5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

F orrest arrived at his office only a few minutes before Lucy's golden retriever, Clark, came barreling through the door with Lucy unceremoniously dragged behind while gripping the leash. Clark jumped towards Forrest, knocking him back a few steps in the process.

"Hey big guy." Forrest knelt down to greet the enthusiastic (and slobbery) dog as Clark's entire back-half wagged in delight.

Bending over to unhook his leash, Lucy said, "I had planned to take him back to the apartment after our walk, but we ran out of time. I hope you don't mind."

"Of course not. We always get more work done when Clark is here." Forrest tried to move his face a little further from the licking Clark was graciously bestowing.

“I’m not entirely sure that’s true, but sure. Let’s go with it,” Lucy quipped as she draped the leash over a whiteboard.

Growing up, Forrest's dad had made sure his kids always had a dog. Over the course of Forrest's childhood, there had been three dogs, each some pound-rescue mix of who-knew-how-many breeds. Forrest figured it was his father's attempt to make up for his own inadequacies. If a single-dad couldn't escape liquor long enough to have an actual conversation with his kids, he could at least get the kids a dog. It was companionship by proxy.

Of course, the care of the dog had fallen on Gracie's shoulders and, when he got older, Forrest's. With all of his dad's flaws, the list of which was legion, Forrest could not fault him on this one point: each dog had in fact enriched Forrest's childhood and helped alleviate the loneliness that so frequently weighed on him.

However, as an adult, Forrest rarely set foot in his own apartment for more than sleeping, so he had avoided the commitment of a pet. After the uncomfortable questions that had arisen the day before as Forrest had dealt with his relationship (or non-relationship) problem, Forrest cringed to think what his refusal to get a pet might say about his overall commitment issues. Instead of heading to a pound, Forrest chose to spoil Clark whenever Lucy brought him around, which she did often, especially during the summer when the campus was practically empty.

Taking off her windbreaker, Lucy said, "We went for a long walk to burn off some of his energy, and then we stopped by Shipley's on our way here to pick up a few break-up supplies."

Finally done with the rather long and wet greeting process, Forrest stood up while Clark laid down next to his desk, panting with residual excitement. Forrest brushed hair off the sleeves of his plaid shirt. Having Clark there reminded Forrest that it was no longer the work day, so he undid his shackles, loosening his tie to his second button, undoing the collar button, and rolling up his sleeves.

Lucy was wearing black leggings, an over-sized PSU sweatshirt, and sneakers. She must have changed from her usual uniform-esque work clothes before her walk. Clothes were not something people usually noticed about Lucy because of her nondescript style.

Even more strands of Lucy's hair than usual had escaped from the wavy pony-tail that bounced with each movement. Her cheeks were glowing from the excursion of walking with an energetic dog. She looked like fall personified, blown in on a chilly gust of wind, and Forrest found the overall effect to be charming.

"While I appreciate your thoughtfulness, the break-up supplies really aren't necessary. I'm not as upset as I think a person is supposed to be after six months with someone." He had hardly even thought about Dr. Wray the whole day, finding it easy to transition back into his single life. "I fear that at 38 years old, I have finally achieved poster-child status for the offspring of dysfunctional families."

Lucy lowered her voice as her eyes gleamed and whispered, "You probably shouldn't advertise that. Seeing as how you're a successful college professor with countless publications under your belt, all the parents will start being dysfunctional."

Forrest shrugged his shoulders and said dryly, "Only if they don't want grandkids."

Forrest smirked along with Lucy's giggle, but the truth of the statement did not escape his notice. Porter was only a couple years older than Forrest, but he and Charlotte had a houseful of children. Forrest was nowhere close to fatherhood, much less making a reasoned decision about whether or not that was a goal he wanted to pursue. He put off the thought in a way eerily similar to how he put off a trip to the pound.

Lucy glanced at Forrest as she sat down the Shipley's bags. "You seem more relaxed today."

"I think you will find my hair is perfectly in order."

"Yes, but the relationship with Dr. Wray was six months, so at the very least, we should commemorate the passing of an era."

"A very short era."

Giving him the same look a teacher gives to a student asking obstinate questions, Lucy retorted, "Well, we're commemorating it with Doritos and gummy bears. It's hardly fireworks and speeches."

"Good point. Toss the gummy bears."

Lucy started sorting through her bags, getting out the gummy bears as well as his paper. He noticed several rows of red scribblings on the back. Ouch. Next to the paper, she placed a small bag of dog treats. Looking at Forrest as if scolding him prematurely, she pointed to the bag of dog treats and said, “Dogs can’t have gummy bears.”

“Noted.” Forrest caught the package of candy Lucy tossed his way as he said, "I got us sandwiches from that new coffee shop downtown for our dinner."

"Great. I'm starving. I saw Miriam coming out of that coffee shop this afternoon." Forrest's desk faced two small leather chairs. Lucy sat on one and propped her feet on the seat of the second chair, her long, stretched-out legs accentuated by her black leggings. Not that he had noticed.

