The Weight of Words (The WORDS Series)

by Georgina Guthrie

  I’ll be fucking cheerful on April 30th, believe me.

  I laughed, absolutely giddy. This had to be the most ridiculous literary analysis he’d ever done. I loved it.

  May was a month I was desperately looking forward to. The artwork was Titian’s Venus and Adonis, and again the Shakespearean quotation related to the figures in the painting:

  “…kissing speaks with lustful language broken,

  ‘If thou wilt chide, thy lips shall never open.’”

  (Venus and Adonis)

  I’d studied Venus and Adonis in high school. The painting depicted the section of the poem in which Venus had pulled Adonis down from a horse and was attempting to seduce him as they lay together in the woods.

  I turned my attention to the Post-it note beside May’s quotation. Daniel had drawn a large red arrow pointing at the painting. Underneath it he had written:

  This will be you and me in fifty-eight days.

  I don’t know about you, Aubrey, but I can’t fucking wait.

  Chapter 17

  Light and Lust

  This said, he sets his foot upon the light,

  For light and lust are deadly enemies…

  (The Rape of Lucrece)

  I LAY IN BED THAT NIGHT thinking over the events of the day and struggling to reconcile the roller coaster of emotions the afternoon had yielded. Tedium, happiness, grief, contentedness, yearning—the whole gamut. I was completely wiped. As annoying as the situation with Daniel was, it was temporary. In fifty-eight (soon to be fifty-seven) days, he’d be all mine and we’d be in the clear. This was my last thought before I finally drifted off to sleep.

  I slept well. Too well—I snoozed straight through my alarm, only to wake and discover that I had twenty-five minutes to get ready for work. I sprang out of bed, dove in and out of the shower, then dashed about trying to find something appropriate to wear. In the end, I panicked and pulled on my black yoga pants and a plain white T-shirt, finishing with a thigh-length black and white belted sweater. It wasn’t an outfit I’d normally wear to work, but it would have to do.

  I was almost out the door when I remembered I needed to do something of the utmost importance. I tore back to my room and opened my top dresser drawer to find the calendar. Opening it up to March, I took the red pen and drew a large red X through Tuesday, March third. Then I buried the calendar in the bottom of the drawer again before heading off to work.

  I was launching into my morning routine and making myself my first cup of coffee when Dean Grant strode stormily out of his office.

  “Would you mind pouring me one as well?” he asked. “Then come into my office. We need to talk.”

  Oh, crap. Here we go.

  What had Daniel and I been thinking the day before, gallivanting around the quad, playing kneesies and eye-groping each other in the library, hugging under the gatehouse, all under the potentially watchful eyes of his father? I should have remembered the proximity of the library and Northrop Frye Hall. Which way did Dean Grant’s office windows face again? I hadn’t even considered that. I was so stupid.

  I poured him his coffee and grabbed my own cup, pulling his office door open with my foot. I placed his coffee on the desk blotter, trying to disguise the shaking of my hand.

  “Thank you, Aubrey. Have a seat, won’t you?” He gestured to the chairs in front of his desk, taking a gulp of his coffee before tossing his reading glasses on the desk and leaning forward to look at me over his clasped hands.

  “I’m guessing you don’t know why I’ve called you in here?”

  “Um, I’m not entirely sure, sir, no.”

  This was not sounding good at all.

  “Something dreadful was brought to my attention yesterday.”

  Brought to his attention? I looked at the window. It faced south, across Queen’s Park. He wouldn’t have seen us sitting in front of the library or walking toward the gatehouse. Someone else had reported us!

  He sighed deeply and looked at his watch. “The university has experienced the loss of a St. Mike’s student over Reading Week.”

  Wait—what was he saying? Oh my God, he was talking about Mary!

  “Yes, I heard about this yesterday.” I recovered quickly from my shock. “My morning class is at St. Mike’s on Tuesdays. It’s all everyone was talking about,” I fibbed.

