3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

H art Building was a Greek Revival behemoth of a building stationed at the heart of Paducah State University. Lucy's office set in the center of a third floor office suite, wreathed with four other offices, each belonging to an English professor who depended on Lucy to keep life in order, the department running smoothly, and, sometimes it seemed, the world spinning.

The office was filled with heavy wood furniture that looked as though it had been borrowed from a Humphrey Bogart film set. The lower half of the walls was wainscoted in a dark walnut panel, and the upper walls hadn't been painted in 50 years, the white paint now yellowed to depths rivaled only by the library's archived book collection. Renovations were for the business departments.

As soon as Lucy sat down after returning from the bathroom, the phone rang. Lucy inhaled for the long greeting: "Paducah State University English Department. This is Lucy. How can I help you?"

"Lucy, dear, how are ya today?" The voice that spoke was gravelly and dry, the result of far too much hard liquor poured over vocal cords. But it was still a voice that made Lucy smile.

"Mr. Graham, I'm just fine. How are you?"

"Oh, all's well down here in Mayfield. The farmers are getting their tobacco barns smoking, and it looks like today is going to be chilly." Between every few words, Lucy heard a wheeze as Mr. Graham inhaled. The mundane nature of the conversation thinly disguised a struggle beneath the surface as he reached for the end of a sentence, none of which was standard in her weekly phone calls with Forrest's father.

Lucy didn't feel it was her place to mention how weary he sounded. "Well, I'm glad to hear everything is good, if cold, in Mayfield. What can I do for you today?"

"I was just wondering how that son of mine is doing."

"Oh, he's up to no good, as always."

Mr. Graham laughed, which sent him into a fit of coughing.

"Are you okay, Mr. Graham?"

Finally, he said in a pant, "I'm fine, dear. Just fine."

"Dr. Graham is really doing well, Mr. Graham. He's just busy with the normal fall to-dos. He's grading midterms and sludging through these slow weeks ahead of Thanksgiving. And writing, of course."

"Anything new published?"

Mr. Graham always asked this, and Lucy always made sure to get him a copy when Forrest made it into an academic journal.

"Actually, yes. I was going to mail it out today."

"That is just wonderful. Just wonderful." Another wheeze came through the phone like wind through dry corn stalks. "I'm going to let you go, Lucy. Tell Forrest his old man said hello."

"Will do, Mr. Graham. You take care of yourself."

As Lucy hung up, Lily, an undergraduate with a messy bun that still, somehow, looked effortlessly stylish and fresh (the exact goal Lucy reached for and failed at each morning, not that she was jealous), walked out of Dr. Edith Rose's office. A large tear crept down the no-make-up-necessary cheek of the tragic heroine. Lucy immediately reached for the drawer where she kept emergency rations for Edith's victims.

"Here hon. I'm sure it wasn't that bad," Lucy said as she handed Lily a gold-wrapped dark-chocolate candy and triple-ply Kleenex.

"She said my project proposal was devoid of substance."

Tame, for Dr. Rose. "See, Lily, that is just a bit of constructive criticism you can certainly address."

"And that the grading of such a flat, meaningless paper would ruin her whole Thanksgiving break..."

"Oh."

"And that Sylvia Plath would have stuck her head in an oven far sooner if she had been forced to read said paper."

"Have more chocolate, dear."

Before Lucy could usher the wilted flower from the premises, a crash resounded from the closed door of Dr. Porter Finch's office. His wife, a journalist who was frequently on the road, was currently in...was it Chicago this time? Lucy couldn't remember, but what she did remember was that the nanny, claiming a migraine, had dropped the kids off an hour before, and Porter had his hands very full.

Lucy jumped out of her seat and began speed-walking backward towards his office while saying to the forlorn Lily, "I'm going to need to check on that. Lily, perk up. Everything will work out. Believe it or not, Dr. Rose will do all she can to make sure you don't fail."

Lucy turned around and walked into Porter’s office, closing the door behind her. He was shushing his six-month old daughter in his arms while his two sons chased each other in a circle around him.

When Edith had first come to PSU the year after Lucy had begun working there, she had whispered to Lucy that Porter looked like a cross between Rock Hudson and Tom Hanks. He was a curious mixture of heartthrob and approachable; commanding but also able to not take himself too seriously.

