Nineteen Seventy-Four

by Sarah M. Cradit

  “Yes, but… maybe not in the way you’re thinking.” Augustus’ anger faded to something more thoughtful. He wrung his hands over his suit jacket. “I think Blanchard needs to marry Maureen.”

  “Oh, she’ll love that!”

  “Hear me out, Charles. What’s the recurring challenge with Maureen?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Only she can say why she’s chosen sex as her… escape, or whatever she would call it. This is now the third time we’ve had a situation as a result of it, but it’s not the third time period. And it won’t be the last.”

  “I’m listening,” Charles said.

  “But it has presented an opportunity that would not have been possible with Evers, or whatever high school kid was the father of her first child. Blanchard isn’t only self-made, he comes from money, as you know. The Blanchards are long established in New Orleans, and, if we take this pregnancy out of the equation for a moment, this would make a good marriage for Maureen.”

  “He’s an old fogey!”

  “He’s not that old. He’s maybe in his forties. And he’s an only son, Huck. His sisters have been trying to match him up for years, because their line is going to die out if he doesn’t have a son. A marriage between two prominent families wouldn’t raise eyebrows, even with the age gap between Maureen and Edouard. You know what else wouldn’t raise eyebrows? Maureen’s little child.”

  “People can do math, Aggie.”

  “So? Even if they do the math, it won’t matter, because Maureen and Edouard will be happily married, and the talk will die down quickly. Everyone loves a scandal, but they move on to the next one in a minute.”

  “Happily?” Charles fixated on this word. It troubled him. He couldn’t counter Augustus with logic, because what his brother suggested was logical. It was the most logical of all the solutions. If Maureen had this child unwed, it would dramatically harm her future prospects. She might never marry. She would struggle to find her place in society, which had come a long way, but still had a harsh eye to single mothers.

  Charles didn’t know very much about Maureen, even after the bond they’d developed that night by the river, but he did know this: Her vision of happiness included being the mistress of her own home, with a husband who came home to kiss her each night and children underfoot. He’d tried to tell her that this scenario didn’t always come with happiness. Who knew that better than him? But if he knew one thing, especially after the debacle with Catherine, it was that women couldn’t be dissuaded from a notion once it was stuck in their head. If Maureen was convinced this was the future she most needed, that was the only future she’d settle for.

  Still… he felt agreeing to this was a betrayal of their trust, which mattered to him.

  “Maybe not at first,” Augustus agreed. “You and I both know Edouard wouldn’t have played with this fire if he’d expected to be burned. He’ll be even less happy, I assume. But he won’t want a scandal.”

  “She’s just barely eighteen,” Charles said. His chest hurt. This couldn’t be the only way, but yet he had no better one to propose. “We’re damning her to a hard marriage.”

  “Huck.” Augustus clapped a hand over his shoulder. “Come on. Who knows better than us that marriage isn’t like television?”

  “Still.”

  “Yeah.” Augustus sighed and dropped his hand. “I know. But what else is there?”

  Charles shook his head. He hated this. “You’re right. We have to protect her future.”

  “And think of it this way. Maybe we can help her with another problem.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The first two incidents were really hard on Maureen. Really hard. And in both cases, she came out feeling like she’d been victimized. Maybe this time, by turning this into a positive path for her future, she can feel like she had a choice.”

  Charles smiled sadly. “Yeah. I hope you’re right.”

  “And when we brute force things, to try and fix them, we both know that comes at a cost.”

  Charles said nothing. He didn’t need to.

  * * *

  Colleen’s whole body was on fire as she scanned the leather notebook at the head of the lecture room. Her scores had been impeccable since the first day, but now there was a red mark where her attendance should be.

  A red mark.

  The rest of the students filed out for the week, laughing and chatting with one another. That was nice, that so many of them were friends, but she was here for an education and someone had made a grave error in this book.

