11. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

L ucy sat at her desk clicking through tabs of Gap shirts she'd pulled up for consideration. She was rewarding herself with a fifteen-minute break after spending the entire morning teaching Dr. Hubert to navigate an online discussion board. She turned down the shot of bourbon he'd offered her in thanks (it was mid-afternoon!) and the caramel candies (Miriam had made pasta for their weekly dinner the night before - big bowls of pasta), and opted for retail therapy, instead.

It had been a week since the basketball game. This morning, Lucy had awoken in her robin's-egg blue bedroom, crawled out from under the tufted white comforter, tip-toed across the chilled hard-word floor, opened her antique wardrobe, and found nothing that interested her in the slightest. Why was there only navy blue, gray, and black in there? Being best friends with a priest hardly made one a nun. At 32 years of age, the rebellion she'd been raging against Southern femininity was starting to lose its steam. Not that she was going to go purchase a halter-top dress with cherries printed on it. But a pink or ( gasp ) teal blouse might be nice.

Unfortunately, she had no choice this morning outside of drab or a little less drab. She settled on a gray turtle neck, black pants, and nude flats.

"What are you looking at?"

Edith's voice made Lucy jump in her chair. Lucy swiveled the chair around to face Edith's doorway. "Clothes. I think I might want to wear an actual color."

Edith stood up straighter and clapped her hands together, looking positively giddy. " I think I might is way too many qualifiers. Come with me. You'll wear color today, Lucy O'Shields."

The only thing that made Edith this gleeful was control. "You're making me nervous."

Edith swept her hand towards her office and said, "Just come with me."

Lucy acquiesced, walking slowly past Edith into the office. Edith shut the door behind Lucy as she said, "I have the perfect top."

Lucy wanted to clear up a few things. "Two things. First, why do you have extra tops in your office? And second, let me be crystal clear: you are not giving me a shirt."

Edith waved a dismissive hand. "Consider it a loan. I had an order come in today, and one of the shirts would be perfect for you. The coloring, the cut. Trust me."

Edith was always immaculately turned out. She was professional at all times, but she allowed her individuality and self-confidence to shine through her wardrobe choices. She was unafraid to add a statement piece or juxtapose something overtly feminine, like lace or florals, against something structured and masculine. It was a gift enviable by any standard, and Lucy decided that if she was going to trust someone to pick out clothes for her, it should be Edith. After all, Miriam had probably not looked at clothes without tab collars in half a decade.

Edith bent over in her massive chair, digging underneath her desk. Finally, she pulled out a plastic shipping bag bulging to its limit. "I cannot resist cold-weather clothes, and 'tis the season." Her childlike enthusiasm made Lucy grin. She was considered the ultimate hard-ass by her students and colleagues outside of the English department. Lucy supposed she and the rest of the office were in on the ruse. For reasons she did not know, Edith needed to project invincibility to the world outside her inner-most circle. Lucy was just glad to be on the inside.

After digging for a while, Edith pulled out a small plastic bag from within the larger package. "Ah hah! I found it."

"Resistance would be futile at this point, right?"

"Absolutely. Don't even try." Edith used a pair of scissors to open the smaller bag and remove a tag. She held up an emerald green top in a satiny fabric. There was a v-neck Lucy immediately feared would be cut too low, but other than that, the style was elegantly simple: long sleeves subtly gathered at the wrists and a hem that was slightly lower in the back and would be flattering un-tucked with her skinny black pants. "Here. I'll step out, and you try it on."

Lucy held the shirt up at her shoulders and looked down at the beautiful color. "Are you sure, Edith? Shouldn't I be doing something more productive?"

"As chair of the department, I declare this to be productive."

"Who could argue with that?"

"I'll be at your desk. There's a mirror on the back of the door because I'm vain, and I have a debilitating fear that I will one day walk into a classroom with the back of my skirt tucked into my panties."

Removing her glasses, Lucy laughed and shook her head as Edith shut the door. She took off the turtleneck, careful to stretch the neck around the messy bun that set atop her head. There was no need to loosen even more tendrils of hair than already curled at her neck and around her temples.

Next, she put on the green shirt, grateful she had worn a black camisole and bra under her sweater that morning. With a little shake, the shirt fell smoothly. Lucy slid her glasses back in place and stepped in front of the mirror. Sure enough, the v-neck was cut low, but it was not uncomfortably so. The dark green contrasted sharply with her fair skin, and Lucy refused to impose forced modesty on her inner-monologue. She shushed the voice telling her the shirt would make her stand out too much, bring attention to her flaws. Instead, she acknowledged that the shirt was flattering and sexy-but-not-too-sexy and that she looked lovely. Beautiful would be hyperbolic. Lovely, though, was fair.

"Are you coming out?" Edith could not hide her emotions if the future of feminism depended upon it. She was always an open book of anger or excitement or cynicism or joy. This time, impatience laced each word.

Lucy opened the door, and then blushed deeply when she saw Porter, Dr. Hubert, and Edith all looking at her. They had congregated around her desk, the men in the two chairs that faced her desk and Edith propped on the corner opposite her computer. They all ignored her mortification at being the center of attention as compliments filled the space.

