The woman in front of her looked too young for college. “You think you’re getting old when high school students start looking like kids, but you know you’re getting old when college students look like kids.” They were Greg’s words. She remembered them as clearly as if he had just spoken them.
The girl turned, looking at her curiously. “Up those stairs,” she said in a cheery, youthful voice. “Take a left at the first hallway, then follow it all the way to the end. Turn right and go about twenty feet, and then take another right. About three hallways up on the left you turn again. You should see admissions directly in front of you. There’s a bright blue sign just above the door.”
Laura couldn’t be sure she had absorbed the directions, but she didn’t ask the young girl to repeat herself. This is all so embarrassing, and I feel so out of place. “Oh, uh, thank you.” She found herself distracted by the girl’s eyeliner. It was a little too thick on the right eye and smeared on the left. Her skirt was short—a little too short, to Laura’s way of thinking.
“Are you registering a son or a daughter?” the girl asked.
How embarrassing. How totally, completely embarrassing. Of course, Laura couldn’t blame her for making the assumption. If she had a lick of sense, she would turn around and walk out the door. Instead, Laura shook her head. “I, uh, I’m signing up. I mean I’m going to start classes here.” She spoke the words half ashamed, half proud.
“Really?” A sudden look of interest filled the girl’s dark brown eyes. “Well, I’m happy to hear it. We need more people your age. I’m Kaycie Conner, head of the English Department.”
“What?” Laura tried to decipher this new information, to work it into the equation, but it just didn’t seem to compute. No way.
“I, uh, I’m Laura Chapman. I’m hoping to get my associate’s degree.” Her ability to speak coherently seemed to be slipping away more with each passing moment.
The woman nodded and smiled. “Well, good luck to you. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”
Laura focused on the young woman as she walked away, unable to speak a word. She began to walk in the direction Ms. Conner had pointed, hoping she’d heard correctly. Her heels clicked against the white tile floor, creating a melancholy echo. The sound seemed to scream out, “Look at me,” when she really wanted to disappear into the woodwork. At the end of the hallway, Laura turned and headed up the stairs. Which was it again? Right, left, left, right—or left, right, right, left?
Gratefully, at the top of the stairs, an “Admissions” sign pointed to the left. She followed a trail of clues until she reached the proper office. Finally. The big blue sign. She breathed a sigh of relief, happy to be at her destination. Not that it made much difference. The line went on forever.
Laura took her place at the end of the line, feeling like a wallflower at a junior high school dance. She half-listened, half-ignored a host of young students as they rambled on and on about this professor and that, griping and cursing. Their language proved to be almost as unforgivable as their attitudes. Jessica had been right about one thing: Teenagers were different these days. Crudeness seemed to be the rule of the day.
Off in the corner, a couple stood with their lips locked. Best to ignore them. Laura pulled out her catalog for one last excited look at her possibilities. There would be no room for mistakes. She had to get this right. She thumbed through the book, closing it willfully. Her mind drifted ahead, into the vast unknown. Maybe someday I’ll own my own bookstore. It might be a dream but not an unrealistic one. She would have not only the courage to achieve it but the wherewithal to accomplish it. She would be bold, confident, daring. . .
“Next.”
Laura looked up, shocked to find herself at the front of the line. She gazed into the eyes of a young man, about twenty-one or so. He looked tired and irritable.
“Can I help you, Ma’am?” His curt words startled her. “We’re about to close.”
“Uh, yes. I—”
“Are you here to sign up for classes?” he snapped as he glanced down at his cell phone to check the time.
“Yes, I am. Am I too late?”
“That depends. Have you seen a counselor?”
“Yes,” Laura spoke quickly. “He gave me this.” She pushed a card across the counter and smiled in his direction.
His face softened a little as he read it. “Ah. Working on your degree, huh?”
“Yes.” Laura found herself energized at his sudden interest.
“Don’t sweat it, Sister,” he said. “I’m in the same boat. Most of these kids are.”
“Really?” Not that I’m your sister. And not that I’m a kid.
“Toughest thing is American History, at least for me. Looks like you’re gonna end up with Dougherty. He’s the only one still taking students.” At that, the once-cranky fellow let out a whistle.
“What? What’s wrong with Dougherty?”
“Harsh guy. He makes his students work twice as hard as the others. But you’ll make it. You look pretty tough.”
Tough? She suddenly didn’t feel very tough.
ß
Andrew entered the empty room with a large cardboard box in hand. He always loved this part of the year—setting up his classroom. He looked forward to it with an unashamed vengeance. American history would soon come alive for a new group of students. He would see to it. On the other hand, if it didn’t come alive to them, he would see to a few other things—like a few extra assignments, for example.
With excitement building, he pulled maps from the box. One by one, Andrew secured them to the wall. He ran his fingers across the brightly colored map of North America, tracing the path he had taken from Florida, the place of his birth, to Texas, where he found himself planted. Hot and muggy, it certainly hadn’t proven to be the location of his dreams, but at least he could work in the one field that made him happy. Not everyone could say that.
Andrew backed away from the wall, looking at it carefully, curiously. There seemed to be something missing, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Ah, yes. He groped through the box, searching for his prized copy of the Declaration of Independence that lay inside.
