”
“For your own safety.” He gave me an inquiring look. “So exactly what do you need?”
I grunted in frustration. “Money. For clothes and things.” I wasn’t about to give him a shopping list that included personal items.
“Do you remember what I told you that first night at the hotel?”
I nodded.
“Just ask and anything you need will be provided. Anything at all,” he said.
The rent-a-car attendant stood outside, writing on a clipboard as he waited for us to get out of the vehicle.
I blinked back tears and cleared my throat. A muscle in the side of my face twitched. Then my chin launched into a stubborn quiver. Right under Denton’s probing gaze, I felt my whole face collapse into a wrinkled ball. My gasping sobs filled the car. Tears landed in puddles on my jeans.
How had my life come to this? Thirty-three years old and I was begging for my
bread. Me, the woman who’d broken free of that pit I’d called home in Walled Lake. It hadn’t been easy, but I’d done it through my own hard work. And later, after sinking into the mire those three years behind bars, I’d grabbed myself by the bootstraps, given them a mighty yank, and gotten back on my feet. Then I’d saved and slaved and bought my first home to renovate. And today I had stocks in my name. Bonds about to mature. Certificates of Deposit ready to be cashed.
I sniffled and raised my head. I wasn’t desperate and destitute. I was just temporarily barred from accessing my funds. This layman’s witness protection program might be humbling, but I could survive it. It wasn’t what I’d expected, but Brad meant the best when he’d set me up with Denton.
Brad. The name gave my already-raw heart another twist. He’d rescued me from the clutches of a scam artist in Rawlings and saved me from death at the hands of slimeball drug dealers in Port Silvan. He’d been eight hours away from making me his official bride-to-be when- The sound of a gunshot cracked through my mind. A stab of pain gripped my arm. The momentary burst of memory launched a migraine across my forehead.
Candice LeJeune’s face swirled red before my eyes. She’d ruined everything. My life had been coming together for the first time. Then she’d lured me into her illegal activities. All the thanks I’d gotten was a bullet in the arm. I rubbed my bandage, trying to wrangle up the details of that crazy morning. In the end, all that mattered was I’d done what Brad had told me to do: get to Del Gloria and Denton Braddock.
Now, sitting under the disapproving glare of Sir Grump-a-lot, I wish I’d argued with Brad a little more. I wiped my cheeks with the back of my hand.
“Feel better?” Denton asked. He said it without condemnation. The softened response came as a surprise, and I let my guard down. “Yeah. I guess I needed that.”
“It was overdue.” He unfolded a tissue from his pocket and passed it to me.
“Thanks.” I dried my tears. I’d held myself together pretty good over the past several days, despite the events in Michigan. Today, it felt good to have a moment of relief.
We exited the rental car, Denton signed the clipboard, and we headed toward the parking lot.
“Thank you,” the attendant said with a cheery wave, as if the extra ten minutes I’d needed to pull myself together were no big deal.
Denton jangled a set of keys. “I’ll have you drop me at the college. Then you can take my car to do your shopping and go back to the house to get ready. Your appointment is at two o’clock at Walters Hall.”
Walters. The same as Brad’s last name. It seemed I couldn’t avoid reminders of him today.
Denton pressed the security button on his key chain. A bleep sounded to the left. He walked to the passenger side door of a sleek, black Jaguar and threw me the keys.
I stared at the vehicle. “Your real car is a Jag?”
“Surprised?” he asked, getting in.
I settled myself in the soft leather behind the steering wheel. It smelled as good as Brad’s hunky SUV, which was probably sitting in a Minnesota body shop.
I glanced at the distinguished-looking man beside me. “Today nothing surprises me. Yesterday, I would have been shocked.”
“Oh, you mean because of your mistaken first impressions?” I listened to the purr of the engine before putting the car in reverse. “Exactly. What was that all about anyway?”
“It was necessary in order to ascertain your level of spiritual growth. At Del Gloria College, we want to know if a prospective student takes the world at face value, or if they look deeper, past the exterior, to discover a person’s core. Now that I’ve observed your behavior, I can assign you to the appropriate classes.”
I pulled to the end of the row. My arm only hurt a little. “Excuse me? You had to act like a dweeb so you could tell where I’m at spiritually? You could have just asked.”
“Words mean nothing. Only actions.”
I’d been tolerant of his whole geek show all the way to California. Of course I’d passed his simple test.
He pointed. “Get back on the main road and take it to the other end of town.”
I pressed on the gas. A tumbleweed, blown loose from the open field, cut across the road in front of me. “So you’re not the Nutty Professor, you’re really some richer-than-thou instructor at a Christian college. And I should have been open-minded enough to guess the truth.” I gave a disgruntled humph. “If it’s all about actions, then I fail to see how I’m supposed to feel good about living under your roof the next few months.”
“That’s too optimistic,” he said. “You’ll be here longer than a few months. Much longer.”