"You look wonderful, Luce."

"That color is perfect for you."

"I nailed it." That input, obviously, from Edith.

Lucy said, "Thank you all, but what are you doing here? I mean, working obviously. This is your place of work. But what are you doing here, in my office, during this ill-advised fashion show." She was rambling. And blushing. It was unlikely to stop anytime soon.

Dr. Hubert said, "Just on my way from the bathroom. Or was it to the bathroom?"

Lucy looked to Porter. "In between classes. Stopped by to pick up some lecture notes, and Edith told me she was in the middle of a makeover. How could I run out after that declaration?"

Lucy glared at Edith. Edith giggled.

"Well, as much as I appreciate all the compliments, I have work to do. I'll just step back in here and change."

"On no you won't." Edith's voice was the voice Lucy had once heard her use to scare some frat boy who had referred to Emily Dickinson as a "chick." Edith continued, "That color looks amazing with your strawberry-blond hair and skin tone. You are glowing. I refuse to take it back. It would pale in comparison on me, and you know I don't like paling in comparison."

"Edi-" Lucy was just about to argue when the office phone rang. She said, "We'll get back to this," as she picked up the receiver. Then, she delivered her standard phone greeting.

"Lucy? This is Gracie. Forrest's sister, Gracie."

A pit opened at the base of Lucy's stomach. It felt ominously similar to that lunch on her mother's patio.

"Hello, Gracie. Is everything okay?"

"I'm afraid not. I probably should have called Forrest's cell phone, but I figured he was in class, and I thought it might be better coming from someone in person. Especially you, Lucy. It would be better coming from you."

Lucy's face must have shown her anxiety over what the hell "it" was because Porter said, "Lucy? Is everything okay?"

Lucy held up a finger to the concerned faces of the other three and said, "Gracie, what is going on?"

"It's dad. The hospital just called. He collapsed in his home. Thankfully, a neighbor came over to check on him, and she found him un-unconscious," Gracie's voice broke on the word. "They aren't sure how long he had been laying there. They haven't been able to get him to wake up. They said we need to come. Forrest and I. He may...He may not make it." Each word of the final sentence clearly took great effort.

"I'm so sorry, Gracie. Forrest should be in the office in the next ten minutes. His class is wrapping up right now. I'll let him know, and I'm sure he'll get on the road right away." Lucy felt she had to say it again, even though it was futile: "I'm so sorry, Gracie."

"Thank you, Lucy." They exchanged a few details about where Forrest should go and the hospital room number, and then Lucy hung up. She looked at her coworkers, and their somber expressions told her they had mostly heard or guessed at the content of the conversation. She filled them in anyways. "It's Forrest's dad. He’s collapsed. They don't know if he’s going to pull through."

As always, Edith's mind jumped to action. "Someone should go with him. He won't be in a state to drive."

Lucy agreed. "Edith is right. Porter, maybe-"

And then, Porter surprised Lucy by not volunteering to be the one but, rather, saying, "Lucy, it should be you."

Lucy prepared to argue. After all, Porter and Forrest were like brothers, and while she couldn't openly admit it, the feelings Forrest had recently stirred in her made her feel uniquely unqualified to be a rational, rock-solid presence for him in a crisis.

But then Dr. Hubert said, "Lucy, dear, it should be you."

Dr. Hubert looked at her directly, somehow communicating compassion underneath those bushy eyebrows. He had gone to dozens of doctors’ appointments he desperately wanted to skip because Lucy told him he should go. She could have argued with Edith or Porter, but never Dr. Hubert.

Lucy looked down at the green shirt, feeling a pang of guilt for the levity of moments ago. She said, "Okay. I'll go."

Just then, the door opened, and Forrest walked in.

***

Forrest was relieved to see the clock finally move to 2:45. His class wasn't officially over for another five minutes, but it was close enough. He dismissed his students and began gathering his lecture notes.

His Tuesday and Thursday afternoon class was a core course required for all freshmen. Consequently, it was a large class not easily accommodated in the smaller rooms of Hart Building. Instead, he taught in a large lecture hall across campus. Today, he was grateful for the walk back to Hart, optimistic the crisp fall air might alleviate the blues he'd been feeling.

Apparently, his lecture had been affected by his glum mood, because no students stayed behind to ask questions or share ideas. This was an unusual occurrence for Forrest, but he was fine being left alone today. He left the building and headed towards Hart.

Distraction had plagued him now for weeks, ever since he had walked out of Dr. Wray's office feeling so relieved only to walk into his own office and straight into the epiphany that Lucy was, in fact, a woman. An available, alluring woman. The night of their editing meeting and the basketball game had each produced close-calls that still made Forrest sweat. What if Porter had not jogged onto the scene? Or if Lucy had not had the good sense to stand up straight and pull away after Clark had pushed her into him?

Forrest was a sober man. It was a virtue he'd cultivated with single-minded purpose for most of his adult life. He rarely drank, and when he did, it was never more than a finger of bourbon with Dr. Hubert. He stopped eating when he was full, he always drove the speed limit, he was perpetually monogamous, and he never became romantically infatuated. Infatuation was no different than addiction or drunkenness. It allowed forces outside of oneself to dictate one's behavior. Forrest had never given such power to another person.