Within Porter's office, bright primary-colored toys were strewn across the floor. Lucy immediately stepped on a Lego for which her thin-soled flats were no match. Massaging the offending foot while hopping on the other, Lucy regretted that there was no dignified way to recover from a Lego injury. Thankfully, Dr. Finch was much too frazzled to notice.

"I'm so glad to see you, Lucy. I decided to build a leaning Tower of Pisa with Billy and Luke using the books from my lower shelves..."

"Of course you did."

"...and just as we were finishing up, someone..."

Billy and Luke each yelled "It was him!" while pointing at the other.

"...knocked over the tower which woke up Anna..."

"Of course it did."

"...and I'm going to need someone to take Anna while I tidy up. I say all that to say, can you hold Anna?"

"I thought you'd never ask." Lucy reached for the wailing six-month old girl, cooing soothingly and bouncing her in an attempt to return quiet to the small office. Or, at least as much quiet as could be achieved with a six- and a four-year-old boy wrestling in the corner. Lucy set about straightening the pink headband with a bow barely smaller than the child's head. After the bow was put back in order and no longer obscuring Anna's vision like a pirate with an eye patch, Anna quieted. Lucy laid her cheek on the soft curls above the headband and inhaled deeply, telling herself that eggs were far from shriveled at the age of 32. Well, maybe not far. But they definitely were not shriveled.

Still using the baby-talk cadence that had calmed Anna, Lucy said, "So what exactly were you and Charlotte thinking when you had three children under the age of 6?"

"I can't speak for Charlotte, but for myself, I was thinking about those business dresses she wears to interview corrupt politicians."

"I officially regret asking that question. Anna is coming with me while I go remind Dr. Hubert about his appointment today."

"Thank you, Lucy."

Back out the door and once again safe from errant Legos, Lucy stuck her head into Edith's office on her way to Dr. Hubert's. Hoisting the baby an inch higher up her hip, Lucy said, "Edith, I forbid you from making any more students cry today. I'm running out of chocolate."

"It was a joke. I can hardly help that undergraduates have no sense of humor." Sitting in an obscenely large chair likely chosen for the purpose of intimidating others, Dr. Rose looked like a magazine advertisement for power suits. Her smooth black hair, styled straight and cut in a shoulder-length bob that slanted forward with a perfect level of drama, contrasted sharply with her ivory complexion. Despite her beauty and clear I've-got-it-together air, she was flashing Lucy a mischievous grin that reminded Lucy why she loved sharing an office with this powerhouse.

Lucy matched Dr. Rose's ornery expression with her own skeptical glare: "Sylvia Plath? Really?"

"In my defense, her paper was truly atrocious. And I managed to convey that fact in a manner that was both humorous and educational. You know if I don't push her, she'll be eaten alive next year in graduate school."

Lucy sighed as a half-smile sabotaged the stern expression she was trying to maintain: "Just promise me you will try to be nice."

Edith laid her hand on a small stack of treasured books that permanently resided on the corner of her desk.

"I solemnly swear on my first edition of The Bell Jar that I will not make any more students cry for the rest of today."

"It's 3:30 in the afternoon."

"Exactly."

Knowing she would not get anything more, Lucy conceded, "Okay. I'll take it. But you owe me more chocolate."

"I'll add it to the department's budget."

Edith flashed a self-satisfied grin as Lucy shook her head and laughed. Lucy turned with Anna toward Dr. Hubert's door.

Dr. Charles Hubert was the living legend of the PSU English Department. He had taught within Hart Building for forty-five years with no plans to retire anytime soon. He was a Shakespearean scholar. When he spoke, it was with the authority of a monologue delivered on the stage of the Globe Theatre.

In his prime, he had been an imposing force. He was towering. Old age had not robbed him of his impressive stature. However, age had put a few pounds on him, and his sweater vest worked a little harder these days to stretch over this girth. His head was completely bald, but he made up for it in eyebrows that were truly astounding. Lucy never understood how someone could simultaneously be so bald and so hairy.

Dr. Hubert was an exacting teacher, but those who graduated from the department inevitably formed a soft-spot for this university relic. Through her four years as a student, Lucy had feared and respected Dr. Hubert, knowing each time she signed up for one of his courses, she faced a grueling but enriching semester. As his administrative assistant, Lucy had lost all of the fear. Dr. Hubert, though gruff in manner, was completely loyal to his coworkers, including Lucy.

