After an hour of clicking through customer reviews and over-confident product descriptions, she settled on a sleek-looking DVR unit that recorded a week’s worth of reconnaissance. A high-end device just shy of a thousand big ones—a small price to pay for a better night’s sleep.
She cut the locksmith a check and added an extra fifty bucks for the speedy service, showing him out once she was satisfied. It was nearly six and time to start thinking about dinner. A salad was looking like the best option when the doorbell rang.
Melanie was startled. Through the living room’s bay window, she saw her neighbor slouched into a riding mower with a beer clenched in his fist. He was a mere stone’s throw away—further proof that there was nothing to be scared of.
Cyrus came at night.
“Shut up,” she whispered and went to the front door, eager to get her mind off that boogeyman.
Riley stood there, a box of wine and a bag of subs in his arms. He came in and pressed a scruffy cheek to hers. “I kept thinking about your day and knew you needed company. I brought wine.”
It was exactly what she needed right now. “Boxed wine,” she said. “Guaranteed hangover.”
“Yep, and I have a night off from the hubby. So let’s cut loose.”
They sat at the kitchen bar and noshed vegetarian subs while the wine flowed. Dialogue was casual and it reduced the day’s devastating events to insignificant background noise.
Riley’s eyes were glossy when he pulled out a bag of weed and asked if it was cool to roll and toke.
“Go right ahead,” Melanie said. “I might even join you.”
Once they ran out of distracting topics, the conversation shifted back to the day’s problems. Riley nodded his approval when she got to the part about the kids checking out her “juicy” ass.
“They’re lookin’ and that’s a problem for you? Take solace in the fact that you’ve still got things that teenagers want to see.”
“They’re kids. I’m old enough to be their mother.”
“MILF fantasies,” Riley said and lit the joint. The kitchen was rife with haze in a second. “What’s hotter to a bunch of coddled adolescents than a mature older woman with a rockin’ body who also has the world-experience to keep on coddling right where mommy left off?”
“Cynical.”
“We work with twenty-year-old children, Mel. How many times a semester do you get calls from these adults’ parents asking for them to be excused from whatever assignment they didn’t do.”
“And yet, I’m supposed to be flattered that a bunch of six-year-olds trapped inside the bodies of young men find me attractive?”
“Why not?”
“Let’s not go there tonight. Didn’t you come here to try and cheer me up?”
Riley put an arm around Melanie’s shoulder and tugged her close. His aftershave was the right amount of pleasant and leaning on his shoulder felt restful after the day’s events.
“I was thinking about something, Mel, and hear me out. Since Dennis is a douche and took you off Dissection of the Epic, I was wondering what your plans are for the summer.”
She hadn’t thought about it very much. That class was going to be the bulk of her June and July. Now she had three months wide-open and without a clue what to do.
“Okay, totally spit-balling here, but…why not go to Forest Grove?”
Melanie’s stomach sunk so far it felt like it was in the basement.
“I know it sounds nutty. But this was Aaron’s idea, and while I think my husband errs on the insensitive side sometimes, he does have a connection to a literary agent in New York. And you sort of came up over dinner last weekend. The agent is interested in the material and guarantees a generous figure deal for your story.”
“I told you, Riley, a hundred times…”
“I know. You have. You’ve said that you were lucky to get out of Camp Forest Grove. And that you can’t be sure Cyrus Hoyt is really dead. Except that he’s been buried…”
“At Eternal Walk Cemetery,” she said, nodding. She might’ve checked and then confirmed that a few dozen times throughout the years. Didn’t help much.
“You’re haunted by the ghost of a lunatic that you killed, girl. Forest Grove has moved on, but you haven’t. What better way to do that than through a little soul searching and dirt digging? Profit off your misfortune. This is America…everybody does it.”
“I’m not haunted,” Melanie said, but her words were without fight. Riley was right and it stung like hell to hear it.
The prospect of returning to the grove wasn’t appealing. It might’ve been safe but her memories were vivid: the light wood panel décor of the cabins, the graffiti in the outhouse that assured, He who writes on bathroom walls, eats their shit in little balls, and the picturesque waterfront with its false sense of security.
Beyond that, there were the bodies: Jennifer’s corpse strung up inside the girl’s cabin. Her hot pink Victoria’s Secret bra torn and spattered with blood. They’d taken a trip just a few days before leaving for Forest Grove to get that thing. All because Jen wanted to look her best for “them country boys.” Then there was Bill’s body hurled through the cabin window—Hoyt’s attempt at psychological warfare.
Painful memories that would only magnify once back in Connecticut.
Maybe Riley was right about playing the part of victim on a loop, but how was she supposed to feel? Not a day slogged by that she didn’t wonder what Jen might’ve gone on to do with her life. She always had a way of getting what she wanted, and it had never been a question of if she made it in the world of NYC fashion, but rather when.
And Bill—good-looking, strong, and with one of the most obnoxious senses of humor ever. The kind of guy who made you laugh even if you were fixing to smack his mouth. She liked picturing them together every once in a while, settled into suburban life with three kids. Arguments over who was bringing the youngest to soccer practice. Coordinating the oldest child’s football schedule so that they never missed a game. Saturday date nights, Sunday sleep-ins, and drinks with the neighbors.
