Chapter 12
Jenna
If I have to read one more illiterate, hack-job essay on Romeo and Juliet, I might actually stab myself and join the star-crossed lovers in hell.
My thumb flicks the corner of the next essay in the stack, but my mind is nowhere near the tragedy of Verona.
My mind is in the cozy, pine-scented kitchen of the Bradford home, stuck on the way Calvin’s hands gripped a coffee mug, how his voice vibrated the stem of my brain, and how he stood behind me like a watchdog.
Fuck me, why is he so distracting?
I tap my pen against the desktop. My phone is already face up to my left. I’ve set it to vibrate, but I’ve got it close enough that if it so much as lights up, I’ll hear it. I catch myself glancing at the screen every few seconds, which makes me hate myself, but that’s nothing new.
Every few minutes I alt-tab back to the browser window on my computer, which is currently open to one webpage—the Bradford Tree Farm, which is painfully normal. There’s cute pictures of kids and hot cocoa, the Bradford family back in the seventies, and then services, hours, etc.
Oh, and a cute little video.
I have watched the Community Spotlight video umpteen times now. Not for the trees, or the quaint interview about holiday traditions, but for the way Calvin’s jaw flexes when he says, “Some people come for the nostalgia. Some people just come for a tree.”
I don’t know how the fuck he makes something so simple sound monumental.
But maybe I just like the way his mouth moves.
I push it away and start the next essay, but I only make it through two sentences before my phone vibrates and my heart jumps.
I check the screen, but it’s just a push notification from my banking app.
I cringe at my account balance, now down to two digits, as if I needed the reminder that I’m burning my life down in Colorado on the fumes of what little I have left.
I ignore it and slam the essay back on the desk.
Am I even getting closer to Cade?
I refresh my browser tabs, like something new will appear in the last twelve seconds.
“Hey, Dr. Williams?”
I almost don’t hear it, but the voice is right outside my office.
“Yeah?” I call, trying not to sound as irritated as I am.
The door cracks open and Ian pokes his head in. “You alive?” he askes, stepping in all the rest of the way and cradling a huge mug of coffee. “No offense… But you look like you haven’t slept.”
I shrug, unable to conjure up some sort of fake enthusiasm. “Just grading. These freshmen are killing me. I should’ve made it through these essays days ago. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” And that might not be a lie.
“Want a break?” He leans against the edge of the door frame. “I’m headed to the café if you want to walk over with me. I’ll supplement the annoyance with caffeine for ya.”
I flick my pen up and twirl it once. “I—uh…” There is a part of me that wants to tell him to get the fuck out, but I realize it would look suspicious, and more than that, I need to stay plugged in with these people if I want to keep this cover and paycheck.
Besides, maybe he’ll say something useful. Who knows.
“You know what… Sure,” I say, standing up and stretching in a way so that my sweatshirt doesn’t ride up over my hips. “Give me a sec.”
I shove the stack of essays into my messenger bag, like I might actually finish them later. As I do, I catch my reflection in the computer monitor and wince. I can see the fatigue in my face. I take a breath, brush it off, and follow Ian into the hallway and out of the English department.
The student union café is as sad as ever, comprised of three vending machines, two microwaves, a glass display of cold sandwiches, and a rack of chips.
That’s it. That’s the whole thing.
I grab a soda while Ian makes a beeline for the one open table with an actual view of the main floor. He holds the chair for me, which is a weirdly intimate gesture that makes me feel uncomfortable for some reason.
“So,” he says, when I sit. “Are you adjusting to the Colorado weather yet?”
“Texas gets cold sometimes,” I remind him. “Just not… whatever this is.” I gesture out the window, where a wall of sleet is turning the parking lot into a slip-and-slide that, naturally, I’ll have to navigate later.
He laughs, the sound thin and annoying. “You’ll be drinking whiskey and cursing at the snowplow with the rest of us by March.”
I force a laugh and then let him ramble on, not because I care, but because it gives me time to observe the room.
Most of the tables are occupied by clusters of students in sweats and pajamas, all of them buried in laptops or phones.
I recognize a few of the women from my first-week orientation, but none of them ever look up, let alone make eye contact.
“So any idea where you’re going after this yet?” Ian asks, pulling me back.
I don’t have to lie about this one. “No literal idea.” I take a drink of my soda, solely as a reason not to expand.
He sips his coffee. “You said your brother was in the area though?”
I almost choke. I have to remind myself that this is a normal question, that no one here knows anything about my life before last month, and that the name Kellan means nothing unless you’re a close reader of true crime or military blogs.
“I don’t know,” I say, and try to sound nonchalant. “He moved around a lot. I think he still does.” Not a total lie.
“Wild,” Ian says, with a blank academic smile. “Wish I had siblings. Only child. Parents were scientists, so I guess the experiment ended with me.”
I smirk, and then redo my blonde hair into my clip. “Did it work?”
“Jury’s out,” he says, and we both make a show of laughing.
I let my eyes drift over the main floor again. I notice a flash of dark hair and a familiar olive-green sweater, and my pulse kicks up a notch.
Molly.
She’s seated at the far end of the room, hunched over her phone. I watch her lips move, animated, eyes darting around like she’s making sure no one is listening. Her free hand twists at a notebook, shredding the edge into confetti.
I angle my body so Ian can’t see what I’m watching. He’s still talking, now about the idiocy of the English department’s copy policies. I pretend to care, but my ears are tuned to the frequency of Molly’s voice.
Molly speaks into her phone, her tone full of annoyance. “I can’t do it tonight. Dad’s got this weird schedule…” She pauses. “No, I’m not allowed to stay unless he’s there, he freaked out about last time. It’s so stupid, he’s never home anyway, why the hell does it matter if I’m there?”
My heart pounds in my chest, and I flex my fingers under the table, trying to work out the nerves in a way that isn’t obvious.
But maybe it is. Maybe that’s what Calvin Bradford is picking up on.
Molly’s eyes land on me for a split second. She blinks, then looks away, finishing her call with a huff and a roll of her eyes. I shift in the chair, giving Ian my attention again.
“So, what do you think?” Ian asks, and I have no idea what I’m supposed to respond to.
“About…?”
He laughs, a little embarrassed. “Sorry. I’m rambling. I meant about the new admin policy—allowing faculty to work remotely if the weather’s bad. Do you think anyone will actually use it?”
I shrug, my mind a thousand miles away. “Probably not. People here seem to thrive on suffering.”
He grins. “True. But hey, it’s not all bad. The winters make the summers feel like heaven.”
“Oh, I could see that.” I smile, then check my watch and make a show of surprise. “Crap, I have a meeting with a student in fifteen. I lost track of time. Mind if we—?”
Ian stands immediately, polite to a fault. “No, no, go. Thanks for the company.”
I sling my bag over my shoulder and weave through the tables, but instead of heading back to the office, I duck into the corridor by the vending machines, close enough to catch Molly as she grabs her own coat and heads out.
She doesn’t see me, but I watch as she slips into a corner, punches at her phone, and then storms out into the wet afternoon.
I take a breath and follow at a distance, bracing myself against the icy wind as I step outside—and then stop myself. There’s no point in following her. So, I stand beneath the awning and check my phone, while I mentally replay the fragments of Molly’s call.
If Calvin doesn’t let Molly stay at the house unless he’s there…
And if his work emergencies keep him out late…
Then there will be a window the house is vacant.
And information potentially up for grabs.