Impressions of You (The Impressions Series Book 1)

by Christopher Harlan

  “But,” she continues, “thanks to the kindness of a small, privately run organization called the Elizabeth Foundation,” she motions behind her right shoulder, “a deal has been reached whereby they will make up any budget deficit that we have for the following five school years. We’re staying open!” As soon as she says the word “open” the entire auditorium erupts in a cacophony of woo-hoo’s, and clapping so loud it’s deafening. It goes on for what seems like two whole minutes, and Dr. Fisher tears up at the sight. “Everyone,” she interrupts when the clapping doesn’t stop, “trust me, no one is as excited about this news as I am, but we do have a guest speaker and we have to give him his time to speak.” It still takes another thirty seconds after that announcement, but the clapping eventually dies down to a hush and Dr. Fisher motions to the side of the stage where the guest speaker is waiting.

  “Now, ladies and gentleman, the president and CEO of the Elizabeth Foundation, Mr. Wesley Marsden!”

  What!

  My head snaps to the side of the auditorium stage, and from the side emerges the very well-dressed Wesley, waving at the crowd and smiling like he was about to accept the Academy Award for Best Leading Man in a Drama. What the hell is going on? I know what I’m seeing but my brain can’t seem to process it. Why the hell is my Wesley standing up on the stage in front of a big screen? He’s the mysterious philanthropist donor Dr. Fisher was talking about? This can’t be right. “Hi, everyone, how are you all?” he asks the crowd. Before he can even segue to the next part of his speech I hear a woman behind me scream, “Better, now that you’re here.” It takes all my energy to not turn around and slap a bitch. I get it though. I don’t know if anyone recognizes him from the lunch date where he visited and dropped me off in the parking lot, but I know that some of the women have to. There’s no other way—the man’s humungous and absolutely breathtaking, especially in a full suit standing on a stage. He screams of sex and confidence, speaking in his baritone voice while effortlessly strutting across the stage.

  He looks so comfortable that it’s almost weird for me. “I hope you’re all as well as I am,” he says, either not hearing or not acknowledging the horny bitch’s remarks behind me. Good boy, Wesley, good boy. “But then again, we’re not here to talk about me, are we, we’re here to talk about this wonderful school that you all give your blood, sweat and more than a few tears to.”

  His command of the stage is so impressive, and his presence so captivating that I forget how confused I am for a moment. Wesley’s like that; you can get caught up in the combination of his voice and his visual, almost forgetting whatever it is that he’s saying. But I’m genuinely confused. I spent the evening with him yesterday, and he knew the whole time? Of course, he knew, Mia, he’s the donor. Why wouldn’t he have said anything to me, and how much money has he pledged, my God! There are a lot of expenses in the five years to come; running a private school was many things, but cheap certainly wasn’t one of them. I can’t believe that he’s done this. And I can’t believe how fucking hot he looks on stage in a suit, working the room like a rock star. I want to run up there and kiss him so badly.

  “As Dr. Fisher said, my name is Wesley Marsden, and after I took over my father’s business several years ago, one of the first things that I did was to form what would become the Elizabeth Foundation.” Why hadn’t I heard of any of this before? I didn’t know whether to be happy or offended that he had kept yet another piece of information from me, but who could be angry at what he was doing? I decided to just listen like everyone else, only I could imagine him naked underneath his designer suit.

  “Although I’ve always been a lifelong admirer and donor to special needs causes, I had a very specific, personal reason for starting this particular organization.” I already know the reason, but it’s surreal to see Dr. Fisher click the PowerPoint slide to reveal a giant picture of Annabelle, filling the room with her beautiful smile on the screen for everyone to see. I can hear all of the aww’s coming in a hush around my head, and all I can do is stare at that amazing girl who’s been through so much. “Everyone, this is my sister, Annabelle Elizabeth Marsden, and she’s the reason this organization exists.” Annabelle Elizabeth. I had no idea.

