4. Chapter 4
Chapter four
Frankie
T he daze set in by six-thirty that evening as Frankie sat with blurry vision, trying desperately to comprehend the difference between appellate, appellant, and appellee. The terms she attempted to define and commit to memory felt like a foreign language—correction, lots of it was a foreign language (those judges sure loved their Latin). With a brain too full to go on, she dropped her face into the crease of the family law book sprawled open in front of her and groaned.
“Was it that bad?” a deeply sympathetic voice cooed.
“Worse,” she grumbled against the crisp pages. Frankie lifted her head and watched as her roommate, Todd, shuffled into the kitchen, towel wrapped around his waist and well-loved slippers on his feet. The scent of cocoa butter and freshly washed skin followed him from the bathroom as he poured himself a cup of coffee and angled his phone in Frankie’s direction. Her soon-to-be sister-in-law’s smiling face filled the screen.
“ Uh-oh .” Frankie couldn’t miss the giggle in Lucy’s voice despite the tinny quality of the speakerphone.
“Wanna tell us about it? I still have”—Todd glanced at the microwave clock—“an hour before I need to head to work.”
Rising from her chair, Frankie grabbed a cup of the steaming brew for herself. She needed the pick-me-up if anything was going to stick the rest of the night.
“I don’t want to relive it, so let’s just say it was embarrassing.”
“Embarrassing like something green stuck in your teeth or embarrassing like your duet partner broke an eight-inch heel on stage and accidentally ripped the dress off you on the way down?”
“Oof,” Frankie cringed. “Did that happen to you?”
“I plead the fifth.” He cleared his throat and took a sip.
“It happened,” Lucy sang loudly. “I was there.”
“Thanks, sweet pea,” Todd drolled, reducing the volume by a few clicks and propping the phone against a stack of notebooks. Turning back to Frankie, he demanded, “Spill.”
“The exposure scenario, definitely.” She looked down at her mug, wishing it had a splash of whiskey to dull the mortification. “My professor scolded me publicly for being late to class, sat me front and center, riddled me with impossible questions, implied I was stupid, then threatened to kick me out if I was late or ‘ill-prepared’ again. He thinks I’m a joke. I’m not sure how to come back from it.”
“Yikes,” Lucy gasped. “What a prick.”
“ Professor Prick ,” Todd shouted through a hoot of laughter.
“Is that what we’ll call him?” Frantic claps accompanied a shrill giggle.
“Works for me—”
“Uh, guys? Can you focus? You aren’t exactly helping,” Frankie moaned while secretly grateful that the chuckle twins were in her corner.
“You could always drop out and come help me plan the wedding,” Lucy offered, shoulders shrugged and a grimacing smile pulled across her lips.
Frankie leveled a scowl on the tiny image of her almost sister.
“I know. Not helpful either. I just miss you—both of you.”
Frankie softened, feeling a subtle ache in her chest. She and her brother’s fiancée had become close over the last year, and after the day she’d had, Frankie would rather do the debrief in person over a couple beers. The quarter had only just started, and already she was wishing it was Thanksgiving break—or better yet, winter break so she could go home and celebrate her brother, Jonathan, and Lucy's wedding. The twelve weeks until then felt insurmountable.
Frankie sighed and said, “We miss you too.”
“Back to business, ladies.” Todd turned to Frankie. “Tell me your why.”
“You already know my why.”
“But I think you need to hear it out loud again.”
“Fine.” The sigh that accompanied Frankie’s eye roll reached teenage-angst proportions. “I want to get my MSW so I can work with kids in the foster care system.”
Her roommate waved his hand in a give me more gesture.
“Specifically, I want to open a non-profit that introduces at-risk youth to outdoor activities,” she recited the meticulously crafted section from her grad school application. “I want to show them there are spaces where they belong and can achieve things they never thought possible. Nature is a place of healing, and exposure will help them cope with the challenges they experience at home.”
“Beautiful.” Todd grinned.