  “Oh, so you do know?” Dean Grant asked, his eyebrows arching in surprise.

  “Yes. Sorry, it didn’t occur to me you’d need to talk to me about it. I actually knew Mary. She was in one of my classes—in my tutorial group, in fact. She was a lovely girl.” Then, for good measure, I added, “It’s Daniel’s class.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. This is more than a passing occurrence for you, then. And she was in Daniel’s class, you say? I’m surprised he didn’t mention it.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t know,” I said, fabricating on the spot. “He missed class on Monday. Professor Brown told us he was under the weather.” Was it only two days ago that Daniel had met me at the Gardiner? It seemed like eons ago.

  “I didn’t realize he’d been off on Monday. I haven’t spoken to him since the weekend,” he said, giving me a pointed look. I tried to maintain a blank expression.

  Nothing to see here, Dean Grant. Move along.

  “I imagine Martin would have contacted him regardless,” he said. “Anyway, we don’t know how many Victoria students will be impacted by her passing, so would you send an email to the residence dons and student leadership groups to remind them that we have counseling available through Student Services?”

  “Of course. I’ll get on that right away.” I started to stand up.

  “And, Aubrey? How is everything going with you?” he asked.

  This was a conspicuously vague question.

  “Great, sir. Never been better.” I smiled confidently, moving toward the door.

  “I’m happy to hear that,” he replied, a contemplative expression on his face.

  I pulled his door closed behind me, leaning against it with an enormous sigh of relief, though I suspected it would be short-lived. How on earth would I make it through the next fifty-seven days in one piece if one day of subterfuge had already made me a nervous wreck?

  After work, I headed straight to University College, happy to be early for class so I could secure a seat in the second row on the other side of the room. Students filed in one by one, some looking like they’d heard about Mary, some clearly oblivious.

  Julie finally dashed in, moving down the row to sit beside me, her eyebrow raised saucily. “Well, well, well, couldn’t stay away from the candy dish, eh?” she asked.

  I brushed off her suggestive comment with a quick subject change. “Hey, did you get my messages? Where’ve you been?”

  “Oh, man, I’ve been so bogged down with school work. I got nothing done over the break. I had to hide in the library and knock off an art history paper. I’m so exhausted.” Professor Brown and Daniel’s arrival interrupted her complaints. “Holy mofo, check out Mr. Shmexy. He got his hair cut. He’s been holding out on us,” she whispered in my ear.

  She was right. Dr. Hobo, it seemed, was on a sabbatical. Daniel looked spectacular. He was wearing the same black jeans he’d worn the day before, this time pairing them with a fabulously soft-looking tan sweater, a white T-shirt peeking out above the neckline. The kicker though? The footwear. I didn’t know a lot about shoes, but I knew what I liked. These shoes—which may have been boots, it was hard to tell—looked to be of the Italian variety and the kind that made a lovely authoritative clipping sound when you walked.

  Authoritative. Yes, please…

  “He shaved too,” Julie said. “Man, he cleans up well. He looks fucktacular, don’t you think?”

  She nudged me.

  “Hmm?” I was still imagining the sound of his shoes.

  “Daniel! He puts the edible in incredible, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, fine, he looks fine,” I stammered, remembering that as far as she knew, I
hadn’t seen him since before Reading Week.

  Daniel took his seat, and Professor Brown quickly called the class to order, casting his eyes around the room somberly. “Ladies and gentlemen, I received some sad news on Monday night.”

  There were some stunned gasps around the room as he told us about poor Mary. Julie looked at me, shocked. I grabbed her hand and squeezed it.

  “Now, I realize some of you may have known Miss Langford quite well, while others may not have,” Professor Brown said. “Regardless, I’m going to afford you the opportunity to grieve appropriately. There will be a memorial service at St. Basil’s Church at the corner of Bay and St. Joseph Streets on Friday at eleven thirty. Anyone wishing to attend is more than welcome to do so. My classes and tutorials will be canceled for the remainder of the week. We will reconvene next Monday, but we’ll have to double up to stay on course. After we finish our study of Antony and Cleopatra, we’ll pick up Othello on Wednesday.”