  “She was born with Down’s syndrome, and ever since I was old enough to understand the particulars of the condition, I’ve dreamed of having the ability to contribute to organizations that seek to improve the lives of people like my sister. Your school is most certainly one of those places.” I can see people around me start to tear up, not only at Wesley’s generosity and Annabelle’s story, but also at the recognition they’re collectively receiving. This is a thankless job that most people don’t understand, and having someone as important as Wesley Marsden recognize our hard work is something very special for everyone here.

  “Though it may seem like it, this money isn’t charity. This money represents my personal recognition of everyone’s sacrifices and contributions to the lives of the children who are fortunate enough to go to school here. Each and every one of you in here makes their days better, and you do so without asking for praise, or money, or even acknowledgement in most cases. But I want it to be very clear that I acknowledge what you do, and that you all have my undying respect and admiration. The honor of being here is entirely mine, and I’m happy to pledge my foundation’s money and resources to your school, and I hope that it’s a relationship that will last a very long time. Thank you.” The applause that fills the room when he puts down the microphone is literally deafening. My ears are ringing and I have so many questions to ask him later, but right now I’m as moved by Wesley’s speech as everyone, even though I have context that no one else does.

  It’s surreal to see him up there; overcoming his anxiety, supporting what I know to be a great organization, showing recognition and support for a group of people who rarely get recognized for their achievements, it’s all almost too much to take in. But as the rest of the room stands and applauds, I can’t help but stare and smile at him, hoping that maybe his eyes will meet mine, and we’ll have a moment that we’ll never forget. Before that can happen though, he waves a final good-bye and walks off stage, handing Dr. Fisher back the mic for the rest of the meeting.

  I’m supposed to stay, and I really should stay just like everyone else, but all my body will allow me to do is to literally jump out of my seat and chase Wesley into the hallway. I exit out the back of the auditorium to more than a few stares as to why I’m running with a panicked look on my face, but I ignore them and keep going, hoping to catch up with him before he leaves the building. When I get into the hallway I shoot my head back and forth in each direction of the corridor, my neck straining like I’m watching the finals at Wimbledon. Nothing. There’s no Wesley to be found. I choose a direction and run, hoping that I’ve guessed correctly. When I get to the end of the hall I still don’t see him, and I assume that I chose the wrong direction to run. Oh well, I’ll see him later on, it’s not like he’s a stranger.

  I decide that there’s no going back to the meeting. I don’t mean to be irresponsible, and I usually am the last one out of the building on most days, but I can’t sit around here any longer. I don’t think I’ll be missed today; I’m the last thing on anyone’s mind, and that’s the way it should be. We can all breathe easier now since Wesley Marsden is keeping our school open with his generosity. I walk to my room and pack up my stuff to take home for the day when I get a text.

  Wesley: Are you familiar with the work of Dr. Edmond Locard?

  Mia: Why, hello, Captain Random—and did you forget to tell me something yesterday?

  Wesley: I’ll tell you about it later—and yeah I wanted it to be a surprise. Wanted to shock, actually. Did it work?

  Mia: Hell yeah it worked, where are you?

  Wesley: I’m on my way back home already, I have a few things to do then I was hoping to see you later on. If that’s okay with you?

  Mia: It’s okay with me. My place? Like 8?

  Wesley: It’s a d
ate. And I meant everything I said today, to you most of all. I hope you know that.

  Mia: I love you.

  Wesley: I love you too. See you at 8.

  I can’t wait to get answers to all the many questions I have later on. How did this whole thing start? Locard who? Was that one of Annabelle’s doctors? I scroll back and see the name and it seems about as random as everything else Wesley does, but I know it’s not. I’m about to Google it on my phone when I get a text from Dacia.

  Dacia: Fuck men, I’m fuckin’ done, I’m gonna join a convent or something. Call me, I need to vent.

