DISCONNECT (The Bening Files Book 2)

by Rachel Trautmiller

  He wasn't her Agent and she wasn't sure he ever would be. For tonight it didn't matter. “I can't get him to go away. Seems he likes trouble.” She sent Robinson a wink.

  He sat forward, his hands clasped between his legs as he shook his head.

  A warm hug enveloped Amanda. “I love you, sweetheart,” her mom whispered. “And I'm so proud to call your my daughter.”

  The clean scent her mom always wore, wrapped around her and reminded her of happier times. Summer vacations. Long talks and secrets shared. In that moment, it didn't matter that Eileen Nettles hadn't physically given birth to her, this woman was her mother in every way.

  “I love you, too, Mom.” The words came out scratchy.

  The embraced ended and her mother moved toward Robinson and hugged him before he could stand. “Hello, dear.” She straightened and patted his cheek. “You didn't come to see me this week. You must have been busy looking for trouble with my daughter.”

  What? Eric couldn’t stand to be around her mother. So, why had Robinson took time out of his busy schedule to chat?

  The color of Robinson's cheeks deepened, the look on his face that of a child caught eating candy before dinner. “I'm sorry, Mrs. Nettles, work has been busy.”

  “Excuses, Baker Jackson?”

  “No, ma'am.”

  “Good.” She sat on the couch, opposite them. Her dad followed, their hands meeting as if by memory alone. Their fingers intertwined. “I tell this story much better than you, love.”

  The glistening in her dad's eyes and the way he squeezed her mother's hand, made the tightening in Amanda's throat get worse. This type of love didn't happen all the time. What she'd shared with Eric was good—at least in the beginning—but after five years, it should have been so much more.

  “Lead on,” her dad said.

  “You always tell the story as if I had no idea you existed. I noticed you more than you probably realize. For one, Sandra Porterville took that class three times before she passed it.”

  “She was terrible with the subject matter.”

  “That's what she wanted you to think. It's what she wanted everybody to think. You're right. She didn't want to be a doctor. The only way to get what she wanted, was to fail.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Eileen Johnston wrote an outline for the semester on the blackboard, inside her classroom. A degree at Yale didn't come cheap and student teaching helped fulfill her graduate degree requirements, while also affording her some luxuries. Like food.

  Another class filed in. All fresh faces. All, except one. Sandra Porterville was slowly wasting her daddy's money on Anatomy 101. Last semester, Eileen had sat the young woman down and asked what she could do to make the subject easier.

  Clear hazel eyes had stared back, under a heavy dose of makeup. She’d fiddled with some loose fabric on the lecture hall chair, in which she sat. “Have you ever wanted to do something different?”

  “Sure.” Eileen nodded from where she sat on her desk, at the front of the classroom. “Everybody has a dream that's all their own.”

  That gaze pinned her to the spot. “What's yours?”

  Eileen looked around the empty classroom. A clean bill of health was too far out of reach to hope for. “A few years ago, I was pre-med, just like you. I was eight when I knew I wanted to be a doctor.”

  The other woman's nose crinkled. “Why are you teaching, then?”

  Because life wasn't fair and it didn't make sense to get a degree she might not live long enough to use. At least her teaching degree would be completed this year.

  Right now, finishing this semester was all she'd afforded herself. “I love how the human body works. It's fascinating how a single cell becomes two, then four, six, eight. Then a heartbeat and circulatory system. I want others to see how incredible life really is. It's so complex and yet simple.”

  “Yeah.” An eye-roll came from the other woman. “Simple is a word I would definitely use. Give me an easel and paint. I'll show you complex beauty. Let me have Paris and Rome. Michelangelo. Van Gogh. The Sistine Chapel. This.” She pinched the skin on her cheek. “This is skin.”

  “As long as there isn't extensive damage, it repairs itself. That’s why sleep is so important.”

  “Translation: Boring. And everywhere you look.”

  “Why are you here, then?” She hopped down. “Don't get me wrong. I'd love to help you understand this subject and move on to better things, but if your heart isn’t in it...”

