Untrue Love Page 12

  They stood together in silence while the dogs swirled around them, but soon Ellie was experiencing the quiet between them as a hollow thing that needed to be filled. “Do you think you’ll ever get another dog?”

  He glanced at her. “Maybe. I probably should. It’s hard, though. It never seems like the right time.”

  She nodded. “I know. I liked cats growing up. And I always thought that I’d have one of my own. But somehow I never woke up and said, ‘Today is the day! I’m going to the city pound!’ And so it’s never happened.”

  “You have a cat now.”

  “I have someone else’s cat now,” she reminded him.

  “She’s yours as long as she’s there,” he said.

  Ellie didn’t reply. She was feeling guilty about the fact that she hadn’t checked on how Mrs. Wilson was doing. Maybe she’d be coming home tomorrow. Maybe she was already at home and wondering where her pets were! Silently Ellie promised that she would check in with the building manager when she got back. She imagined that her apartment would seem very quiet once Mrs. Wilson returned and took her dog and cat back.

  The wind was beginning to pick up, and Ellie huddled for warmth inside her too-thin coat. It was only December and she was still adding to the list of things she’d need to survive the next few months. “I want to thank you for dinner,” she said. “I had a nice time. It was really the first time since I moved here that I had a nice, simple conversation.”

  “You can always count on me for simple conversation.”

  Ellie swatted at his arm. “You know what I mean. I can talk shop with the people in my department, or I can talk about family with my father or my sister, but it’s been a long time since I’ve had the chance just to talk. Do you know what I mean? There was nothing pulling us to this topic or that, so we could talk about anything. It was nice.”

  He nodded. “It was nice. Would you like to do it again?”

  “I’d be happy to talk with you again,” she said carefully. Her plan was to get this man to like her enough that he would be willing to help her. This was where the plan called for the most finesse, though, because she needed to get him interested in her without leading him on. If Paul were to ask her out on a date, she would have to refuse, and then, inevitably, it would become awkward between them. “Are you working tonight?” she asked.

  “I’m usually in the office until at least 8:00,” he answered.

  “Busy man. I have some class notes to go over and a lecture to plan. Why don’t I drop by on the way home? It will be nice to unwind a bit before it’s time to think about sleep.”

  His hooded eyes examined her carefully. “All right. I’ll see you then,” he said.

  She smiled and headed off to collect Usher. She knew that she was playing a dangerous game, but the stakes were high and the gamble was worth it. She just needed to make sure that he—and she—didn’t step into treacherous ground.

  40

  IT WAS NEARLY nine o’clock when Ellie finally arrived at Paul’s office, and she had nearly headed straight home. In her hand was a brown paper bag that contained a bad idea that somehow she hadn’t been able to resist.

  It started with a very long day. Something had her students in a foul and dispirited mood—maybe the gray and cold weather, or maybe (Ellie supposed wickedly) it was the dawning realization that they were not half as clever as they thought they were—but in all three of her discussion classes the students sat slumped into their chairs with blank looks on their faces, refusing to answer her discussion questions or engage with the works they were supposed to have read before they got there. Ellie kept at it, peppering them with questions until the period was over, but part of her wanted to storm out of the building and spend the rest of the day in a hot bath.

  That cloud, once it formed over her, refused to dissipate through the rest of the day. It hovered over her as she pulled together materials for future classes, and it hung like a haze over everything in her world whenever she looked up from her desk. By the time she was ready to leave, Ellie was determined to shake her bad mood by any means necessary.

  She wanted her conversation with Paul to be friendly and brief. She had planned to drop by, make a few jokes and playful comments, and then head home. Instead, she stopped off at the store and bought a bottle of Jim Beam and two plastic cups. Instead of verbal banter, they would share a drink. She thought it might even work better than her original plan.

  By the time she reached his office she was beginning to wonder if this was a really such a good idea, but his door was slightly ajar and he caught sight of her before she had a chance to change her mind and turn back.

  “I was beginning to think that you weren’t coming,” he said.

  She pushed through the door and flopped down in the chair in front of his desk. The lights were out except for a small lamp on his desk, and the room was full of shadows and deep shades of gray. Already Ellie could feel the tension in her body beginning to drain away.

  She pulled the bottle out of the bag and set it on the desk. “Do you drink?” she asked, not waiting for an answer before she twisted the cap off and poured a splash of brown liquid into the first of the plastic cups.

  “Hard day?” Paul murmured.

  “Endless day,” she answered, and poured two fingers into the other cup. She handed him one and took a small sip from her own. Her mouth and throat were filled with slow fire, and she felt another layer of tensions dissipate in her body.

  “Here’s to bad days giving way to better evenings, then,” Paul said, raising his glass and taking a sip. “Oh, damn,” he said, wincing.

  “You don’t like it?”

  “I usually don’t go any stronger than wine or beer. It’s been a while. I need a few sips to get used to it again.”

  Ellie slumped back into the chair, the cup between her two palms. She stared off into the shadows above and to the left of Paul’s head. “There are days when I love teaching. I love the interplay of ideas, and seeing that moment when something clicks and a promising student takes a step into his or her potential. And then there are some days when I just want to kill them all.”