The things life was supposed to pony up.
For a while, it looked as though she could’ve had those things with Reggie Nolan. Her ex-husband. An assistant football coach with deep-rooted anger issues tied directly to his own inadequacies. Melanie found his obscenity-laden approach to coaching reprehensible, but stayed out of it for a long time. Reggie always kept his discontent out of their relationship.
Until the day that he didn’t.
Even now, Melanie felt responsible. Maybe if she found a better way to breach the issue, things would’ve gone differently. He might’ve deserved more than a midnight ambush on the drive home from a faculty party. Of course, she didn’t deserve the reaction it provoked.
She remembered her head smacking against the window as he barreled across the two-lane street, pulling into a turnoff and striking her with a backhand. She’d never been called a “cunt” before, and that stung the most, even as the muscles in her face recoiled from the brutal blow.
Melanie filed for divorce the very next day, and Reggie was gone from the house by the time she got home. She only saw him a few more times throughout the rest of that school year, and he did not return to the position of assistant coach. Or maybe he wasn’t asked back. His absence was all she cared about. Better to be alone than to go through that kind of misery.
Riley rubbed the top of her hand and eased her out of the daydream. “I didn’t mention this to make you feel bad. But you’re far too gorgeous and brilliant to live out your years as a prisoner in your own home. You should be carving a new life for yourself. Not clinging to the one that was taken from you.”
“You can’t know what you’re asking me to do.”
“You’re right,” he said, “I’m going to drop this. But think on it. You’ve got a story to tell, and people want to hear it. Remember the EMT who treated you that night?”
She did. He was a true crime author out in California now.
And Riley was right about this. Breaking out from beneath Dennis Morton’s thumb was a powerful motivator. Chronicling that long night at Camp Forest Grove wasn’t appealing, but the idea of gaining leverage over that worm certainly was.
Especially if the book was a success. Any school would be glad to have her then, and the board would likely put a little pressure on Morton to make their resident author happy. It was a hell of a hoop to have to jump through to get her class back, and she resented the fact that she had to do it.
“Just give it a thought,” he smiled. “The option is there for you if you want it.”
“Can’t hurt to think about it,” she said.
***
Melanie spent all of Wednesday barricaded in her office, grading papers with the ferocity of an academic psychopath. Four classes worth of material, two general English Lits and two iterations of Intro to Journalism, wrapped up in less than six hours, and another two to process and input final grades.
With every passing hour, the likelihood of Dennis’ possible backstab increased. He usually made himself available to all his professors as part of his end-of-semester shtick. Wanted to know how things were wrapping up, if there were problems with any students, and/or potential grade controversies—thinking it best to be forearmed in case of enraged parents. He was a phantom today, and his closed office door spoke volumes about the situation at hand.
Riley floated word that Dissection of the Epic had been yanked from Melanie’s control, resulting in a stream of sympathetic faces to her office. Colleagues offered consolations, making her feel liked and respected, even if it didn’t change anything. She lost the most important gig of her career, and her boss couldn’t be bothered to tell her about it.
Once the final grade was in, she decided that she couldn’t stay in the office another second. Dennis was still MIA at four-thirty. As far as he knew, Melanie was still acting on the assumption that the class was hers—unless he counted on Riley seeing the schedule and breaking the news.
That sounds right.
She ducked out and drove home. Lacey was curled up on the couch, looking like she hadn’t moved since this morning. She meowed a few times as Melanie stripped off her clothes and tossed them into the laundry room. The cat hopped off the couch and followed her down the hall to the bathroom, only to high tail it back the way she came once Melanie turned on the shower—apparently still scarred from that time her fur became so matted that she needed a bath.
There was a text from Riley when she got out. Dennis just showed up on campus. Saw him pull into the parking lot as I was leaving. Get him! Be fierce! :P
She threw on a pair of khaki shorts and a sleeveless tee. There wasn’t a lot of time, so she pulled her hair into a bun and slipped a navy blue Red Sox hat over her still-damp head.
It was almost six by the time she got back to campus and the place had cleared out. The small parking lot behind the English building was wide-open as she slipped into the spot beside Dennis’ car. Her door might’ve dinged the silver body of his Lexus, but she didn’t stop to check.
He was combing his moustache in a tabletop vanity when Melanie came in. The startled look on his face, coupled with a noticeable jolt through his body, indicated surprise.
“What can I do for you, Melanie?” he asked, his vowels shaky.
“You know what.” This kind of thing had never been easy. Her body felt awkward and her words sounded thick and alien. Just grit your teeth and keep going.
He sighed and tugged his coat tighter across his beer belly. “This wasn’t an easy decision, Melanie.”
“Enlighten me, please. You’re the one who told me to build this course from the ground up. I spent two years refreshing my knowledge of it. Deep-diving into Homer, Vergil, and Hesiod. Researching them. Writing about them. Nobody at this school knows that stuff better.”
“Do you know which course you’ve had the most success with throughout your career?”