  Sandra stood and gathered her belongings. “Thanks for taking the time to talk with me, but I failed last semester and the same thing will happen next time.” Then, hips swinging in a tight dress, she walked out the door.

  Now, that same woman sat in the third row, a bored look already firm on her face. Eileen wondered how she could reach someone who didn't want a helping hand. And why she needed to try. Again.

  A few stragglers shuffled through the door. The clock above it read ten-fifteen. She set the chalk aside and wiped the residue from her hands, as she went to close the door.

  As she turned toward the class, she spotted him. Tall, dark hair, scotch-colored eyes and a cute smile pulling his mouth to the side. He sat a chair behind Sandra Porterville and seemed to be...staring right back at Eileen.

  No. She was mistaken.

  She looked away, her heart lunging into her throat. “Hi, everyone, I'm Eileen Johnston and I'll be your student teacher. Welcome to Anatomy 101.” She dared a glance at the class. Her gaze landed on Mr. Handsome. Those eyes still centered on her. “The class syllabus is on the blackboard.”

  The first fifteen minutes of class, she couldn't have told a soul her name, much less the material she'd taught. Eventually, the course lesson took her mind off of the handsome stranger and into the safer waters of human anatomy.

  At the end of class, everyone left. Some alone and others in groups. Sandra stayed behind, the same frustrated frown on her brow as the two semesters before it. Eileen cleared her scribbling from the blackboard.

  When she turned, she didn't expect to see the smiling stranger still sitting behind Sandra. His chin rested in the palm of one hand, thumb and forefinger in the shape of an L. He stood and grabbed his books, his gaze never leaving the spot Eileen stood. She focused on her lesson planner. The words didn't make sense.

  He probably had a question about something from class and she was making a big deal out of nothing. Except, what they'd gone over was so basic, everyone, but Sandra got it.

  A quick glance told her he hadn't moved. In fact, he wasn't looking at her anymore. He was staring at the drawings Sandra passed off as notes, concern wrinkling his brow. Then, at Sandra.

  Good grief. Eileen let out a puff of breath and picked up her belongings. Time to get back to reality, where guys like him didn't notice skinny girls like her. Not without a lot of skin showing and flashy makeup.

  She rushed from the room. The rest of the semester, she’d focus on the subject matter and less on the classroom occupants.

  Throughout those months, she noticed Sandra Porterville and Walter Nettles—Mr. Handsome—sitting together, sharing intimate looks and smiles. Since the other woman seemed to need a distraction and her grades weren't half bad this semester, Eileen counted it as a blessing.

  Then one day, Sandra was absent from class. The next, Walter. Then they weren't sitting together any longer. Eileen saw it all the time. There would be more coupling and break ups. This was college. This was life.

  At the end of the semester, Eileen spent her last free Friday, for the foreseeable future, grading final papers.

  It kept her mind off of other things. Like her impending surgery, scheduled for Monday morning.

  Thankfully, Sandra's paper gave her the passing grade she needed, while Walter's was so far above a 101 course, he should have been teaching the class alongside Eileen.

  He'd taken the basic composition of the human body and painted a picture with words. It was poetic. Beautiful, even. So, she read
it again, her own passion for the human body and its internal organs, gaining speed.

  “Hi.” The male voice made her jump out of her seat, in the empty classroom. Her red pen went flying. The man standing in the doorway did nothing to slow her racing heart. Scotch-colored eyes crinkled at the corners as a grin finished off the perfect picture of handsome.

  “Didn't mean to scare you.” He picked up the pen. Then he pointed toward the items on her desk with it. “Looks like a fun night.”

  Their fingers touched as she grabbed it from him. A shock blasted up her arm and made her shake. “It's my favorite thing to do on a Friday.” She tucked her hands out of sight. “I actually just got to yours, Walter.”

  “And?” He stepped a bit closer, slow, as if she were a rodent who might bolt.

