“I’ll let you know if anything changes.” Rita’s hushed voice filled my ear before the line clicked, going dead.
I nodded but didn’t lower my phone as I stood there. What if my father died before I ever saw him again? What if he died before telling me he loved me?
What if he didn’t love me?
Though I knew it was a fruitless effort, I called the hospital. They could tell me nothing, except that Richard Kavanagh was indeed checked in as a patient. I debated calling my mother, but she’d probably catch on that I knew, and Rita would get into trouble, so I slept badly, checking my call history every hour to make sure I hadn’t missed any incoming messages in between stressing about how long it’d be before I was fired from my job.
I felt worse when the alarm woke me Monday morning than I’d felt from my hangover the morning before that. My father’s heath, my employment uncertainty, and Noel Gamble were going to give me an ulcer; I just knew it.
But not a single wrinkle marred my work outfit. My suit jacket was loose enough to hide my girlish frame, and my skirt was long enough to be staid and professional. I looked the same as I had every morning I left before work. My mirror could detect nothing out of the ordinary. I’d even amazed myself by successfully covering the bags under my eyes with makeup. But I still had an uneasy sense as I walked from my car to the English building that I was making the walk of shame.
Everyone who looked at me would know exactly where I’d had my mouth only two nights ago. They’d glance into my eyes and see me slipping my hands over Noel’s biceps and into his hair. I’d open my mouth and my voice would reflect all my guilt and shame. I had kissed a student and taken him to my room, into my bed. Just thinking that in my head felt so bizarre and unreal. I was not that person. I would never do that.
Yet I had.
I fully understood all the paranoia was just that, junk in my brain I couldn’t shove out. But when Dr. Frenetti popped his head into my office first thing before I’d even taught my first class, I squeaked out my alarm and nearly peed my pants as I leapt to my feet.
“I just checked Gamble’s current grade online. Looks like he’s doing better already.”
Hearing Noel’s name right out of the gate like that didn’t help my anxiety. Heartbeat whooshing loudly through my ears, I could barely hear myself answer after I cleared my throat. “Y-yes, he...he did very well on the make-up paper I let him turn in.”
The dean lifted an eyebrow. “And he actually earned it?”
I blinked. What the hell kind of question was that? “Of course.”
Smile a little gloating, Frenetti gave a knowing nod. “That’s what I thought. He just needed a little time to warm up to the curriculum. I glanced over your syllabus, and it did look pretty strenuous.”
I turned my attention to my computer to keep from rolling my eyes. “Yes, well...it took a pretty intensive one-on-one session to finally get through to him.”
My face heated as soon as the words left my mouth. God, did that sound like a sexual innuendo or what? All I could think about was the intensive one-on-one session we’d had Saturday night. In my bedroom. But my supervisor didn’t seem to notice any naughty meaning behind my words. He nodded, pleased. “Good to hear it.” Then he disappeared before I had to bumble my way through any more mortifying dialogue.
Beyond grateful it wasn’t a Tuesday, so I wouldn’t be teaching his class, I skimmed over my lesson plans for the day until I was almost late to class. Yet still, I felt utterly exposed when I stepped in front of the room. Eyes turned to me, and I knew—just knew—they’d see everything. Know everything. Each time a pair of students leaned toward each other to whisper conspiringly, I knew they were talking about what I’d done. Every unexpected abrupt noise had me leaping out of my skin. And every dark-haired guy I saw had my insides jarring with an instant adrenaline rush.
I hated it. This was too much drama, and I was not a drama seeker. My muscles were so tense by the time I finished teaching for the day, I took a handful of painkillers as soon as I retreated to my haven. Leaving my office door open, I collapsed into the chair behind my desk and closed my eyes, relieved it was over. I’d survived one day, and no one seemed to know a thing.
“I would so not make it as a spy,” I muttered to myself.
Covering truths and pretending everything was fine and dandy wore the snot out of me. Like a ragged, limp doll, I just sat there, trying to recover my scattered senses.