Libby Blackwell was the epitome of a privileged Landsman College student. Her parents had more money than the government of a small country, and she knew it. Libby flubbed her grades, flirted her way through projects, and expected that everything would be fine on the other end.
When I arrived on campus, I was angry. Angry with Wesley Barton for being a crook, angry with a system that served the wealthiest, and angry at myself for not knowing who to trust. Libby was wild, sexy, and an easy way for me to self-sabotage. I never regretted anything more in my life.
The worst part is she always threatened, but never told anyone. My department head, Florence Macken, suspected our brief affair, but no one else knew. A few times a year, I would run into Libby and she would try to trade sex for silence. I knew I should be the one to approach the Honor Council and be done with the whole sordid affair, but I had tried uncovering the truth once and still felt the burn.
"Hey, Red," I called at the tall football player down the hallway. "Come help us out."
"What's up Prof?" he asked.
"Libby here needs a safe chaperone home. That means you find her friends and get them all home together. You got me? None of the girls go off on their own." I caught him in a stare that made beads of sweat pop out on his strawberry-colored hairline.
"You got it. Operation Gentleman." The football player gathered a giggly Libby under his arm and boomed down the hallway. "Ashley, Farah, time to get your girl home!"
I swore if I couldn't find Clarity, then I would confront Dean Dunkirk with my indiscretion. He would help me face the right consequences and put my mistake-ridden past behind me.
The glimmer of redemption sent me striding down the hallway and into the kitchen, just in time to see Adam try to kiss Clarity. I jumped back into the shadowy hallway and clenched my fists.
"Adam, stop. This was supposed to just be a casual date." I heard Clarity trying to keep her voice light. She pushed the tall quarterback on the chest but he didn't step back.
"Come on, you can't say you're not attracted to me," Adam leaned in again.
"But I can say ‘no.’ Do I have to say it again?" Clarity asked.
"Uh huh," Adam nodded and reached out to grip her shoulders.
Before I launched myself at the unsuspecting kid, Clarity took care of the overeager football player herself. She hooked a foot around his ankle and gave his chest another hard shove. The shocked quarterback stumbled back and plopped down on his ass.
He laughed and held his hands up in surrender. "Alright, I give. How about you let me walk you home?"
The right hook I had cocked and ready itched to knock him down as soon as he got to his feet, but, again, Clarity took care of it.
"Best stick around here and sober up," she said. Clarity spun on her heel and marched towards me.
I lowered my fist just in time.
"Ford? I mean, Professor Bauer?" She skidded to a halt in the shadowed hallway.
"Your father asked me to check in on the party. He's out in the backyard." I hoped Dean Dunkirk would understand me ratting him out so fast.
If the flashing look in Clarity's green eyes was any indication, then the dean would understand perfectly. I backed up against the wall and left the hallway open for her to pass.
She glanced back over her shoulder where Adam was laughing and giving high-fives to his friends. "Dating is the worst. Especially trying to date college guys."
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. "My sister, Liz, says the exact same thing. Which is good, because I told her I would stop paying her rent if she skips class for a boy. She's med school and better stay focused."
Clarity stepped closer to me. "Is that why you're teaching instead of chasing after big stories? You're supporting your little sister?"
"How about I walk you home?" I said.
She smiled. "Thanks, but, like you said, my father's outside. It was nice of you to help him out."
I nodded and didn't trust myself to say anything else. There was no reason for me to feel so relieved knowing that Clarity had turned down the football player and would be heading home safe.
CHAPTER FIVE
Clarity
The shuffle of the Sunday newspaper was always relaxing. My father and I spent Sunday mornings at the wide kitchen table in front of the French doors. Morning light poured in and caught the swirls of steam rising from our coffee mugs.
I loved the quiet routine. Except my eyes wouldn't focus on any words and I burned my lips on my coffee. My mind kept wandering back over the moonlit campus walk with Ford. As soon as we stepped out of the frat house party, my father had jogged up with a breathless frown.
"A group of streakers is causing havoc outside the gym complex and I have to go deal with it."
"There's a great article in there somewhere," Ford nudged me.
"Professor Bauer will see you home safe, won't you?" My father had waved as security swung by in a truck to pick him up.
Neither of us had said a word until the full moon climbed up and over the corner towers of the library.
Ford sighed. "I do actually like it here. I know you think I should be off chasing big stories and being a hard-hitting journalist, but it's peaceful here. Beautiful."
Our hands had brushed at that moment and the memory alone caused a thrill to rush up my arm. I had to be a silly, delusional girl to think that last, whispered 'beautiful' was for me, but I couldn't help it. We were impossible, never going to happen, but at least I could hope he felt the same way I did.
My growing attraction to Ford was a problem. It was fine when it was just a crush on an attractive professor, but now it was pluming out like smoke and hanging like a deep haze on the majority of my thoughts.
"Clarity? Your toast popped up," my father repeated. He folded down one corner of his newspaper and checked on me. "Everything alright?"
I looked around the sunny kitchen and took a deep breath. Most of my friends made fun of me for living at home until they saw our house. The Craftsman was big, comfortable, and full of light. The original hardwood floors and crown moldings gave it a sense of maturity while my father's tendency towards bright colors kept it lively and fun.
"You know it's alright if you want to go out with your friends on Sundays," my father said. He poured himself another cup of coffee from the French Press on the table.
"I know, thanks." I gestured around the warm kitchen, " But why would I want to leave all this?"
My father snorted. "This isn't for everyone. Too boring. What's the word? Stodgy."
He was talking about my mother and I felt a twinge in my chest. She had left when I was too young to remember her in the kitchen on a Sunday morning, but the way my father talked about her, she may never have sat there for more than five minutes. When he talked about her, my mother was always in motion. Always going somewhere, traveling, and very rarely returning. And then one day, she was gone.
That was why when my friends called to declare a Funday Sunday, I declined right away. I couldn't bear to drop everything and leave my father alone. He needed someone to grind the coffee to the right consistency for the French Press. He never remembered where the honey was that he liked on his toast. If I wasn't there to help him, sit with him, he'd be all alone.