They both turned to the sniffles coming from the phone.
“Ignore me. Something’s in my eye,” Lucy said, dabbing at her nose with a tissue.
“Moving on. Let’s dream big.” Leaning back in his chair to reach into the fridge, Todd pulled out a protein shake and cracked the lid. “In your ultimate fantasy scenario, if you could snap your fingers to make it come true, what would happen at your next class?”
“Can’t I just undo what already happened?”
“ Ehhh! Wrong,” he said, impersonating a gameshow buzzer. “ It’s a waste of time to look back, love. Far better to dream big for the future.”
“Fine,” Frankie grumbled, knowing Todd was right. “If I could wish for anything, it would be that Professor Cl—”
“Professor Prick!” Lucy corrected with a shout.
Frankie shook her head. “It would be that Professor Prick took me seriously.”
“And what would make him do that?” Todd asked.
A miracle.
“It would probably help if I showed up on time to class.”
Todd snorted. “And?”
“And knew the material and how to answer the questions he’d ask.”
“Good, anything else?”
Frankie shrugged. Wasn’t magic of that proportion enough?
“How about you dress the part?” He waggled his eyebrows and grinned.
Leave it to a drag queen to suggest a costume for an occasion as mundane as class.
“I doubt he’d care what I wear one way or another. I already walked in wearing this,” she said as she swiped her hands toward her outfit. “A blazer won’t change his opinion.”
“Probably not, but it wouldn’t be for him.” Todd tutted gently. “Do you know what happened to me the first time I wore full drag?”
“What?”
“I met the inner goddess who’d been dying to come out and perform. The more I tuck and pad and paint my face, the more emboldened I am to lean into the fantasy that is Dirty O’Feelya. Out of drag, I’m not her—even if she does lurk just under the surface. The right outfit might help you actualize your inner law school maven. It’s worth a shot, isn’t it? ”
“He’s got a point, chickie,” FaceTime Lucy interjected.
It wasn’t the wildest idea. If she felt professional—paired with punctuality and a solid grasp of the material—she might just survive Professor Clark’s class.
“You’re right,” she said with a sigh. “I’ll add clothes shopping to my list right after ‘find a tutor’ and ‘understand the law.’”
“Haven’t you already learned that I’m always right?” He winked, ignoring her sarcasm, and squeezed Frankie’s shoulder. “I’ll take you to the mall tomorrow after you treat me to brunch.”
Exhausted from another few hours of studying, Frankie flopped on her bed and burritoed herself in her favorite quilt. The heft of the patchwork flannel and corduroy, along with the homey scent of lavender dryer sheets, quieted her mind. She turned off the lamp on the side table and tunneled further into the familiar comfort. But before drifting off, her phone lit up, emitting a low buzz.
She sighed, already knowing full well who it was.
Again.
Sheriff Howards:
You wouldn’t be avoiding me, would you?
Leave it to a dude in law enforcement to finally put the clues together. She swallowed her guilt and typed out the lie anyway.
Frankie:
Of course not, Clint .
Sheriff Howards:
Haven’t heard from you since Thursday. Forget about me already?
Frankie:
How could I possibly forget about you?
Sheriff Howards:
Aw, shucks.
When are you home next?
Frankie:
Not sure, Thanksgiving?
Sheriff Howards:
Yikes, that long? Will my rain check still be valid?
Sheriff Clint Howards, Chelan County’s finest.
Frankie had met him the year before when Jonathan and Lucy had gone missing on Mount Stuart. She’d been a frazzled mess, and the good sheriff getting in her way didn’t help matters. They’d exchanged numbers, at his request, to stay in better contact throughout the whole ordeal. It wasn’t until after the hikers had been found that Clint’s primary motivation became clear. And something about him laying the foundation for some kind of romantic interlude while Frankie was losing her mind worrying about her brother pissed her off.
It took him a while—unanswered phone calls, texts left on read, and one explosive run-in at a local bar—but eventually, the self-assured, presumptuous sheriff got the message.
