by Claire Adams
I felt awkward, my arm brushing intimately against Clarity's as her father spoke to me. "I needed a fresh start."
Patrick eyed our arms as Clarity, who was chatting with Alice, slipped her hand into mine. She wasn't watching her father's face as closely as I was. My heart stopped.
The former dean burst out laughing. "Ford, if this whole thing has taught me one thing, it's to trust my daughter. I'm glad she's met her match and that she's already making you a better man."
"I'll shake hands on that," I said.
The interim dean of students moved past us and out into the hallway. Patrick was nice enough to offer him a smile and a nod.
"Was it strange to be at Honor Council and not presiding?" Clarity asked her father.
"Yes, of course, but satisfying. It was really great to see that the system I fought to get put in place actually works. Mighty nice of you to try it out, Ford, though I'm sure we didn't all really need to know your dirty laundry."
"I'm sorry I wasn't able to get your job back," I said. "Our article outlined how Tailor intended to coerce you, and Alice was able to prove to the judge how you were set up, but the president of the college was firm."
Patrick waved a hand at all our concerned expressions. "How am I supposed to stand in the same room as the Honor Council and not own up to my mistakes? I accepted the gifts from Tailor, I decided to make use of his influence, and I paid for it. I'm just glad that I was the only one."
Jackson shook his head. "No, I think the students are paying for it. They miss you. Now that they know how to organize themselves and create a coherent message of change, I'm sure they'd be willing to mount a campaign for your return."
"Don't you like my replacement?" Patrick asked. "Poor man, he certainly got thrown in at the deep end. I thought he did pretty well today, though, didn't you?"
I chuckled. "Landsman College could still use your guidance. The students respect you even more now they know you are human and not infallible. You can't tell me you don't want to be back on campus."
"Just like you?" Patrick asked.
I frowned. "I think it's obvious that from the start I was not cut out for academia. I'll just have to find my way doing something else."
"I like to imagine you're going to become some sort of scandal vigilante. You'll show up and expose the truth and then move on to the next den of iniquity," Jackson said.
"Please excuse him," Alice interrupted, "he's been reading too many short stories from his fantasy fiction class."
"Maybe I could consult with the students too," I said. "I have a few ideas about how to get you back into your old job."
"The only ideas I want from you are recipes for Christmas dinner. I figure our little table had quite a stretch since Thanksgiving. We should all get together and celebrate the rest of the holidays," Patrick said.
"I'm in," Clarity said, "as long as Ford is helping cook and clean."
"Jackson can help too." Alice volunteered. "And I know a recipe for a great wine spritzer."
"You're all invited," Patrick said. "I can't think of a better way to kick off my retirement."
I scratched my head. "So, you're really going to go through with it?"
"I made my mistakes, and now I have to pay for them. Though, thanks to Alice, I don't have to have them on my permanent record. I can retire with my dignity intact."
"Thank god, because I used to think you might die in your desk chair," Clarity joked.
"Nope, see? I've even got a whole new wardrobe. No more suit or sweater vests for me. It's exciting, and I'm sorry to say I don't want to turn away from that at this point in my life," Patrick said.
Clarity grinned. "What he means to say is there's no way he's trading his newfound plans for anything."
Jackson eyeballed Patrick's outfit. "You're taking up golf?" he asked.
"I was thinking boating," I joked.
Patrick laughed. "No, but it turns out I might get a chance to be an artist anyway. My daughter's change of direction inspired me, and I decided to join one of the Landsman Alumni tours."
"Oh, come on, Dad, you're not fooling anyone," Clarity said. "Alice is a matchmaker; I'm sure she can guess what you're doing and why."
Alice grinned. "Let me guess—is there any chance this tour is led by Polly?"
Patrick narrowed his eyes at Alice but could not hide his smile. "Yes, it just so happens the tour and course is taught by Polly, but I have no idea what you think that means."
Jackson clapped him on the shoulder. "Look out, Alice has spoken. Plus, even I saw you looked at Polly the way Ford was looking at Clarity. That was some Thanksgiving party you threw."
"Alright, fine, I'll admit it," Patrick said. "I'm happy to have a chance to do what I love with someone that helps me love art even more."
Clarity laughed at the ruddy color of her father's cheeks. "I hate to say it, but maybe my mother wasn't so crazy all those years ago."
Patrick nodded. "You have to find what you love and chase it. Or, in your case, study it. Or, in Ford's case, admit it."
"What?" I asked. I snapped back to the conversation to realize that everyone was ringed around and staring at me. "I thought I already did all the admitting I had to do today."
"All I'm saying, Ford, is that maybe you should follow my example. Minus the scandal and the forced retirement. Better yet, why don't you follow Clarity's example? She's found what she loves to do, and she's pursuing it."
I looked at Clarity and was arrested by completely different thoughts than her father's meaning. I loved Clarity, and when I thought about what I really wanted to do, lately all that appeared in my head was her next to me in my bed. As much as Clarity might appreciate that for an afternoon or evening or two, she was not going to be impressed with me if I didn't find another passion.
"Wait, you said all I had to do was admit what I love to do,” I said. "Why are you all acting as if you know something that I don't know?"