  “Mediocre.” She didn't know where that came from. That word shouldn't be attached anywhere near this exquisite understanding and writing skill.

  The smile never left his face. He tilted his head. “How so?”

  Trapped in a lie, oh joy. She'd never been good at flirting. “Don't you have something better to do?”

  One step closer had him in eyesight of the paper she'd previously written comments on. Including the fifty out of fifty grade. Her heart threatened to jump out of her chest.

  “If that's mediocre, I want to know what stellar is, Eileen.” The way he said the words, reminded her of a pianist playing as if no one were present.

  “What are you doing here anyway?”

  “I, ah, wanted to see if you'd have coffee with me sometime.”

  Butterflies took flight in her stomach. She didn't have time for this. “No.”

  His smile fell. “How about dinner then?”

  She picked up her supplies. “Aren't you and Sandra Porterville dating?”

  “We broke up a couple of weeks ago.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she's looking for something I can't give her. She's running away from her daddy's money, yet stuck under it. I am not the right escape hatch.”

  Straightforward, but discreet. How many people had that quality? She should say no. Move on. Toward the life of solitude before her. Chemo was an ugly beast she intended to fight alone.

  Maybe she could have one memory to help pull her through. If she made it.

  “Okay. Meet me at Dixie's for a drink, in an hour.”

  “Really?” Skepticism dripped from the words.

  “Yeah, really, Walter. We need to discuss this awful paper.”

  ***

  When Eileen walked inside the establishment, fifty-three minutes later, she noted Walter had arrived ahead of her. His tall frame was clothed in a black button up shirt and khakis.

  Then and there, she was thankful for the use of her roommate's wardrobe. And yet, cursing herself for the need to curl her dark hair and slip into the black, flowing dress. Her roommate urged her to have a night of fun and leave depressing news at home.

  “You came.” He stood as she slipped into the chair across from him. “I thought maybe you were just trying to get rid of me.”

  She rubbed sweaty palms on the fabric of her dress as he sat. “That would be cruel.”

  He shifted his napkin and spun it in a circle. “Can I be honest?”

  She tugged at the hem of her dress. She should have worn something else. “S-sure.”

  “I signed up for another class with you, next semester.”

  “Why? Your scores suggest you have knowledge beyond a 102 course. Your term paper was—”

  “Mediocre.”

  “No.” She looked at her still shaking hands. “It was inspiring. You don't need Anatomy 102.”

  “I didn't need 101, either. I needed another credit to graduate, but your teaching method is so unique.” The words lit up his face, a giant smile plastered there like the Bethlehem star. “Like a book that leaves me hanging from chapter to chapter, I have to find out what's next.”

  If her doctors were correct, she wouldn't be there to teach for a whole semester or more, but he didn't need to know that.

  A waitress took their drink order and returned with two glasses of red wine.

  “What's your major?” She asked.

  “Law.”

  She ducked her head, hoping to hide a grin. “That explains the smooth talking.”

  “I didn't say anything that wasn't true.”

  “So, you’ll be a rare breed in a world full of wolves?”

  The sound of his warm laugh rushed over her skin, like heat blasting into her room during the winter months.

  “That’s the plan.”

  She sipped her wine, enjoying the bold favors on her tongue. Would it be the last time she tasted anything like it? The surgery was Monday, just in time for mid-term break. If she died on the operating table, this would be her last adventure.

  “Have you ever seen the stars from the south lawn?”

  “No.”

  “Want to?”

  His gaze never left hers. “Right now?”

  “Yeah.”

  As if she'd grown another head, he stared at her. “It's freezing out.”

  “That's the best part.”

  He hesitated and, for a moment, she thought he might decline. A sad loss, for sure.

  “I'd love to.”

  Twenty minutes later, they sat on a blanket on top of a pile of snow. He’d grabbed a basketful of crackers, cheese and a thermos of hot cocoa. She'd changed into pants and they both had on warm jackets, mittens and hats.

  “Okay, the rules to star-gazing on the south lawn are simple.”