  Oh, Dacia, never a dull moment with you, is there? Forget the Google search, I can ask Wesley later on when I see him. Right now I need to listen to my friend complain to me while I drive home. What a weird day it’s been, and it’s only four o’clock.

  EIGHT O’CLOCK CAN’T come fast enough.

  Wesley—excuse me, Wes, texted me a few minutes ago (still not used to the name change), telling me that he would be about ten minutes late, and being that I’m incapable of just relaxing and enjoying free time I decide to do what I do: overanalyze the situation, but in a positive way. I start thinking about Wesley in general, and how my life has changed so much in such a short time just from him coming into it, almost by accident.

  By all accounts he comes from a pretty messed up family background, but he still managed to make the most of everything he was given and become this great guy. More than a great guy—I had met a few guys here and there that I would have classified as nice guys, but Wesley isn’t just nice or just generous—he’s complicated; he’s challenging. He’s a guy who had to work on himself to be everything that I needed him to be, and that meant more than anything else to me.

  It’s not in his nature to sit with friends and be entertaining, or to make speeches in front of a room full of people, or even to reveal so much of his past. He had to push himself past his demons and work through his own anxiety issues to make our relationship work, he did all that. In his spare time he also managed to save my school and all the kids who needed it. He is an amazing man, and I realized two things while I sat on my couch waiting for him to come get me. I realized that not only did I love him more than anyone I had ever met before, but that I was more loved by him than any man had loved me.

  I bought a bottle of pinot this time—I feel like staying in tonight. Wesley gets here exactly ten minutes late, and he’s holding a huge, colorful arrangement of my favorite flowers, Gerber daisies. I mentioned once that my dad used to get them for my mom, my sister and I every Valentine’s Day, and that getting them every February was one of my fondest memories. Clearly Wesley remembered. I take them from him and give him a huge kiss. He looks great, but that’s hardly news. “So, tell me all about Dacia’s guy,” he says. I texted him earlier before I left for work that Dacia was in some guy turmoil and needed my attention.

  “Nothing she hasn’t dealt with before, trust me, she’ll be okay.”

  “Oh good, she seems too nice to be with all the losers you keep telling me about.”

  “You think she’s nice?” I ask.

  “Yeah, very,” he says. “Why, isn’t she?”

  “Maybe you can go out with her then,” I joke. “She needs a good guy for once.”

  “Well, obviously I’m gonna go out with her, I thought that went without saying.”

  “Too far, my friend, too far.”

  “Oh, don’t be so sensitive. If I can’t joke around about dating your best friend then I’m just not sure this whole relationship is going to work out.”

  “You’re right, you’d like her, too, she’s a freak in the bedroom. Like stuff you’ve only seen in porn clips.”

  “What makes you think I watch porn clips?”

  “Because all guys do. Just a natural law of the universe, like gravity. The only variation is the degree of freak.”

  “And what degree do you expect that I am? Like one being missionary, and ten being things that are still criminal in some states.”

  “A solid eight. Maybe even a nine, I need a little longer to find out.”

  “But we’ve already been together, a few times.”

  “Takes time. We haven’t shown each other everything yet. It’s weird to just go full freak with someone the first few times. Lord knows I haven’t shown you half of anything yet.”

  “Wait, what?” He looks like a kid on Christmas, big eyes and all. If this conversation was a cartoon his tongue would be rolling on the floor. I wink at him. “Well, Mia, that’s about the best news I’ve heard in days.”

  “Second best,” I say, alluding to what happened today, which we still need to talk about.

  “Why, what else happened? Something going on I need to know about?”

  “Funny. So, seriously, what-in-the-fuck?”

  “Well if I had told you outright it wouldn’t have been fun for me to see the look on your face when I walked out. And I did see, by the way.”

  “So how long has all this been going on behind the scenes without me knowing?” I ask, trying very hard to not sound suspicious or insecure, but I am curious how much scheming has been going on.