Once again readjusting Anna on her hip, Lucy gently knocked on Dr. Hubert's door and then pushed it slightly ajar. "Dr. Hubert."

"Hmm..." A groggy groan followed by a cough came from the small sofa he kept across from his desk. "Excuse me. Who's there?" Dr. Hubert's voice was always booming, even when he was just waking from an afternoon nap. Anna made a small jump in Lucy's arms.

"I'm sorry to wake you Dr. Hubert, but it’s time for your doctor's appointment."

It took some effort, but Dr. Hubert began the work of swinging his long tired legs off of the edge of the sofa so he could labor through to standing. Lucy hated seeing him age. When had simply standing up become such a chore?

"Oh that doctor's appointment," Dr. Hubert growled. "It is such a waste of time. Yes, doctor, I know I'm fat. No, doctor, I don't plan on giving up donuts during my last years of life on this earth!"

Lucy wanted to look disapproving, but a smile undid the effect. "Be that as it may, do you want to tell Mrs. Hubert you skipped out on a cardiologist visit?"

"No, but I'd happily pay you to do it for me." A cascade of wrinkles gathered above his eyebrows as he looked hopefully to Lucy.

"You couldn't afford my asking price." Lucy would never overcome her fear of the formidable Mrs. Hubert.

Growling, he said, "I'm getting ready."

"Good, I'll go call an Uber. Mrs. Hubert is meeting you at the doctor's."

Heading back to her desk, Lucy conversed with Anna. "It is forty-five minutes after Dr. Graham's final class of the day, Anna. I wonder where he could be?" Not that she followed his every move or always knew where he was. It was just that he was nothing if not predictable. His hair and beard were always the same length. His clothes were always neutral tones and professorial. His smile was always easy. And he was always in the office within twenty minutes after class dismissed.

Just as she was finishing booking a ride for Dr. Hubert and covertly texting Mrs. Hubert to let her know the asset was moving without resistance, the front door swung open, and in walked Forrest. His hair was, shockingly, slightly disheveled on one side. Lucy just happened to know it was the side he ran his hand through when he was nervous. Any good secretary would know that.

But despite the evidence that he had been dealing with stress, he immediately smiled, the dimples flashing over his beard in a way that had made countless female students stay late after class. Never had questions on Ralph Waldo Emerson seemed so urgent.

"Hello, Lucy. Hello, Anna."

He reached over Lucy's desk and tugged gently on Anna's toe, garnering a toothless grin. Forrest and Porter had developed a brother-like bond during Lucy's time in the office, so Anna was as comfortable with him as she was with any uncle or family member. Looking up from the smile he had earned, Dr. Graham said, "Lucy, I've got something for you. The next section of the Whitman paper was completed in a blaze of glory at three o'clock this morning."

"That's wonderful. I'll come into your office in a minute. I just have to return Anna to her owner."

Lucy had just finished editing a particularly involved research project for Edith, but she was ready to take on a new section of Dr. Graham’s work. His was always a little lighter than Edith or Porter’s pieces - almost playful even though his works were meant for heavy, academic journals. Plus, while Lucy would go into his office to get a manuscript to edit, she fully intended to also find out the mystery behind his mussed hair.

***

Forrest walked into his office and removed his sports jacket, placing it on the back of his desk chair. Sitting down and leaning back in the chair, Forrest unbuttoned the cuffs of his white shirt and rolled the sleeves to just below his elbows. He felt lighter than he had in half a week, and he allowed himself a moment to simply enjoy the sensation.

Forrest loved his office. The room was lined with bookshelves filled with American classics and books about American classics. Inhaling deeply, Forrest imagined that the old-book smell coming from his books was no different than what must have surrounded Mark Twain or Henry Wadsworth Longfellow or Herman Melville in their own studies while writing their masterpieces. He was breathing the same air.

Around the perimeter of his desk stood four large whiteboards on easels, each with row after row of notes and ideas for future classes, research projects, and articles. Lucy always joked that this was the stream-of-consciousness section of the larger office.