  Paul chuckled. “That sounds like every teacher’s lament. But I don’t doubt that some of your students would have it coming.”

  Ellie rolled her eyes and took a sip. “There’s this one boy. He’s in my Great Books class. Smart kid, but he’s got this attitude about him, like he already learned everything he needs to know by his senior year in high school, and now he thinks us old farts should just get out of his way. You can’t tell him anything, because what could there possibly be that he doesn’t already know at the age of 18?”

  “Frustrating.”

  “Very, because he’s a good writer—for a freshman. He has potential to be a good writer, period, but only if he allows me to teach him something about how to write.”

  Paul shrugged. “You can’t force them to learn. They have to want it.”

  Ellie took another sip. She was starting to feel better. It felt good to be sitting here, talking honestly and openly with someone who she felt instinctively would not judge her for it. Somehow she already felt like she could trust this man. “I know. And I also know that he’ll probably come around eventually. But I’m a little sick of his constant look of smug self-satisfaction.”

  “You should give him an F. Not because he deserves it, necessarily, but because then you’ll get to see his face when he catches sight of the report card.”

  Ellie gave a snort and reached out to reclaim the bottle. She poured another two fingers into Paul’s cup and her own, and they returned to talking.

  More than an hour went by, an hour they spent talking and drinking and laughing at a series of jokes that, out of context, would not have seemed very funny but somehow were hilarious in the moment. Ellie didn’t notice how drunk she was getting until she realized it was time for bed and tried to stand up. A wave of dizziness hit her and she lurched to her side, catching herself against the desk.


  She chuckled ruefully. “Whoa. Good thing I walked here, because it doesn’t look like I’m in any condition to drive.”

  Paul set his cup down and walked unsteadily around to her, bracing her with his hands on her shoulders. “I think we’ve both had enough.”

  “I think we had enough about 30 minutes ago. Now, I’ve had more than enough.”

  “Should I call you a cab?”

  “I guess.”

  Ellie stood with her eyes closed while she listened to him place the call. She could feel the room whirling around her and looked forward to getting home, where she could lie down and get some sleep.

  “It’s on its way.”

  Ellie opened her eyes to find Paul so close beside her that she could make out every hair on his rough-shaved cheek. She resisted an urge to reach up and brush that cheek with her fingers.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, and turned to the door. “I’ll wait for it outside.”

  “Ellie.”

  She turned back toward him. He was standing in the darkened room and staring at her with frightening intensity. “Yes?” she asked uncertainly.

  “Your coat,” he said, motioning with his head to where it still draped over the back of the chair.

  She smiled and stepped forward to collect it. He moved in and took it from her, holding it up so she could slip her arms into the sleeves.

  “I had a good time tonight,” he said quietly. “Thank you for coming over.”

  “It was my pleasure,” she said, looking up at him. A silence stretched between them, until finally his face descended toward hers.

  The kiss was light and soft, with an almost questioning quality. Ellie could smell the whiskey on his breath, and something else beneath it—was it a trace of his cologne? She took a deep breath and turned her head away.

  “I need to go,” she said, her heart beating heavily in her chest. She headed to the door as quickly as her condition allowed.

  “Good night,” she heard behind her. She didn’t turn back, but she carried memories of the kiss down the stairs and out into the night.

  41

  ALREADY SOPPING WET, Ellie grabbed hold of a very reluctant dog and began rubbing a bar of soap over his back. This was her first try at giving Usher a bath, and so far the experience wasn’t working out any better for her than it was for him. Usher was the very picture of misery, standing hunch-backed and trembling in the four inches of warm water she had poured into the tub. With his hair wet he seemed gaunt, almost shockingly skinny, and she regretted all the times that she had thought him a greedy eater. She didn’t know where all that food was going, but very little of it was sticking to his ribs.

  “I’m sorry,” she muttered as she worked up a good lather in his fur. “And I’m not enjoying this any more than you are. But it will be over soon, and won’t that be nice?”

  Usher didn’t look at her. He was too deep within his bath trauma and was entirely consumed with the effort of enduring the ordeal.

  Ellie worked the soap over his back, head, and floppy ears, and then she rinsed him down as quickly as she could. Her mind was only half on the task at hand. She had been keeping herself busy all morning switching from guilt to self-recrimination and back.

  How could I have been so stupid? It was already stupid when she bought the whiskey, she knew. It was particularly stupid to then share it with Paul, and finally it was ridiculously, unacceptably stupid that she didn’t excuse herself and leave when she knew she was drunk. Instead she let him kiss her.

  “Damn it,” she muttered as she scooped water with her hands to wash the soap off of the shivering dog. She had no idea how she could explain this to Jackson. There was no way; she had turned it over in her mind a thousand times and there was no way to arrange the facts that didn’t make her look bad—unfaithful, even. She could not explain it to Jackson, which meant she probably would not explain it to Jackson, and that meant that she would lie to him, which made her feel even worse.