  The heavy doors pounded closed. She looked around for her professor, but instead, she saw only that impudent aide from New Orleans. Jameson. Noah Jameson. He milled through the aisles, picking up the last of the discarded textbooks and forgotten pencils.

  Colleen had an urge to pull the large leather tome from the desk and carry it off to make her point, but the thing was probably a hundred years old, not to mention heavy as a boulder.

  “Hey!” she called out. Noah paused briefly, then continued on his menial task. “Noah, right?”

  “That’s my name,” he replied without turning. In his arms was a precarious stack of books so tall she secretly hoped they’d topple out of his arms.

  “There’s a problem in this ledger.”

  “Ahh.”

  Colleen raised her voice. “This ledger? Who’s responsible for updating it?”

  Noah didn’t respond at first. He edged his body carefully down the steps, and somehow managed to make it all the way to the shelf, where he stacked the books. She was too mesmerized by waiting for him to spill them all to kingdom come that her annoyance at his effrontery tempered.

  He slapped his hands together to remove the dust, and, finally, looked at her. “Me. I update it.”

  Colleen smirked. “Well, you need to check your work.”

  “Pardon?”

  Colleen shook her finger at the red entry. “You’ve marked me absent for the last two classes. I was here.”

  Noah shook his head. “I don’t arbitrarily make decisions about who is and isn’t here, Miss…”

  “Oh, cut it. You know who I am.”

  Noah’s tongue ran across his bottom lip, which curled out in amusement. “I know of you, and that’s different. Be that as it may, I didn’t mark you absent. You did.”

  “How’s that?” Colleen’s hands shot to her hips.

  Noah made swirling motions with his finger. “Turn to page four hundred and seventy.”

  She did. “Okay.”

  “You see what you’re looking at?”

  “I’m not blind, Mr. Jameson.”

  “Noah is fine. I’m not my father.” He peered from afar as if inspecting the page with her, but made no move to step closer. “You’ll see that’s the official attendance log. I’m sure it’s familiar to you.”

  “Of course it is.”

  “Maybe not too familiar, as you failed to sign into class twice.” He grinned. “All I do is copy the sign-in to the grading sheet.”

  “What? No, that’s impossible.” Colleen ran her finger down to her name in a fury, and when she slid it to the right, she was aghast. Two entries missing her initials. “Someone must have erased these days.”

  “They’re in pen for a reason.”

  Colleen snapped her head up. “This isn’t right. I was here!”

  Noah nodded at the book. “Then fix it.”

  “What, you’re not going to argue with me?”

  “I didn’t make it to graduate school by arguing,” Noah replied. “Besides, I graded a paper you submitted on at least one of those days, and the other I remember you asking a thousand questions.”

  “So, why didn’t you fix it, if you knew I was here?”

  “I also didn’t get this far by shirking personal accountability,” Noah replied with an even wider grin, and now she knew he was toying with her.

  Colleen opened her mouth to retort and then closed it in a huff. She marked her initials on the missed days and slapped the pen
back to the desk. “There.”

  “Great. Problem solved.” Noah turned back to the shelf, where he started to re-stack the textbooks.

  “You don’t like me,” Colleen ventured.

  “I don’t know you.”

  Colleen took a few steps closer. “You sure act like you do. You act like I stole your cat or something.”

  Noah snickered. “I don’t have a cat.”

  “Or something.”

  Noah turned, with a smaller stack of books in his hands. “Look, I’m sure you’re really proud you got into this program, but we both know how it happened.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Your own brother gets thrown out of every college in town, and yet, somehow, the Deschanels still have the kind of clout that can get one of their debutantes into a coveted neuroscience program across the world!”

  “No,” Colleen said. She was fuming now. This was not happening, not when she’d left New Orleans to escape it. “You can think what you want about my brother, or my family, but I got into this program on my own merits. I’ve worked hard my whole life to get here.”

  “Sure.” He stacked one book after another.