  “Not very long. Much faster than these sort of things usually come together, actually. Usually organizations contact me looking for support or media attention, but in this one case I reached out first.”

  “You mean you contacted Dr. Fisher?”

  “Yes.”

  “When?”

  “The morning after you told me that the school was in financial trouble. I found your director’s contact information and had someone put me in contact with her directly.”

  “And what did you tell her? That you were bored one day and decided to look for a school to give money to?”

  “That’s not quite how it works,” he says smiling. “As it turns out your director, Dr. Fisher, has been looking for donors for some time. These financial disasters are never sudden, and she’s been actively seeking out help for a while. She’s left a pretty impressive trail of business cards, emails, and social media messaging, so I worked up a little white lie and said that I had heard from a friend of mine who runs another non-profit organization, and then I reached out and offered help.”

  “And she believed it?”

  “Oh yeah,” he explains. “She definitely believed it. But in my experience, when you call up an organization that’s desperate for help and offer them a small fortune in aid, they rarely question much else after that.”

  “I see. So this whole time you knew the school wasn’t going to be in danger?”

  “Knew it? I made sure of it. There’s no way I was going to stand by and let that place close down, it’s too important to both you and your students.”

  “I still can’t believe this is happening,” I tell him. “Any of it.” It’s true, this all seems like a dream to me. And not just the money for the school, but all of it: our serendipitous encounter, learning about one another, filling in the gaps in each other’s lives, all of it. “Things like this don’t happen to people like me.”

  “But they have,” he says, “and it’s me who’s living a dream, Mia. Only me.” I lean in and kiss him. He smells amazing, and I know that we’re in for a great night.

  “Wait a second,” I say pulling away from his lips momentarily. “What was that text before? The first one you sent me?” I almost forgot, but I didn’t have the time to look it up.

  “Oh, yeah. Locard, you mean, right?” I nod. “Have you ever heard of Locard’s Exchange Principle?”

  “Is that something you need to be a genius to know? ’Cause you know my brain isn’t as big as yours, Mr. Gifted.” I’ve developed a deep love of fucking with Wesley about his intelligence, I know it irks him a little but he’s a good sport about it.

  “No, smart-ass, just your basic undergrad education will do.”

  “Oh, okay, I’m good then. But I’m still not familiar. I forgot most things I learned in college that weren’t related to special ed, anyhow. So, tel
l me. Do I need to take notes or anything; I can go to the drug store and get a marble notebook first.”

  “No, just your ears will be fine.”

  “All good then. Go on, professor Marsden.”

  “I like when you call me that,” he jokes. “Let’s keep that going later on—I’ll wear my tie and nothing else—maybe a pair of glasses, too.” I smile picturing it—I think he’s more of a freak than he’s letting on.

  “So who’s this Locard guy I should know all about?”

  “It’s funny what you learn in the craziness of trying to solve a crime. I picked up on all sorts of theories and techniques and stuff that probably makes me more qualified as an actual detective. But one of the most basic theories in forensics is called the Locard Exchange Principle.”

  “Wait, hold on, my pen is out of ink, go back for a second,” I joke.

  “Smart-ass. Anyhow, Locard was this French forensic scientist who said that whenever two people come into contact, no matter how briefly, they leave an impression on one another; that they exchange something by coming into contact with one another, even if it’s something as small as a few particles that couldn’t be seen with the naked eye.”

  “Okay,” I say, not sure exactly where this science lesson is headed. “But I’m confused, what does that have to do with me?”

  “That’s the thing, Mia, as I was pledging my foundation’s money to your school, I was thinking of everything else we’ve been through in such a short time, and I actually thought of Locard; that’s just how my mind works.”

  “Okay”

  “I was thinking about all of it: the brush of your hair against my face as we lay in bed together, the touch of your fingers caressing my chest, the sensations that I feel when your body is pressed against mine—it all leaves impressions of you on me; indelible markings on my soul that have changed me forever. I’ll never be the same again.”