“There you are.” A feeling of patriotic pride swept through him. “Thought you could hide from me, eh?”
He unrolled it carefully, reading as he went along. The edges were frayed and the printing worn, but the words still captivated him, kept him locked in their grip—even after all these years. The founding fathers had worked diligently on the vital document so that he could have freedom, so that he could one day live out the American dream. Just the idea brought a rush of patriotic pride.
“Better get ahold of yourself,” Andrew said, shaking his head. “People might start to think you’ve got a screw loose.”
Ah, let them talk. Folks already thought he was an oddball, anyway—forty-seven and still single. They had their probing speculations, to be sure, though he did his best to ignore them. Why bore them with the details, anyway? His heartbreak fifteen years ago wasn’t any of their business. They didn’t need to know that the only woman he’d ever given his heart to had jilted him.
No, no one at Lone Star College would ever have to know.
ß
Laura left the crowded college bookstore with five minutes to spare. Her arms were loaded with textbooks in varying shapes, sizes, and colors. They had to be carried out to the car—which was parked over a half mile away in the farthest parking lot. The momentous stack of books blocked her vision, and her arms ached already.
Laura turned the corner and ran headlong into a tall man with sandy-colored hair. Her books tumbled to the tile floor with a crash, scattering about in every conceivable direction. Her purse flew from her arm, hitting him squarely in the belly. He doubled over.
“I’m–I’m so sorry!” Laura said, dropping to her knees. I won’t look into his eyes. I can’t. This is so embarrassing. “Really, I just wasn’t looking where I was going.” Her heart beat loudly in
her ears. She found herself eyeball-to-eyeball with a man, a nice-looking man, and her heart lurched.
“No problem.” He reached down to help her pick the books up. “But that purse of yours packs a pretty heavy punch.”
Laura groaned. “I’m sorry. I really am.”
“You might want to invest in a backpack before classes start next week,” he said with a grin. “That’s what most of the students carry. You are a student, aren’t you?”
Laura looked up at him, grateful for the acknowledgment. “Yes, I am.” Frankly, she was so relieved to see someone her own age, she hardly knew what to say. Hopefully, he’s a student too. His curly hair was a little unkempt, but not unforgivably so. Their eyes met in an embarrassed glance. The gentleman placed her American History book on top of the pile, looking at her intently.
“Are you taking American History?”
Why is he staring at me? Laura wondered, fighting to balance the stack of books.
“Yes, I just signed up, but I’m not looking forward to it.” She shuddered, remembering what the young man at registration had said.
“Why is that?” The stranger reached to catch the history book as it slid from her grip again.
“Oh,” she said, clutching it tighter. “It’s not the class. It’s the professor.”
“Really?” He looked at her curiously. “Who do you have?”
“Dougherty. I hear he’s tough. Really tough.”
“Tough, huh?”
“Yeah,” she said with a sigh. “Hope I’m up for it. What about you?”
“Me?” he said with a look of chagrin. “Me? I’m late for a meeting. Have a nice day.” He turned abruptly and walked in the opposite direction.
three
Laura buzzed around the kitchen in happy anticipation. Once the registration process drew to its logical conclusion, she finally enjoyed a good night’s sleep. The world suddenly seemed a much brighter place. I’m going to make it. She took a sip from her cup of coffee, glancing out the kitchen window. The yard needed mowing, but even that didn’t deter her this morning.
Kent, ambled in, still looking groggy. “Morning, Mom. What’s for breakfast?”
“I signed up for classes yesterday,” Laura responded. It wasn’t exactly “bacon and eggs,” or “good morning,” but it seemed to be the only thing that would come out of her mouth. She didn’t even try to disguise her zeal.
“Yeah, Jessica told me,” he replied with a shrug. “She’s pretty bummed.”
Immediately, Laura felt her expression shift from a smile to a frown. Jessica must really be upset if she took the time to talk to her brother about it. She rarely talked to Kent about anything.
“It’s cool, Mom,” Kent pulled open a loaf of bread. “You do what you have to do. Don’t let her get to you. I know I never do.”
“I won’t.” Laura said the words but didn’t really know if she meant them—at least not yet. Truth was, Jessica did get to her. She always got to her.
“When do your classes start?” Kent reached to stick two pieces of bread in the toaster.
“Next Monday.” Laura took another sip of her hot coffee, deep in thought.
“Doesn’t seem fair.” He turned to her, frustration etched on his face. “We’ve already been in school a week.”
“I know. But I’m sure you’ll have an easier time than I will.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” Jessica said as she entered the room. “What classes did you sign up for, anyway?” She sat at the table and reached for the nearly empty box of cereal.
Ah. So you’re speaking to me, eh? Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. “I’m taking Algebra, English, and a fitness class,” Laura said. “Oh, and I managed to sign up for American History. That’s the one I’m worried about.”
“American History?” Jess looked concerned.
“What’s wrong, Honey?”
“Nothing. At least not yet.” There was an undeniable edge to Jessica’s voice. “Who’s your professor?”
“Dougherty.” Laura groaned inwardly, remembering what she’d heard about him.