Alice and Jackson led the way out of the assembly room and down the hallway. We all paused before stepping outside the glass doors. A flurry of snow was skating across the windows, leaving a faint, white dusting across the college lawns. The last of the leaves had finally fallen, and despite a week or two of unseasonable warmth, winter was finally on its way.
I gazed at the bare trees and the blowing snow. Maybe I could hibernate all winter, spend my time with Clarity, and figure out what I wanted to do in the spring. Even imagining it had me itching with cabin fever. I needed something to do—a job, a purpose—and it annoyed me that everyone else could see what it was but me.
I stopped Clarity. "Where do you think I should go from here?" I asked.
She smiled. "How about home to my father's for a glass of wine? It's not Christmas yet, but there's no reason we can't all have dinner together."
"Pizza!" Jackson declared. "I might not be able to defend people in court, but I can throw a good crust."
"We'll pick up the ingredients and meet you there," Alice said.
I caught Clarity's hand as the doors opened. "That's not what I meant," I said.
She looked up at me with a twinkle in her deep green eyes. "What do you want to do? For a job, I mean," she blushed.
"I can't go back to journalism. No one will hire me. Sure, the exposé article did a great job, and it got great attention, but no one is going to hire me without recommendations. And, despite standing up to Barton, he still holds my credit. No one is going to hire someone that has been discredited by Wire Communications."
"So you want to go back to teaching here at Landsman?" Clarity asked.
I grabbed both her hands. "No. Absolutely not. It wasn't the right fit for me in the first place, but I am not going back to a job that puts obstacles between you and me."
"You should talk to the president of the college," Clarity's father added as he zipped up his winter coat.
"It doesn't matter if I declare our relationship or not," I said. "I want to do more, do something myself, instead of teach ot
hers about it."
Patrick chuckled. "A man of action. How did I know my Clarity would choose a man of action? Stop, for just a moment, and listen. You should talk to the president of the college."
"Dad, he just said he's done with academia," Clarity reiterated.
"I don't think of the students as a dusty old discipline," Patrick said. "I've been consulting with the student protestors and advising them on how to approach and change administrations. Along the way, I may have put it in their heads that it is important to have an outlet for their message."
"Especially after the student newspaper's right to free speech was compromised when they took down our article," Clarity added.
"So, we put it in the president's head that Landsman College would benefit from a mirror publication. One intended to be an off-campus, independent newspaper with the sole mission of holding the college accountable," Patrick finished with a big smile. "What do you think about that, Mr. Bauer? Sound too academic for you?"
I rubbed my neck. "It sounds like a great public relations move on the part of the college president. He can appease a lot of students by allowing dissenting views to be heard in a public fashion."
"No," Clarity bumped her hip against mine. "He means what do you think of it for you?"
"For me?" I asked. I shook my head. "I don't think I can work for someone else again. The idea of being censored or forced to write from talking points is too much for me. I'm not going to be someone's outlet for perfectly spun stories that paint the college in just the right light."
"That's the beauty of the whole idea, don't you see?" Patrick asked.
I shook my head again and zipped up my own parka. "What do you think is going to happen the first time the independent newspaper has a story that trashes a long-held administrative privilege?" I asked. "The president will come to visit me personally and see if I, as the most experienced journalist, can make some diplomatic edits to the articles. I can't put up with that anymore. That's not the kind of journalism I want to pursue."
"Aha! So you do still want to pursue journalism. I was right!" Clarity grinned at her father. She pulled on her mittens and put a colorful hand on the door. "I knew we'd come up with something perfect for you."
"We? Who?" I asked. I stood my ground and crossed my arms. "Don't think I'm going to put up with Dunkirks ganging up on me."
Patrick clapped me on the shoulder. "That, you'll have to learn to live with; the other things, though, are what this position was created to fight."
"What position?"
Clarity let go of the door and put her bright mittens on my arms. "I agree that you should never have to compromise your writing again. That's why you are the only person the students requested to head up the off-campus newspaper."
All my tension melted away, leaving me in a muddled state of shock. "Head up?"
"Yes!" Clarity laughed. "I think we proved that neither of us is really cut out for investigative journalism, but you have an eye for a story, and you can advise students to do the real work of it. That's why they want you to be the editor-in-chief."
Chapter Twenty
Clarity
"Are you listening?" I asked Ford. "You have that funny look on your face again. Is it really that bad?"
"What? No. I'm just having trouble concentrating on your writing," he said.
"I know, it's the characters, isn't it? Everyone knows what they want except for them. I'm too far in their heads. The whole plot is just getting gummed up." I tossed the pages down on the coffee table and slumped back.
Ford sat up and retrieved the short story. "You're overreacting. Besides, I wasn't ignoring you—I was just enjoying my new couch."
I rolled my eyes. "Yes, you do keep pointing out how comfortable it is. What if I liked the old one?"
"Sentimental reasons?" Ford asked.
"Yes, that saggy sofa was one of a kind because it was the location of our first time. I just don't think I can date you without it," I quipped.
"And here I thought things were going well," Ford sighed. "Maybe you'll like the new couch more if you finish nit-picking your perfect story here."