The flat expanse turned into a residential zone as we crossed town. Then the route became tunnel-like as we passed beneath a canopy of trees. Birds fluttered from branch to branch seeking cover from the hot sun.
“You know,” I said to Denton, “Brad is going to tie up the loose ends of that whole drug-deal thing and then contact me to come home. I’ll be here six months at the most.”
He sighed deep and heavy, as if the entire matter were beyond my understanding and he didn’t have time to explain. “It’s a complex situation. You’ll have to be patient.”
I heaved a sigh of my own. Seven days since my world fell apart. It had only been seven days. I tapped my foot on the gas pedal, surging past the foreign landscape. I did some math as I pulled onto College Boulevard. The median burst with the stunning pink blooms of some exotic bush, the perfect color for bridesmaids’ dresses. I pictured the delicate shade on Brad’s sister Samantha and wrinkled my nose. She’d look like a swirl of cotton candy.
I swung my mind back around to my calculations. About a hundred eighty more days before I could be with Brad again. Then I’d be back in Port Silvan and I’d finish the renovations on my log cabin in the woods. And somehow Brad and I would find a way to be together. Only a hundred eighty more days.
I already suffered being away this long. My lungs couldn’t seem to fill with air. My stomach churned more than usual, leaving an acid trail in my throat. And an ache hovered at the front of my neck, as if I might launch into another round of tears at any moment. Somehow being near Brad put my body, mind, and spirit in proper alignment. As long as I was with him, I was feeling no pain. “Turn right,” Denton said.
The Jag responded to my one-armed commands as I angled around a corner toward a low glass building at the end of a circle drive. I pulled up to the curb.
“Here.” Denton opened his wallet and counted out a thousand in crisp hundreds. He held the stack toward me.
I gasped and put up a palm to stop him. “Oh my. That’s overkill. One of those should be enough.”
“Get what you need today so you don’t have to think about it anymore. You’ll be glad you did.”
I studied his face for hidden meaning. He seemed sincere, but something screamed “Warning, warning!” Really, what kind of person carried a thousand dollars’ cash in his wallet on a daily basis?
He nudged the bills into my hand.
The kind of guy that owned a Jaguar, I supposed.
“Thank you.” My voice was barely a whisper.
“You’re welcome. I’ll meet you after your interview, there,” he pointed across campus to a domed building that could pass for a state capitol, “at Walters Hall.” He got out of the car. “Oh,” he added, “driving without a license is illegal in all fifty states. So don’t get pulled over until we can get your new identity set up.”
The door slammed shut with the discreet hush of a luxury vehicle.
I stayed for a moment and watched my guardian ogre enter the building, disappearing behind silver glass that reflected a black Jaguar parked at the curb out front.
My fingers rubbed at the stack of hundred-dollar bills. A thousand bucks, a luxury car for the day-life wasn’t so bad. The woman in the reflection smiled at me, waving the money in her hand.
I put the car in gear and drove toward town, caught up in the thrill of the hunt.
4
A sign pointed the way to Business District. I turned up a hillside blooming with early summer splendor. At the top of the rise, the road ran straight. A gap between the farthest buildings showcased the blue Pacific. I drove down the three-block stretch and checked out the shop selection. From the timeworn building fronts, I got the overall impression that Del Gloria was a hardworking town, one without the time, money, or inclination to cater to snooty tourists. I patted the wad of money in my jeans pocket. That attitude would bode well for my hardly earned dollars.
I spotted what I was looking for and slammed on the brakes. I eased the Jag into a slanted parking space in front of the Del Gloria Thrift-Mart. For a moment, I felt at home in this strange land. Even on California’s rocky coast, folks had a yen for secondhand clothing.
The door dinged as I entered. To one side, a circular rack of women’s tops were marked 75 percent off. I headed toward it like a paint splotch to a new pair of jeans.
After thirty minutes of scrutinizing stains, checking sizes, and tracking down a variety of work-wear, I proceeded to the register.
The cashier rang up my items.
I pulled out a hundred-dollar bill and waited for change. She counted it into my hand with barely a glance at my face. It was nice to be in a college town. The steady influx of strangers gave me the anonymity necessary to pull off this crazy safe-house scheme.
A moment later, I was on the sidewalk headed for the department store. Inside, I picked out my interpretation of interview clothes: a deep blue jacket over a white blouse topping a pinstriped knee-length skirt and navy Mary Janes with a spunky heel. Completely conservative. And so not me. But neither was impressing people with my clothing. I brought the ensemble up front, loaded up the counter with socks, undies, and a few modest bras, and pulled out my bills to pay.
The clerk tallied and bagged my items, then I scooted out the door.
One block down was the drugstore, where I splurged on an assortment of cosmetics, personal care items, and fresh bandages. I even bought a hair dryer and curling iron.
