CHAPTER SIX
Ford
I folded the title page of every article so that I couldn't see the student names. It helped me judge the writing and check if my journalism students had mastered a neutral tone. Jackson taught me the trick he had learned from tackling hundreds of creative writing essays and stories.
Clarity's short story rose to the surface of my mind again and I leaned back in my office chair to avoid it. The characters were clear in my mind, the overlapping paths they took a common knot that tied my thoughts to them.
I shook it off and groaned at the stack of grading. "I have to stop giving my students homework that gives me homework."
I snatched up the next article and knew by the first sentence it was Clarity's. Her open curiosity was contagious and her leads were getting better. She needed to work on simplifying her language, but her enthusiasm kept me reading for three paragraphs before I realized I hadn't written a single comment.
What could I say to her?
It was impossible to erase all the thoughts that had popped into my head the night I met her. If only I didn't need my job so much.
My mind drifted back to the cocktail dress she was wearing when the door to my office crashed open. "Sleeping on the job?" Jackson asked.
"You know, for a bookish, lit. Professor, you’re loud enough to wake the dead." I settled back in my office chair and unclenched my fists.
"And you're a little too jumpy. What's on your mind?" Jackson strolled around my narrow office, hands in pockets, studying the bookshelves.
"What's on my mind? You came to my office, remember? Unless your entire plan was to give me a heart attack."
Jackson chuckled then turned back to point at the bookshelves. "A little Spartan, don't you think? I thought you were finally settling in and resolving to be a Landsman man."
I swallowed the instant distaste that thought brought up. "Maybe I just have something against crowded bookshelves. Maybe I'm Feng Shui."
"Feng full of shit," Jackson said. "I'd take it personally if I didn't know how much you miss journalism. But you really should get rid of the temporary vibe in here if you want your department head to stop sharpening her axe."
"She can't fire me before the holidays." I grinned.
"Speaking of the holidays, what are you doing for Thanksgiving?" Jackson leaned on the corner of my desk.
"Apparently I'm grading articles." I gestured to the slipping stack on my desk, then caught it before it toppled. "Any more tricks of the trade that could speed this up?"
"So you don't have any plans for Thanksgiving? I know Liz is staying in the city."
I sighed and stacked the papers back into a neat pile. "Liz could probably use the break but she won't give herself one. She thinks just because I'm helping her out a little here and there she has to work like a dog."
Jackson crossed his arms. "I wouldn't call covering her rent and paying for her car a little, but stop trying to change the subject. We're not going to let you starve alone on Thanksgiving."
"Sorry, but I have plans." I swallowed hard and hoped he didn't ask for details.
Jackson studied my face for a moment with a curious smile. "So, Alice and I are going to Dean Dunkirk's for Thanksgiving. He's invited a small group and told me you were on the list."
"Oh, good, that'll be great. I wasn't sure I was going to go but now it sounds good," I said.
"You weren’t going to go before I told you we were invited. What's with the secrecy?" Jackson stood up and tapped his chin as he studied me again.
I held up both hands in surrender. "I'm not a big fan of turkey, alright? You caught me."
"This wouldn't have anything to do with the dean's daughter being your student, would it?"
"Speaking of students," I jumped out of my office chair, "I have to get ready. My students and I are attending the alumni/donor dinner tonight. I have to wear a tuxedo."
Jackson allowed me to shoo him back to the door so I could get the garment bag off the hook. "You're really going? But you hate those people."
"Smug, entitled, rich folks that only want to spend money so people notice them? Nah, I love 'em. Besides, my students need to report on it for the school newspaper." I unzipped the garment bag and pulled out the rented tuxedo.
"So that means you have to go to?" Jackson asked.
"It was the only way the college president would allow students to mingle. I suppose he's afraid they're going to spike the punch or pull some other prank." I sighed, "God, I hate being a chaperone."
Jackson laughed and made himself comfortable in my office chair. "The student newspaper crew is a pretty responsible bunch. Isn't Clarity Dunkirk on staff? According to some of my kids, her name alone is chaperone enough. Poor girl, I bet she doesn't get to break out and have much fun being the dean's daughter."
"She's too focused for fun, way too mature," I muttered.
"What was that?" Jackson drummed his fingers on the edge of my desk and smiled up at me.
"You any good at shining shoes? My dress shoes haven't seen the light of day in years," I said.
Jackson shook his head. "Nope, sorry. What else you got?"
I sat down on my small couch and opened my shoe polish kit. "I have to pair up the staff. It's going to be a co-written assignment, make 'em learn how to work under a shared byline."
"Oh, that I can do," Jackson sat up and hunched over my desk. He wrote out the names of the students on the newspaper staff, then cut names out. Then he tossed them in a hat and held it to me.
I decided no one was going to look at my shoes, so I reached for the folded names instead. Jackson typed them up and we got down to the last three names before we realized there was a problem.
"You're going to have partner up too, otherwise it's uneven," Jackson said.
"Fine, yeah."
"Thomas and Allison. That leaves you with Clarity." Jackson hooted with laughter. "Luck of the draw, eh? Or maybe you're just trying to get in good with the Dunkirks so you get extra pecan pie at Thanksgiving."
"Isn't it about time you go home to your wife?" I stood up and held my office door open for Jackson. "I've got to change."
"Never change, man, that's what they want. Fight the power!"
I shoved Jackson out of my office and locked the door. I wavered between the garment bag and my computer. Either I retyped the list and was late or I just went with it.
I hit print. Anything else would admit I had trouble being near Clarity. And, knowing Jackson, he would ask our mutual students about the dinner and find out if I switched partners.
Luck of the draw, I thought. Now the only question was if my luck was good or bad.
#
"So we missed the dinner part?" Thomas asked as his stomach grumbled.
"You didn't miss it. You weren't invited," I said. "Dinner was over one hundred dollars a plate, which is why it was for alumni and donors only. The college president has been nice enough to invite us for the reception so you can mingle and find interesting stories."