  “I came here for an education, Noah. Not to be ridiculed about something I have no control over. I know what you and others think of my family, and that’s why I came to Scotland! I don’t want anyone opening a door for me I didn’t earn.”

  “That’s very big of you,” Noah said, so coolly she had the urge to march across the room and smack him.

  “I don’t expect you to understand.”

  “Good,” Noah replied. “Because I don’t.” He nodded over his shoulder. “Look, get out of here. Enjoy your evening doing whatever it is rich girls do with their evenings. I’ll go in and fix your grade before I leave tonight.”

  “So, that’s it?”

  “Did you want a cookie?”

  Colleen spun on her heels and stormed out of the lecture hall, leaving Noah and his smug assumptions to stack books, hopefully for the rest of the damn evening.

  Fourteen

  The Price

  Elizabeth waited until she heard the front door close and lock before she let Connor touch her. She still couldn’t quite believe, even after all these years, that Irish Colleen let them be alone together in the house. In her room. Their mother had never let any of the others do this before they turned eighteen, not even prudish rule-abider Colleen. She didn’t know if she’d dodged a bullet with this trust, or if she should be slighted by her mother’s clear lack of fear in Elizabeth doing anything interesting.

  Connor made a funny, anticipating face as they’d listened first to her mother’s heels haphazardly move back and forth as she seemingly remembered things she needed to take with her on her short voyage to the grocer. Connor would feign going in for a feverish neck kiss, and then, foiled, his face would fold back in defeat.

  Elizabeth giggled, half underneath him. He was still the only one who would bring her to the unguarded act.

  When at last they heard the joyous sound confirming her mother’s departure, Connor went in on her with comical energy, and the giggles continued until she could hardly breathe, and he, too, couldn’t stay in character as her ardent assailant.

  Connor flopped to the side, still laughing. “How long do you think she’ll be gone?”

  “It’s Two Cart Tuesday,” Elizabeth remarked, and Connor’s whole face lit up. “And who knows, she might even stop in at the fabric store first. Could be a whole event.”

  “We can live in hope.” He reached a hand over and laid it on her belly, letting his finger swirl mindlessly.

  Ever since they’d cleared up the nature of their relationship, an invisible shackle had come loose. Now, it was all they could do to keep their hands off each other, which was both exhilaratingly wonderful, and also mortifying in the worst way. Elizabeth had finally fallen in love, and found her safe place, but it was never safe as long as her visions were allowed to play.

  The first time he slipped his hand in her underwear, she saw a flash of anguish from his future; of a fight with his future wife laced with pain and torment. Of anger that can only be born from unparalleled love.

  Later, she cried herself to sleep. She wanted this with Connor. She wanted it all so badly! Elizabeth, who had never really wanted anything except peace, now saw the opportunity for a feeling she could run toward, instead of away from, and the curse of her birth reminded her she would never have that life.

  Except… there was a way. She’d been better about the drugs, at least as she saw it. She still used them just as much, but she was judicious in when and how much. She tried to reserve them for family dinners, or when she knew close contact with anyone she loved was imminent. When she was alone, she took her chances.

  But now Connor was making a confession, and it snapped her back to the present, stone cold sober.

  “You what?”

  “Oh, God.” Connor covered his eyes with his arms. “You’re mad.”

  “No, I just… need you to repeat what you said.”

  “So you can be mad!”

  “No, so I can fully appreciate it.”

  Connor peered from under his makeshift blindfold. “It was hard enough to say it the first time.”

  “If you said what I think you might have said, then the implications are far more serious than a few silly words, Connor.”

  He sighed. Groaned. Legs twitched. “I’m a fool. I’m so dumb!”

  Elizabeth winced as she kissed him. Prayed her affection for her love wouldn’t be rewarded with more pain. “I love you. Say it.”

  “I bought condoms.” His lower jaw spread in horror of anticipating her response. He dropped his arms. “For, you know, us.”