  He then turned to Daniel, inviting him to speak.

  “Thank you, Professor Brown,” Daniel said, standing but remaining in place behind the table, his eyes flitting briefly across mine. “I apologize for my absence on Monday. Professor Brown tells me he gave you an extension on your Hamlet analyses. I’m prepared to accept them any time between now and next Monday. Are there any questions?”

  I looked around the room. No one spoke up. Cara was gazing at Daniel appraisingly, though. Apparently Julie and I weren’t alone in our appreciation of the GQ effect.

  “Well, then,” Professor Brown said, “if there’s nothing else, we’ll end there. You’re welcome to stay to make plans for Friday and ask us any questions you may have. If you need to speak to someone, you may make appointments at Student Services with the counselors there. I look forward to seeing some, if not all, of you on Friday.”

  Julie squeezed my hand again. “How awful,” she said.

  “I know. It’s pretty hard to wrap your head around.”

  “You knew already, I guess?”

  “Yes, Dean Grant told me this morning.”

  At least that one wasn’t a total lie. I was starting to despise myself.

  “So do you want to go to the memorial service together on Friday?” Julie asked.

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  She stood and slid her books into her bag. “What are you up to now?”

  “I think I’ll head to the Hart House Library for a bit. I have a lot of reading to catch up on. If I try to do it at home, I’ll probably fall asleep. I need to talk to Professor Brown for a minute first, though.”

  “Okay, no worries. We’ll sort out timing for Friday?”

  “For sure. I’ll be in touch.”

  I pulled on my jacket and maneuvered out of our spot in the second row. Professor Brown smiled as I approached.

  “Professor Brown, Daniel,” I said. “I hope this isn’t going to sound presumptuous, but I was thinking it might be appropriate to find an alternate venue for the Friday seminar.”

  “Oh?” Professor Brown looked at me expectantly.

  “When I was in the ninth grade, there was a boy in my math class who had leukemia. He stopped attending at the end of October, and he died a month later. For the rest of the term, the tension in the room was unbearable. His empty desk was too awful to look at. There was always this elephant in the room, and that was a classroom of thirty students. I don’t know how we’ll feel in that small tutorial room looking at Mary’s empty seat.”

  Daniel looked at me with undisguised admiration.

  “That’s a valid concern, Miss Price,” Professor Brown said. “You’ve always been so intuitive.” He turned to Daniel, clasping his shoulder. “What do you think, my boy? Are you up to the challenge of finding an alternate space? You might have luck with some of the small meeting rooms at Hart House.”

  “Absolutely,” Daniel said, smiling warmly at me. “Miss Price is right. I think changing venues is wise. I’ll get right on it as soon as we’re finished here, sir.”

  “Okay, well, I guess I’ll be heading out then,” I said, snagging one last good look at Daniel and his chiseled jawline.

  Shaven or unshaven? This was a tricky one and deserving of some further exploration. With my tongue, of course.

  I slowly walked to the neighboring building, half wondering if Daniel might try to catch up with me. After all, it seemed we were going in the same direction. I peered over my shoulder occasionally as I crossed to Hart House, but he was nowhere to be seen. The thought of not seeing him for two days was depressing.

  In the reading room, I claimed the red leather couch facing the bay window. I glanced around as I dug in my bag for my book. Most of the room’s occupants were studying, but one guy was curled up on a sofa by the unlit fireplace, snoring softly. I wished I had time to flake out and nap as well.

  I was pulled from my reading after about ten minutes by the sound of my phone buzzing in my pocket. My heart thundered as I checked the display. It was a text message from Daniel!

  Have I told you that I love those pants you’re wearing,

  my poppet? -D

  I quickly typed a response.

  How did you get my number? Where are you? -A

  He answered almost immediately.

  Jeremy has his uses from time to time.