Jess turned white. “Not the one-fifteen class.”
“That’s the one,” Laura said. “Why?”
“I already told you, remember? I told you I had an American History class at one-fifteen.”
“But you said your professor’s name was Miller—or something like that. It’s not like I planned this. In fact, I was very careful to avoid this situation.”
“When I went to sign up, Miller’s class was full,” Jess explained. “And I got stuck with Dougherty. Trust me, he’s the last one on the planet I ever wanted.”
“What’s wrong with him?” Laura asked, more than a little curious. “Surely he can’t be as bad as everyone makes him out to be.”
“He works his students to death, and I’ve already got too many other classes to worry about. But I had made up my mind to get through it somehow. If I had known. . .”
“Neither of us could have known,” Laura argued. “I guess it just couldn’t be helped. He was the only professor still taking students at that time.”
“I know, I know. But can’t you take history at another hour?”
“No, I really can’t.” Laura couldn’t possibly adjust her schedule. Everything had been carefully arranged. She needed to be at work by three in the afternoon.
“Mother, you don’t understand. I have to take an American History class. It’s required.”
“And you don’t seem to understand. I have to take it just like you do. I’m working on my degree too.”
Jessica turned and left the room, shaking her head all the way.
ß
Andrew sat at the small, round breakfast table, swallowing a fried egg and two pieces of bacon. His morning routine hadn’t changed in decades. He wiped the edges of his mouth, feeling the draw of the computer. I’ve probably got just enough time to check my E-mail before heading up to the college. Andrew hoped to find something special today—a letter from a colleague with important news.
He placed his plate in the dishwasher, realizing it would be several more meals before he had enough dishes in there to actually warrant turning the dumb thing on. Sooner or later, the plate would get washed. Living alone had its benefits. Anything beat a sink full of dirty dishes and toys lining the stairs. That would be awful. Probably.
Using an antibacterial spray, Andrew wiped down the counter meticulously—not just once but twice. He couldn’t be too careful. With school starting in a few days, there would be enough germs to battle in the classroom.
He made his way into the small cubbyhole he called an office and opened his laptop. Barely three months old, it flew on with great speed. Andrew enjoyed investing in the latest technology. He had to keep up with the times, especially today. What else did he have to spend his money on, anyway? It’s not like I have a wife and kids to support.
“Snap out of it,” he said aloud, shaking his head. He didn’t need a reminder about marriage, at least not yet. He sat in silence as the computer booted up, then raced to sign on-line. Today’s the day.
He scrolled through the pieces of E-mail, mostly junk. No letter. He sat back in the chair, feeling the rejection in-tensely. Hadn’t Joe said he would write back today with news of. . .
Aw, what difference did it make anyway? No woman on the planet would be interested in him, blind date or otherwise. Andrew snapped the computer off, not even bothering to shut it down in the usual fashion. He stared at the black monitor, deep in thought.
Karen. He thought about her every day. She was the first thing to cross his mind in the morning, and the last thing he reflected on at night. His Karen.
Just out of graduate school, Andrew had met Professor Karen Norris at a dinner for incoming staff. Of course, that had been light-years ago, in a completely different state. But he had noticed her the minute she walked in the room—dark hair, slim figure, deep brown eyes. Perfect in every way. Karen.
Well, almost every way. Th
ey had connected on more than an intellectual level. He fell head over heels for her, and she had for him—at least, that’s the way it looked and felt at the time. Their years together escalated into plans for matrimony, a state he had grown to desire. They planned, plotted, and strategized. The future looked like a field of endless possibilities.
And then. . .
Andrew pushed himself up from the chair. I won’t play this game today. Thousands of times I’ve thought about her, and where has it gotten me?
No. Today the whole world lay at his feet.
ß
Laura threw a load of clothes into the washer and tossed in a cupful of detergent. She missed the mark only slightly—about half of the detergent landed on the washer and the other half in it. “What are you doing?” Scolding herself, she swept her hand across the gritty stuff, brushing it into the machine. She slammed the lid shut, turned the button on, and leaned back against the washer to think.
Lord, this isn’t working out like I need it to. Show me what to do, Father. Her mind couldn’t seem to release the earlier conversation with Jessica. Going back to school might be impossible. Doing so would humiliate her daughter. That much had been made painfully clear.
The hum of the washer coursed her thoughts along. She had already invested so much money into the venture. She couldn’t possibly stop payment on the checks she had written. That would be impractical, and she would end up feeling foolish about the whole thing.
Laura turned to look at the kitchen table, piled high with textbooks. She sighed deeply, making her way over to them. She had really looked forward to the fitness class, and the English class too. Algebra would be a challenge, but her determination could see her through that, even if it meant spending extra hours in the math lab. But American History—that presented a completely different problem, one she couldn’t seem to find an answer to. Laura ran her fingers over the cover of the American History textbook. A picture of the Liberty Bell adorned the front of the book, pealing out the message of freedom, liberty, and failure.
Was this really all that divided her from Jessica—a crazy American History book? Irritated, Laura tossed it on the floor.
Texas Weddings (Books One and Two): A Class of Her Own & A Chorus of One Page 2