  “Don't freeze to death?” He pulled his jacket closer and blew into his gloved hands.

  She laughed and passed him some cocoa. “You southern boys have thin blood.”

  “We just like to live where it's warm.” He sipped the rich substance. “And it’s not like I’ve never seen snow, living in the south. It gets cold. Just not like this.”

  Eileen laughed. “Mm-hmm, fifty degrees sounds rough. Drink up. Now, rules.”

  “You were a goody-two-shoes as a kid, I bet.” He removed a glove and popped a piece of cracker with some cheese, into his mouth. That hand quickly dived back inside the warmth of his mitten.

  She pasted, what she hoped was a reprimanding look, on her face. “I'm a teacher. It's goes with the territory.”

  He smiled, crinkling those gorgeous eyes at the corners, again. “Okay, teacher, lady. Hit me.”

  A good sport. A-plus already. “Rapid fire questions. One per turn. Simple answer as possible.”

  “Why do I feel like this is a test?”

  She rested on her back, arms beneath her head. “Maybe it is, maybe it isn't.”

  He groaned as he lay back on the blanket. “I'm going to fail, I just know it.”

  “Have some faith, Walt.” The shape of Orion caught her eye. “I'll go first. Why law?”

  “In my family—”

  She rolled over and placed a hand on his lips. “Simple answer. You're not convincing a jury here, just a girl a little short on time.”

  Those lips smiled against her fingertips. As if a fire had seeped from him to her, warm tingles spread up her arm. She moved her hand away.

  “Family tradition. And I found I'm pretty decent at it. My turn. Did you always want to teach?”

  “No. I wanted to practice medicine.”

  Now, it was his turn to roll toward her. He propped himself on an elbow. They were face to face, so close, his breath mingled with hers in puffs of white.

  Whoops. He probably thought she did this all the time. Brought random men here, so they could eat nearly frozen cheese and get frostbite.

  He didn’t seemed fazed by their close proximity. “Why not do it, then?”

  This question had ready and well-practiced lies. She was sick of them. “You're breaking the rules, Walt. It's my turn. Five future goals.”

  He hesitated a moment and she held her breath, waiting for him to call this little game, quits.

  “Gra
duate, practice law, take on in need pro-bono cases, marriage, kids. How about you? The same question.”

  The future was so unstable, she tried not to think about it most days. She could allow herself this one moment, right? Pretend normal had her name. “Graduate, teach middle school biology, find the love of my life, have children, grow old together.”

  He was silent a moment. “How many kids?”

  “Six.”

  “Five.”

  She sat up, but still faced him. “You can't have an odd number.”

  He did the same. “I'm the oldest of three.”

  “I'm an only child and I hated it.”

  They started laughing at the same time. The questions continued well into the morning hours. He talked about his youngest brother's death. She told him of her father's alcoholism, which had led to cirrhosis of the liver. And her insatiable interest in medicine.

  He came from old money. Her family was blue collar.

  Despite that, they both liked golfing, helping people less fortunate than themselves and dreamed of a much different world. Neither wanted to stand by and let someone else do the work to make it happen.

  When the temperature drop pushed them indoors, they went to his rented home and she fell asleep curled against him. They spent the weekend together talking about everything, except her impending surgery. They went to dinner, danced, ate and laughed. With every hour that passed, she fell a little more in love with him. When Monday rolled around, she dressed, scribbled him a note and headed for the hospital.

  If the last memory she had was of a dark-haired man gazing at her as if she held everything he'd ever wanted, she'd go to heaven happy.

  Except, she didn't die and the first thing she saw after surgery was the same man. Only he didn’t look pleased. In her moments of lucidity, she noted stress lined his usually jovial face.

  When the meds wore off a day later, she awoke to find him in a chair near her bed. His dress shirt was rumpled and scruff lined his chin, his head thrown back in fitful sleep.

  She tried to move. Pain radiated through her middle. The rustle of the sheets, covering her body, made his head jerk. He blinked and then focused on her.