She was tempted to say all of them, not out of arrogance, but because she recognized her worth. As Riley said, the proof was in the proverbial pudding of consistently overloaded classes. She chose to bite her tongue and shrug instead of answering the question.
“Intro to Journalism, wouldn’t you know?” he said. “And the most interesting thing about that? You came here as a literary professor. But you, being a team player, stepped into those journalism shoes when this college needed you. Your accomplishment has been unbridled. Packed rosters, gigantic success rates, and top-notch results. It seems you found your strength. Your…niche. Whether you want to admit it or not, I think we both know where you belong.”
“Dennis, that’s not fair. I’m glad to have done that. And I’m glad that people like what I do. But you swore to me that teaching the journalism tract wouldn’t be a permanent thing. You gave me the go-ahead to develop Dissection of the Epic as a means of placating me. I know that. But now you’re stealing it out from under me. Let me have it back. Please.”
Dennis poured two scotches but Melanie refused to acknowledge hers. She waited for his answer, realizing at once her mistake of begging.
“I’m giving the course to Miss Woreley because I want to see how she thrives outside her comfort zone. Like you with journalism. She will be the first one to tackle the curriculum.”
“And that’s bullshit.” Her blood was boiling. “You want her to ‘thrive outside her comfort zone’ then let her talk about journalism ethics for two years. Reward me for having done that by letting me teach the class I created.”
“My mind has been made up. I’m evaluating Miss Woreley this way, and I apologize if that upsets you. Being the team player that you are, I know you can respect it.”
She stewed in anger while her milk-white skin baked. Morton probably saw her cheeks stained a dozen shades of red. And worse, her eyes welled up just enough to make her uncomfortable. “The least you can do is tell me that I got my tenure.”
He lifted the glass to his hairy lip. She could’ve sworn it was to stifle a laugh. “I’m afraid that you are not yet tenured at this college.”
“Dennis.”
“With the budget being as tight as it is, I could only grant tenure to one professor this year. The panel was unanimous in their push for Jill Woreley as a long-term investment.” He finished his drink and then went to the door and opened it. “I will be more than happy to discuss this further during my normal office hours.”
Melanie felt dazed. Her heart pounded and she stormed out without another word. At least she knew, although it didn’t make her feel any better. Walking back to her car, she was sick to her stomach. Like she might keel over and vomit.
Not because Dennis had passed her over for tenure.
And not because a stupid girl was suddenly more valuable to this school than she was.
But because she knew what she had to do.
***
The next day, Melanie could think only about concluding her business and getting the hell off campus. She handed out corrected papers like her life depended on it, and dismissed her classes once no one had any lingering issues.
Small miracles…
Being here was almost impossible to stomach, since it was a bitter reminder of her failure.
She was packing up her office when Jill Woreley, of all faces, knocked on her door and stepped inside.
“Not a good time, Jill…”
“When is it ever? Word around here is that you’re leaving town for the summer. I just want to talk to you for a few.” The girl wasted no time in sliding into a chair. Her white shorts rode up in the seat as she crossed her legs, thick bronze thighs rubbing obnoxiously against one another as if to flaunt.
Melanie felt her face heating up as she jammed her laptop into her bag. “Fine. You can walk me down to my car.” She hadn’t planned on leaving yet, but since this girl insisted on making herself at home, her office felt like a den of ill-repute.
“Don’t be pissed off at me, Mel.”
The approach was blunt and
it landed that way. Before Melanie could recover from her astonishment, the girl was already off on a tangent.
“For whatever reason, Dennis gave me Dissection of the Epic, right? It isn’t my fault, so how about dropping the sour grapes?”
Melanie couldn’t believe what she was hearing. It wasn’t cowardice preventing her words, but utter shock.
Jill went on, unabated. “The council liked my dissertation on Greek Gods as the externalization of human thought. So don’t act as though this subject matter is beyond me. I got to tenure before you, fair and square. With a fresh perspective and some new ideas. You’re not going to create a hostile work environment for me now, are you?”
The urge to smack her upside the head grew but Melanie said nothing. They walked the rest of the way in silence, until they were outside. Then Jill took her by the shoulder.
“So here’s the thing, Mel. I got no beef with you. And you best have no issue with me. The decent thing for you to do would be to hand over the curriculum you’ve been developing for that class, so I don’t have to start from scratch. That way I can tell Dennis you’ve been mint in helping me. That would benefit the students, help me out, and look good on you next time tenure comes around.”
Melanie glanced at her shoulder. The girl’s hand was still palmed over it. Jill seemed surprised that this was the case and let go, clearing her throat as they resumed their walk.
They went down to the corner of the street where Melanie was parked. She tossed her bag in the back seat of her car and slammed the door with more of a tantrum than intended. Without another word, she got behind the wheel and tried shutting the door. Jill grabbed the top of it and tugged it back open.
“You don’t have anything to say?”
“Nothing,” Melanie said. “Good luck with that class, Jill. You’re teaching it on your own.”
“Come on, Mel. Let me have those notes. It will make life so much easier on the both of us.”
Under The Blade Page 3