  At least she now had a clean dog on her hands. When she reached to open the drain, Usher caught a glimpse of his freedom and leaped out of the tub, flooding the bathroom with an inch of dirty, stinking water and soaking Ellie even more thoroughly than before.

  She grabbed a bath towel and cornered him. The wet fur immediately soaked through the towel, but she did what she could to dry him before opening the bathroom door. Usher raced out and down the hallway, while Ellie remained in the bathroom and cast despairing eyes over the water, fur, and soap suds that he’d left behind.

  While she was cleaning the bathroom, Ellie decided to call Jackson as soon as she was done and had changed out of her sopping clothes. Just the thought of talking with him scared her, for fear of what might come out in the conversation. Deeper than the fear, though, ran her need to hear the sound of his voice. She needed to create something between them—a conversation, if nothing else—that would take a place in her memory that lay over and obscured the memory of that thing she’d done. To replace the things she had spoiled, she needed to create something new and good with the man in her life.

  While she listened to his phone ring, a nervous knot formed in her stomach. Finally he answered, sounding sleepy.

  “Hey, baby,” she murmured, curling up in a sunny spot on the couch next to the window.

  “Ellie?” he asked.

  “You can’t tell from the sound of my voice? Are you expecting a call from someone else?” she laughed.

  “No, of course not. Sorry, I’m still half asleep.”

  “Right, the time change. I forgot,” she said, glancing at the clock. It was still morning on the West Coast. “Should I let you sleep?”

  “No, it’s time for me to get up. I’ve got some stuff to do today. How are you doing?”

  Ellie’s throat tightened. “I miss you,” she managed.

  “I miss you too. Are you having a hard day?”

  “A hard week.”

  “I’m sorry. Tell me about it.”

  Ellie glanced out the window, blinking away tears. “No, it’s OK. I’d rather talk about something else right now.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like when you’ll be here. You’re still coming for Christmas, right?”

  “Yes. Absolutely. I promise.”

  “Do you know when you’ll be able to leave? You should get a ticket as soon as possible, today if possible. The rates are going up as we speak.”

  “I know. I will. I just need to figure out a couple things first.”

  Ellie smiled at the memory of his strong arms wrapped around her. “I’ve been checking into activities for when you’re here. There’s some sort of Santa’s Workshop thing they’re setting up downtown. I thought that would be cheesy and fun. And the forecast is for snow, so that could be nice. And I was thinking we’d bundle up and go for a walk one night, check out the Christmas lights.”

  “That sounds really nice.”

  “But mostly I just want you here. I want to wake up next to you. I miss you so much.”

  “I miss you too, baby. I’ll be there soon. I’ll call you with the details when I have my ticket.”

  “You’re going?” Ellie asked, dismayed.

  “I have some things I need to do. We’ll talk soon.”

  “OK,” Ellie said in a small voice. Somehow talking with Jackson made her feel even more alone than she had before.

  “Goodbye, baby. I love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  And then he was gone, and Ellie was left with a ball of sadness in her chest. Mentally she counted the days to when he would be there; Christmas was a couple weeks away, and he wouldn’t want to fly on the holiday, so certainly he would be there by the 23rd at the latest. In her mind she began assembling a to-do list of food to buy, cleaning to do, and decorations to put up. She would make this holiday special, for both of them. She could still make everything perfect.

  42

  THE PAINTINGS WERE boldly-executed, in strong colors and with powerful technique, and th
ough Karen usually loved this sort of thing she was barely paying attention to anything inside of the art gallery.

  Anything except her hand, that is; her hand, and the larger, stronger, more calloused hand that was holding it.

  She made a show of examining the paintings, and from time to time she even managed to trade a few words with others who had come to attend the show, but her mind was entirely focused on the overwhelming sensation of warm human skin pressed against hers. She could feel, with almost frightening intensity, each of his fingers interlaced with her own. Without looking to her side she was fully aware of every inch of him. He filled every corner of her consciousness.

  Get ahold of yourself, she thought furiously to herself. You’re acting like a teenager on her first date!

  “Can I get you anything?” he asked, nodding in the direction of the cash bar.

  She shook her head. She was having enough trouble sober, the last thing she needed right now was another reason to feel giddy. Reflexively she tightened her grip on his hand, and he squeezed her hand in return.

  Things between them were not going quickly, exactly, but in the context of Karen’s exceedingly low expectations they were going surprisingly well. After that first meeting at the bar he had kissed her cheek when saying goodbye, and she had carried the blush from that event all the way home. He had called her the following day, just to check how she was doing. And then he had called again the following evening, to ask her out on a proper date.

  She had traversed those events as if in a dream, going about her normal routine even as everything in her world felt different. The sunlight was a little brighter to her eyes, her cat’s fur was a little softer to her fingers, and her students were a little more clever in their questions. Everything seemed bright and fresh, as if some cosmic laundromat had taken the world away and returned it good as new.

  She still wasn’t certain how she felt about this man, but there was no denying that she loved the way she felt when she was with him.