  Say, that’s a sturdy looking bookshelf over there,

  don’t you think? -D

  Bookshelf? I whirled around. He was here? What the—?

  I scanned the room, and there he was, sneaky bastard, sitting in a wing-backed chair facing the side wall, his newly-trimmed locks in plain view above the chair back. His leg was dangling over the left arm of the chair, a sex-boot taunting me shamelessly.

  I dropped back onto the couch.

  What are you doing here, sailor? -A

  Booked that meeting room for tutorial then I thought

  I’d swing by the library while I was here.

  I overheard you tell Julie you were coming here.

  Do me a favor? Lose the sweater and

  go look out the window? Please? -D

  I smiled. I knew these pants did great things for my ass!

  Okay. I’ll play. I slowly peeled off my sweater and dropped it on the couch. I stood, pretending to scan the sidewalk outside while stretching my arms above my head. My T-shirt rode up enough to show a little skin. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw him peering around the side of his chair, his gaze intense.

  I want you so badly I can taste it. -D

  My knees jumped, and I instinctively brought my hand to my throat. I was certain everyone in the room must be feeling the raw sexual energy flowing between us, but no one seemed to be paying the slightest bit of attention to us. I stared at my phone for a moment and then started typing, surprising myself with my boldness.

  Tell me, what does want taste like? -A

  He read my message and then looked at me again, his eyes smoldering as they drifted down my body, pausing at my breasts and then slowly scanning my legs. His answer was fast:

  It tastes like the sweetest velvet. -D

  This time my knees buckled, and I had to sit or risk falling over. Screw you, fifty-seven days! There was no way. I could feel my cheeks burning. I moved my fingers absently toward my mouth. He quickly typed another message.

  Where your fingers are?

  I want my tongue right there, RIGHT NOW. -D

  Jesus!

  I imagined the way his tongue would feel, dipping between my parted lips. My brain was suffering from lust-induced paralysis, and I couldn’t even think of a reply.

  He looked around the room to make sure no one was watching, and then he delivered the coup de grâce. Leaning on his hand, he subtly placed two of his fingers on either side of his mouth and licked his lips between them, his eyes narrowed seductively as he gazed at me.

  If anyone else had done this to me, I might have been offended—disgusted even—but this was Daniel. Coming from him, the gesture was undeniably sexy. How often had I read
about—and subsequently mocked—swooning women? It always sounded absurd. Well, so much for that. I had officially joined the ranks of the swooners.

  I was a puddle.

  I closed my eyes, and I’m fairly certain I moaned. When I looked back at him, he was still watching me with unabashed desire. Such brazen lust in both of our eyes, here in the full light of day, surrounded by our unwitting peers.

  He typed out another message.

  You look so beautiful. How I wish I could come over there and throw you back on that couch.

  What I would do to you…-D

  I read his words and then nodded at him, too stunned to respond. We stared at each other without moving for the longest time, and then he held up a piece of folded paper. He placed it on the seat of the chair before pulling on his blazer and throwing his bag over his shoulder, giving me one last look of undisguised longing before striding purposefully out of the library.

  Authoritative sex-boot footsteps indeed.

  I reached blindly for my sweater. Was I supposed to follow him? My phone buzzed again—one last message from Daniel.

  I’m tied up for the rest of the day with appointments

  and office hours, but I had to see you for a few minutes. Read the note I left you. -D

  Disappointed that he was unavailable but eager to read his note, I retrieved the paper he’d left and returned to the couch to read it. It was a typed letter.

  Aubrey,

  I was up late reading poetry last night. Of course, any time I sit down to read poetry, I invariably end up rolling around in the words of our mutual BFF, the Bard. Given the week we’ve had and the things we’re dealing with, this sonnet seems to be most topical. I hope you like it and wonder if you feel, as I do, the weight of that “world without end hour”…

  SONNET 57

  Being your slave, what should I do but tend

  Upon the hours and times of your desire?

  I have no precious time at all to spend,