  “Of course for us,” she teased. “Who else would you buy them for? Mama?”

  “Oh, God!”

  Elizabeth laughed. “Don’t be so embarrassed. How do you know I haven’t been thinking about it, too?”

  Connor stopped wiggling. “Have you?”

  She shrugged. “Yeah. I have.”

  He jumped up on one elbow. “Yeah?”

  “I said it, didn’t I?”

  “There’s that anger.” He grinned.

  Elizabeth chucked him one good in the arm. “You know what my anger looks like. It isn’t this.”

  “So… um…”

  “This is the weirdest conversation we’ve ever had.”

  “Should I have just jumped you and asked questions later?”

  Elizabeth considered this. “Hard to say how that might have turned out. Depends on my mood, I guess.”

  “Which is as unpredictable as Louisiana weather.”

  “Amen, brother.”

  Connor brushed a strand of hair off her face. “Lizzy, I don’t want to make this even weirder than it is, but how do you want to, uh, proceed? Should I surprise you one day? Should we do it now? Do you have another idea?”

  “I definitely didn’t see it going like this,” she murmured and kissed his frown. She didn’t know how to say what she needed to say next. That to take this next step would require something he said he’d never, ever wanted to do again. Something he had no idea she was still doing, had never stopped doing. Every time she touched him, she awaited the inevitable agony that her visions never let her have reprieve from for long, and she couldn’t bear to have their first time be awash in grief.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked. He always knew when her mind had drifted beyond the immediate conversation.

  “I’m afraid, is all,” Elizabeth said. She searched for the truth, knowing it could never be the full truth. He’d never understand. “I still see… stuff, when we touch. And if we do that, I don’t know what I’ll see, but I couldn’t handle it being horrible. Not with you.”

  Connor was silent as he considered this. She had never read his mind, and never wanted to, but sometimes she was curious at the process that rolled through his head. She adored this about him; that he never made decisions lightly
, and was so deeply considerate of how his words affected others.

  “I know we said we wouldn’t do it again, but… would it help if we tried that stuff we did before?”

  “Oh, um, I hadn’t really considered this,” Elizabeth lied. “But, yes, I think it would.”

  “We’d have to buy some more, and I’m not exactly the hippest dude on the block. I still don’t know how you scored it.”

  “I told you, the guy is my neighbor,” Elizabeth said. “But we don’t need to buy more.”

  “No?”

  “I still have more left from that first time,” she lied. She had some, but that original stash was long gone. She worried it wouldn’t work anymore with her resistance what it was, but she would just take harder hits, and she also had more of her mother’s pills she could throw on top to really dull the blade.

  Connor laughed to hide his discomfort. “I guess that’s good, right? Would really kill the mood to have to go track down a drug dealer for a score.”

  “Want me to go get it?”

  “Right now?”

  “You don’t want to?”

  Connor’s eyes widened. “I’m a guy. And I love you. I always want to, Lizzy.”

  “Okay, then.” She tried not to laugh. Tried not to cry. She was so conflicted at what she was about to do. What she’d been doing for months, deceiving him, in order to love him.

  She scrambled from the bed and did her best to keep her back blocking her work in the corner. She dug three pills from the baggie and choked them down. Her throat gagged, and she had to fight it back, because to grab the water near the bed would be to give herself away.

  “What are you doing over there?”

  “Trying to find it.”

  Elizabeth made enough sounds to seem like she was searching, and then lifted the heroin-laced joint and lighter with a light, “here it is!” sound and brought it back to the bed.

  Connor looked at it with the same horror she should feel. He was doing this for her. He didn’t want to touch the stuff. “Should I, you think, put the condom on first? In case my judgment is compromised when I’m high?”

  “Now, probably,” Elizabeth said, because it sounded responsible and she needed him to think she was. Especially now, when her heart raced so fast against her chest that she was sure everything she’d been up to was written across her flesh.