I took the pages he handed me and started to read again. Within a few lines, Ford's lips pressed to my neck, and I knew he wasn't listening. I wasn't even listening as the soft yet fiery caress of his lips trailed down to my shoulder.
The pages dropped out of my hand as I turned and met his mouth with my own. Ford's stormy-blue eyes flickered open then burned a deep midnight blue that meant the wave was coming.
We'd been dating for over a year, and spring was just around the corner, but I couldn't help miss the heavy snowfalls that kept us holed up in Ford's apartment most of the winter. Despite all the excitement of my coming graduation, all my mind could focus on was Ford's breath as his lips leisurely teased me.
"I should have finished the story this morning," I murmured against his heated kisses.
"I seem to recall we both got a little distracted," Ford said.
Our lips plunged together at the mentioned memory. Waking up curled against his broad chest made it impossible to get out of bed most mornings. That particular morning, I discovered a ticklish spot just below his waistline, and we had spent a long, delicious time exploring to see if he had any more.
My fingers slipped under the hem of his shirt, but Ford caught my hand. "Oh, no you don't. You made me squirm enough this morning."
"I can't get enough of you," I confessed.
It was a long time before the clock chimed and jolted us both out of our languid passion. "Oh, god, do I have to go to the office?" Ford groaned.
"If I have to go to class, then you have to go to work," I said. "Besides, that office is what got you your splendid new couch."
"Speaking of the couch," Ford hooked an arm around my waist and swung me back against him. "We really should think about breaking it in. I bet it would be more comfortable after that."
I blushed and shook my head. No matter how many times Ford and I made love, he still managed to make me feel shy and nervous with fluttering excitement. "I can't be late for class. You know who my professor is, right?"
Ford let go and flopped back against the couch cushions. "Yeah, who knew that Jackson would be such a rigorous professor? I mean, I certainly had no idea or I wouldn't have ever suggested you take on a creative writing concentration."
I stood up. "I have to make this deadline, or I don't graduate. Now, help me get the characters right."
"No. No way," Ford shook his head. "I'm impressed with how you can handle fiction, but it just isn't for me."
"You figured out the motive behind the science lab thefts. Why can't you help me figure out my hero's motivation?" I asked.
"Probably because I can't even figure out my own," Ford chuckled. "I want you to stay, but I want you to graduate. See? It doesn't make any sense. The world is much better off if I stick to non-fiction."
"See?" I cried. "I should be early to class, not late, because I need Professor Rumsfeld to help me!"
"You really call Jackson that?" Ford asked.
"Yes. Why?"
Ford sat up and caught my hand. "Because I remember you slipping up and calling me by my first name all the time. You don't call him Jackson by accident?"
"He's my professor," I said.
"I was your professor."
I looked down into Ford's midnight eyes and melted. "You were always different, and you knew it. I should have known it the first moment we met, but there were all sorts of rules in the way."
"Not like now," Ford said. He tugged my hand.
I pulled back. "There are still rules, like not missing class just before graduation."
"Fine, just add dedicated to the list," Ford fell back in defeat.
"What list?" I shouldn't have turned around, but he caught my curiosity.
"The list of things I love about you." He smiled up at me. "You're smart, outspoken, talented, and dedicated. What on earth are you doing with me?"
"
Flattery will get you nowhere," I said.
He patted the couch cushion next to him. "There's nowhere I'd rather be than right here."
I gave in to the gravitational pull of him. The look of delighted shock when I slipped over his lap was worth being late to class. Ford caught me in a searing kiss, and we rolled onto the couch. It still surprised me how every time his hands swept across my body, I felt the current flow between us, just like the first time.
Except this time was different. Ford slowed then leaned back and looked deep into my eyes. There was nothing between us now, no past worries or current scandals, no rules, and no hesitations.
"I love you, Clarity," he said.
And I returned the sentiment with every fiber of my body and soul.
We'd made hot, passionate love, but I never said the words. Standing in line at the coffee shop later that morning, it was all I could think about.
Why didn't I tell Ford that I loved him?
Even though I held my short story covered with Professor Rumsfeld's comments, all I could do was think about Ford. He loved me, and I heard him say the words over and over again in my head. Why on earth had I not said them back?
I will tonight. As soon as I see him, I promised myself.
The coffee shop was packed, and the caffeinated buzz was the perfect distraction. As the line moved slowly, I started to consider Professor Rumsfeld's questions and comments. Ford was horrified at how much red ink Jackson used on my stories, but I loved it. It was hard to explain to Ford the mixture of excitement and dread I felt. I loved the challenge, but was plagued by doubts.
"I don't get it," Ford had said earlier, "your writing is just about perfect to me."
Ford was biased, and now I knew exactly why. He loved me.
"Standing in line, smiling to yourself. And I thought I was the one with the good news," Lexi said.
I grabbed my friend in a tight hug then shrieked when I saw Jasmine was with her too. "I feel like I haven't seen either of you in forever," I said.
"Not a surprise since you don't spend much time on campus anymore," Jasmine said. "Must be nice to have a boyfriend with an apartment and a car."