The color-coding was of Lucy's doing. Years ago during a slow, hot week in between summer sessions, she had developed a system to catalog his ideas more efficiently. It was as if she’d walked into his cluttered mind and organized each item, closing the unnecessary tabs while putting what remained in tidy little rows. They had spent every day that week moving information around the office and discussing appropriate marker colors for each item.

But Forrest's affection for his office went beyond his little nook. He loved the entire cluster of the English Department. Before he walked into his specific office, he was in Lucy's territory. It always had fresh flowers, brewing coffee, and a lit scented candle. The scent usually mimicked some home-baked good, and it made Forrest wonder if he was now, in his late 30s, experiencing what life would have been like had he been given some Leave It to Beaver existence.

Forrest also loved the constant energy and commotion of the place: Porter's wild children with Porter’s own child-like enthusiasm, Edith's raging at all manner of incompetencies or injustices, and Dr. Hubert's booming voice, making a simple observation on the weather sound like a dramatic monologue worthy of the stage. And, of course, Lucy keeping them all in line. There was also the revolving door of students worried about a grade, seeking guidance, or just wanting to sit and chat with Lucy while getting a chocolate.

Just as the tension was truly releasing from Forrest's shoulders, Lucy walked in. Tall himself, Forrest had always appreciated the way Lucy filled a space, so unlike the petite Dr. Wray. He supposed it was useful to be so small when one had to weave between microscopes.

"So, what do you have for me?" Lucy asked, cutting straight to the point.

She looked harried today, like the office had been keeping her particularly busy. However, Forrest couldn't help but think harried looked nice on her. Reddish curls had escaped from her bun and were framing her face, the tip of one curl coming perilously close to her full lips. This was not unusual. Lucy's hair was never what one would deem orderly. He must have noticed it today because it was such a contrast to Dr. Wray's perfectly coiffed hairstyle.

"Dr. Graham?" Lucy's voice cut into his thoughts.

"Yes. Sorry, Luce. My mind is wandering today something awful."

"I believe you have a paper for me to edit?"

"Yes. Have a seat. I'll get it out."

While Lucy relaxed into a chair opposite his desk, Forrest grabbed the printed pages from his old, worn leather briefcase, the same one from his first day of teaching.

"It is the next section from the Whitman paper. Like I said, I finished it at three this morning. Assume it will be awful." Forrest cringed as he handed it over. He would only hand a draft this rough into Lucy's competent hands.

"Ooh, goody. I'll get out the really big red pen."

"You take entirely too much glee in pointing out all of my mistakes."

"The student becomes the master and so on," Lucy smirked teasingly as she made a brief flip-through of the text, the papers making a flapping sound as Forrest chuckled.

"You will hear no arguments here."

"I should have time to read it tonight. I’m finally finished with Edith’s project. When do you want to meet to discuss it?"

"If you are sure you can get to it tonight, would tomorrow night work for you? At least for the first section."

"Wednesday? I thought Wednesday was date night with Dr. Bugs."

"Porter certainly has a way with nicknames," Forrest sighed.

"And he never passes up the opportunity to supply one when you have a girlfriend."

What else could Forrest do but sigh again, this time with a little more drama. "True enough. But back to Wednesday. You are correct that Wednesdays are date nights. Or rather, were date nights with Dr. Bu..." Lucy smiled innocently while Forrest growled out, "Dr. Wray. They were, that is, until we broke up."

"When?"

"When what?"

"When did you break up?"

Forrest checked his watch. "Seventeen minutes ago."

"That's hot off the press. You could have given me warning, you know. I'm fresh out of breakup supplies.” On a university campus with so many young singles roaming around, it would be irresponsible to not have a box of junk food and relaxation candles ready at a moment's notice. Unfortunately, Lucy's supply had recently been tapped out, and she had not been able to run to the store in a few days.

"Oh yeah, didn't you use them for Edith when she broke up with what's-his-name last week? Was it Tony? Oscar?"

"It was George, and the answer is sort of. Only I didn't use them for Edith. I used them for George. He was really torn up."

Forrest slowly nodded his head as the memory returned. "That's right. She broke up with him in the office, didn't she? Brutal."

"I ran 15 minutes late getting home that night. Poor guy. But back to the important topic, I can't say I'm surprised about your breakup."

"Lucy, I'm wounded." Forrest put a hand over his heart in mock pain.

Mortified, Lucy rushed to explain herself: "No, I don't mean I'm not surprised you and Dr. Wray broke up."