Then, a few weeks before leaving for Seattle, Frankie ran into Clint after finishing up a rafting job on the Wenatchee River. While her participants huddled together eating sack lunches and jabbering excitedly about the run, Frankie stood near the bank, assisting other rafting guides and kayakers as they slid ashore at the busy take-out spot.
While helping lug a massive raft ashore, a flash of teal and yellow caught her eye. She could barely keep hold of the slippery boat’s handles as a shredded Hercules strode by, kayak hefted on one shoulder, neoprene wet suit unzipped and dangling off his hips. She hungrily perused the sheriff from his wet, wavy blond hair to his abs, which boasted an eight-pack . How was that even possible?
Once done lending a hand, she casually ambled over and stood beside him at his truck while he chugged water from an old, banged-up Nalgene.
“How does someone with a sheriff’s salary afford a sixteen hundred dollar boat?” She tilted her head toward the flashy Gnarvana kayak perched in the truck bed.
Water ran off his chin, dribbling down his dinner plate-sized pecks and ridiculously wash-boarded belly. His cocked eyebrow and one-sided grin weakened Frankie’s knees. “When you’ve been single for a year, you tend to save up a little pocket change.”
“What? Your shuttle bunny doesn’t expect dinner and drinks after carting you and your kayak around?”
“Is that your way of asking if I’m currently single?”
Frankie just snorted and shook her head. “Doesn’t matter to me either way.”
“Well, seeing as how my cousin Ian and I swap shuttle bunny duties, we tend to go Dutch. Except for tonight. He has to get back home to the wife, which means I’m free to take you to dinner.”
She’d chewed on her lower lip, trying to decide if she was still upset with Sheriff Howards or if the year of space was enough to cool her irritation. “Pick me up at seven.”
That warm summer day seemed so long ago.
Despite the current fall chill, Frankie was suddenly too warm in her cocoon. She flipped off the toasty quilt and gave a resigned sigh. Maybe it wasn’t a bad idea to have a stress reliever on retainer when she returned for Thanksgiving break. Lord knows she could use a little therapeutic fun.
Frankie:
I suppose I could extend the expiration date just this once.
Sheriff Howards:
Awesome.
Frankie:
But for now, I need to get to bed. Long day.
Sheriff Howards:
Sleep sweet, princess.
Frankie cringed at the nickname and tried to ignore the pang of . . . something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. It might have been guilt over stringing Clint along. He’d put in a valiant effort to woo her. By the time she left for Seattle, they’d gone on four dates and kayaked once together. He even helped her pack and load boxes for the move, never going further than a few kisses and a little groping.
But her education was too important to screw up. She knew how distracted she’d get after hooking up with the sexy sheriff, and she couldn’t afford to focus that level of attention on a fuck buddy. So, she’d decided to make a temporary vow of celibacy until she got a handle on the whole grad school thing.
Unfortunately, she’d miscalculated. Intentional radio silence and a literal mountain range separating them hadn’t managed to cool his advances. Instead, he texted her daily, really putting in the work to keep in touch. Frankie hadn’t made any commitment to him before leaving, aside from a promise to get dinner once she was back in town, but perhaps in Clint Speak, that meant more than just dinner .
Maybe the pang she felt had nothing to do with guilt.
Maybe she was just horny. Plain and simple.
All the more reason to take sex off the table. If she could manage to satisfy her own needs, she’d have much more time for studying. And if she passed her classes, she’d indulge in a little reward while visiting Leavenworth for break.
Frankie stared up at the ceiling, willing herself to fall asleep, but agitation nagged at her with growing ferocity. Fortunately, her self-imposed celibacy didn’t have to extend to solo activities. She located her favorite vibrator from one of the many boxes she’d yet to unpack and settled back into her cozy cocoon, grateful that her roommate worked at night. Twenty-eight minutes and two orgasms later, she finally relaxed and slept like a rock for the rest of the night.