And in doing so, Forrest had not only protected himself. He had protected others, those people who could have been hurt in the process if he, Forrest, had not done a damn good job of maintaining control.

As the thoughts roiled in Forrest's mind, he acknowledged that, yes, he had control issues. But he also knew better than most the price of abandoning control. His father had never had control over his alcoholism, and the romance he'd shared with Forrest's mother had been tumultuous and passionate and icy-cold in turns, by all accounts. Gracie, being older, remembered more than Forrest, and she'd shared with him memories of their parents being openly affectionate throughout the day only to have vicious, substance-driven fights in the evening.

It was hard for Forrest to comprehend these stories. They didn't mesh with the man his father was within the realm of parenthood. He had never been intentionally cruel to Forrest, cruelty being incongruous with his nature. All Forrest could figure was that his relationship with Forrest's mother had driven him completely outside of his normal self, and in the end, their family had been broken. Forrest and Gracie had been collateral damage in their soap opera.

For the past twenty years of adulthood, it had been relatively easy to protect himself and others. Perhaps it was from the thousands of stories he had read in books, but Forrest was an intuitive person. He'd been able to identify women like himself, people who were also not looking for passion and romance but merely convenience. He had staved off love and all the hurt and danger it entailed.

Forrest knew Lucy better than just about anyone but Porter. Lucy was not built in the way of his past partners. Lucy was meant to fall in love with some incredibly lucky guy who would spend the rest of his life being treasured by her. She treasured people. She treasured Forrest and Porter and Edith and Dr. Hubert. She treasured her best friend from college over a decade after graduation. She was all in within each friendship, and that is how she would be when she fell in love. She would be all in, and the man with whom she fell in love had better be worthy, damn it. Forrest could not bear such responsibility. It was contrary to how he had very intentionally structured his entire life.

Even admitting that there had to be boundaries in their relationship, though, Forrest was still nursing the sting of Lucy not telling him she was considering another position. Such secrecy was unusual between them. He'd thought it was, anyways.

In her apartment last week, sitting at the small table watching her mind drift to the memories of her mother's illness, Forrest had felt humbled that she'd shared memories so personal. No other woman had ever been so vulnerable with him, not emotionally. It felt important. Although he'd been there with Lucy during the whole episode she'd recounted, there was so much he had not known about her perspective.

In her apartment, that tiny space that was so very Lucy, there'd been several times when she said his name, and the hesitation he normally heard in her voice had been gone. It was the smallest of changes in their relationship, but it was noteworthy. Perhaps, they were moving into a more comfortable friendship, one in which she would not feel compelled to hide a job prospect from him. It couldn't be more than that, but Forrest wanted their friendship to stay strong. He needed her in his life.

Forrest arrived at the building and walked into the English Department. Standing in the middle of the office was Lucy, dressed in a rich green he had never seen her wear. She looked stunning, and he paused, staring in silence for a beat too long. Forcing himself to look away, he noticed that Edith, Porter, and Dr. Hubert were all congregated around Lucy's desk, and all four of them were looking at him.

"You guys look like you've seen the ghost of Mark Twain. What's going on?"

Their eyes darted between each other, but then Edith stood from where she'd been leaning on Lucy's desk and said, "Forrest, your sister just called, and your father is very sick." Edith was speaking in a gentle, almost maternal tone that was as disconcerting as the content of what she was saying. In that instant, it struck Forrest that this was a profoundly serious moment.

Forrest looked to Lucy. "How serious is it?"

"Forrest," Lucy's voice quivered on his name. "Forrest, it's serious. Gracie said you need to go now. The doctors are concerned there won't be much time left."

While Forrest had been zeroed in on Lucy, Dr. Hubert had approached him from the side. He put a heavy hand on Forrest's shoulder. Forrest was certain he drooped an inch beneath the weight, although he wasn't certain if it was the weight of Dr. Hubert's hand or the weight of the moment.

"Son," Dr. Hubert said. "I am so sorry you must face this moment. If there is anything Mrs. Hubert or I can do to help, do not hesitate to call us."

"Thank you, Dr. Hubert."

Behind Dr. Hubert, Porter stood up. "Forrest, we all talked, and we don't want you going to Mayfield alone. Lucy is going to drive you there."

"No, really, that isn't necessary. I'll be..."

Before he could finish, Lucy said, "Forrest, please. I want to go. I want to help."

Forrest considered the best way to turn her down. He knew that if things ended poorly, he would be messy. He wouldn't be controlled. He didn't want Lucy to witness such a moment.

Porter, knowing Forrest well enough to know his current line of thinking, said, "Forrest, there are moments in life when you shouldn’t be alone. Let Lucy go with you. Edith, Dr. Hubert, and I will split your classes tomorrow. Let us help you."

The will for resistance drained from Forrest. Edith, still in a warm and nurturing voice that seemed like someone else, said, "You'd do the same for any of us."

Forrest looked to Lucy. "I'll just put my briefcase in my office, and we can leave."