"Because I'm so well known for my long-term relationships." A little self-deprecation was a small price to pay to see Lucy frazzled. It made her cheeks flush to almost the same coral tone as her lips. Not that he normally noticed her lips. It was just that they were so much fuller and more animated than Dr. Wray's lips. If he had not just seen and broken up with a woman with whom he had been involved, he definitely would not have been noticing Lucy's lips.

Lucy's mortification had quickly been replaced by mild irritation at being teased. "What I meant to say was that I knew something had you stressed out from the moment you walked into the office."

"Yes, and how's that?"

"Your hair."

"My hair? My hair is like a helmet. It always looks the same."

Lucy straightened up in the chair and leaned forward. Cleavage. Lucy had cleavage. Of course she had cleavage. She was a girl. Why was he noticing her cleavage now? Didn't she usually button the top of her sweaters? Forrest focused squarely on Lucy’s face.

In a conspiratorial whisper, she said, "Not so. True, your hair is almost always in the exact same style, but when you are tense, you run your right hand through it, and it unsettles that side just a bit."

Forrest could not elevate his eyebrows any higher if he tried. "Really?"

"Really. I've worked here a decade. It's basically my job to know that."

"And no one has ever accused Lucy O'Shields of not being good at her job." Forrest smiled at her genuinely. She really was a master at what she did. He wanted to change the subject, though. Maybe if they moved on from the breakup talk, he would stop noticing that the one stray curl kept inching closer to the corner of her mouth. "Enough about my day. What happened in your day?"

"This afternoon, your dad called."

"And?"

"He didn't sound so good."

"Life-long alcoholics rarely do at seventy."

"True, but I don't know. He sounded worse than normal."

"I'll check on him this weekend. What did he want?"

"The usual. To check on you."

To this, Forrest tilted his head to the side, and gave Lucy a knowing smile that did not reach his eyes. She silently matched his expression, tilting her head just a bit, too. She knew.

"I know I suck at talking to my dad. I'm glad, Lucy, that he feels comfortable calling you."

"Of course. I don't mind at all. He's a sort of charming old guy."

"And don't say it's your job to chat with my lonely old man. It is far above and beyond your job."

"Aren't you flattering this afternoon?"

"For me, flattering is really a way of being." Forrest was impressed he had managed to get this line out without laughing.

"Would Dr. Bugs agree?"

At this, he snorted in a lost battle to hold in the laughter. Placing his elbows on the desk, he directed his full attention to Lucy: "Moving on. How about the office? How was the office today?"

"Well, the Tower of Pisa collapsed in Porter's office..."

"So his kids visited."

"Edith made no less than three students cry today..."

"It is the week after midterms, so naturally..."

"And I only had to threaten Dr. Hubert with tattling to Mrs. Hubert to get him to his cardiologist."

"It's the small victories that count."

Lucy guffawed at his deadpan expression. The laughter lit her green eyes, eyes that were remarkable by any standard. He really did prefer green eyes to...what color had Dr. Wray's eyes been? They weren't anything like Lucy's eyes.

At this thought, a sweat broke out on the back of Forrest's neck. Why did he keep thinking of Lucy in terms of a woman with whom he had slept? Lucy was not, nor would she ever be, in that category. Her lips? Her unruly hair? Her green eyes? And, for the love of Mark Twain, her cleavage ? These were not parts of Lucy about which Forrest allowed himself to think. Sure, he had noticed. One notices such things after ten years in a smallish office. But Forrest had designated these parts to a locked box in a deadbolted closet in a forbidden corner of his mind. He was sure he had.

For the second time in a week, Forrest felt the uncomfortable stirrings of panic.

"If you don't stop abusing your hair, it is going to lose that helmet-like quality of which you are so proud."

Forrest dropped his hands to his lap, squeezing his knees tightly.

She continued, "Don't worry, I'll bring breakup supplies tomorrow night to the editing meeting."

"No need, Lucy. Really, I'm fine." Although, he was not entirely sure he believed this statement.

As she stood up, Lucy said, "It's no problem. Plus, Cheetos and M&M's will make all the red ink I'm going to use sting a little less."

Maybe it would be best if she thought he was stressed about the breakup. "Sounds good. Don't forget the Gummy Bears."