"Yeah? Did she say if it is any good?"

"We actually didn't talk about it. We were discussing…" Lucy paused for a breath, a pause so short Forrest wasn't even sure it had happened. "We were discussing other things."

Usually, Lucy was an open book. Forrest figured there was a reason for her ambiguity, so he let it be.

"Do you want to eat dinner before or after editing?"

"Actually, disappointingly for me, I didn't have a terrible lot to mark up. You might be that rare human who actually gets more competent at all-nighters with age."

"We can't know that for sure since I'm so young."

Lucy side-eyed him with a slow, "Uh-huh."

Forrest smiled.

"I say that to say, since there isn't much, how about we knock out the editing and then have our sandwiches."

"Sounds good to me."

Lucy took her feet off of the other chair, and scooted forward as Forrest also leaned in. He passed a few gummy bears across the desk to Lucy and tossed a dog treat directly to Clark who jerked his head up, ate the nugget, and returned to his nap. They each mindlessly popped gummies into their own mouths as they looked at the marked-up text, and Lucy explained her recommendations. Forrest's eyes darted for a brief moment to her chest, thinking that the sweatshirt hid far more than the unbuttoned cardigan from the previous day. It was fortunate. He couldn't really afford more panic attacks this week.

The fruity scent of Lucy's gummy bear filled the small space over his desk as she talked. They were very close to one another, proximity-wise. It felt cozy in their little space. In fact, it felt warm. Possibly too warm. Forrest hoped he was not about to start sweating.

Forrest strained to focus on each word Lucy was saying. But just as Forrest worked to discipline his mind to register the information she was sharing, Lucy's small movements and habits, idiosyncrasies that were familiar to him after a decade of working side-by-side, kept catching his attention, demanding notice.

When she paused to gather a thought, she always bit her lower lip. As she resumed talking, the spot where her teeth had been would be briefly white and then immediately turn a more vibrant shade of the coral color her lips were naturally painted.

Forrest tuned in long enough to give a coherent answer to her question about possibly rearranging paragraphs on the third page. But then he saw how her left hand, the one she was not using to point at the text, kept brushing through the hair that had fallen out of her bun, pushing it behind her ear. Without fail, the stray hair popped out from behind her ear, once again framing her face. The action was as without thought as breathing, but it made him wonder what her hair must feel like to the touch.

And then her glasses slipped down her nose, something they probably did a hundred times a day. She pushed them up with her index finger as her deep, questioning eyes rose to his.

"Forrest, did you hear me?" The full attention of those round, owl-like green eyes was squarely focused on him.

Forrest shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs (or in this case, green eyes and uncontrollable hair) from his thoughts: "I'm sorry. What did you say again?"

"I asked if you have any questions on that last bit."

"No. No, it all looks perfect. You're perfect."

Lucy immediately blushed from her neck to the roots of her hair. Forrest, still not entirely present in the moment, thought how lovely Lucy was when her lightly freckled cheeks blushed so darkly. Then, the realization of what he had said crashed into him like a bucket of ice water, and he reached for the only words he could to rectify the situation.

"Your work is perfect. As always."

***

Lucy schooled her face, immediately trying to camouflage the shock she had felt only a moment ago. For the briefest of moments, Forrest had seemed to call her perfect. Unfortunately, no amount of will power or determination could erase such a potent blush from a fair-skinned, almost-redhead.

Forrest picked up the red-inked transcript and rotated his swivel chair towards his computer. "I'll boot up my computer so I can make the changes."

With Forrest facing his computer, Lucy had a few moments to collect herself. Please , she prayed, let me return to a normal color.

He had meant her work was perfect. Obviously. It was a simple slip. And not of the Freudian variety.

And Lucy's work was perfect. She was very good at what she did. She took pride in each task completed, each paper edited, each crisis cured, each student served. But Lucy herself? No, Lucy was decidedly not perfect.

For just a moment, a voice, a soprano voice almost musical in its Southern lilt, began articulating insecurities from long ago. If she would only learn to tame her hair. If she were just a little bit slenderer. Maybe a grapefruit diet? Why not try contacts, dear?

Eight years had passed since an aggressive cancer had suddenly, with little warning, ended Lucy's mother's life. However, Lucy still remembered the exact pitch of her mother's voice, especially when that voice was writing plans for Lucy's improvement. It was always extra sweet when directed towards that task. Lucy did not begrudge her mother. She recognized that the "constructive criticism" had been a painfully misguided attempt at expressing concern and love.

Through years of late-night phone calls with Miriam after her mother's passing, Lucy had slowly begun to acknowledge the place this voice still occupied in her conscience. She had finally been able to name the voice ( Hello, Mom ), and on an intellectual level, she recognized that most of the information it spouted was simply untrue. Her hair was not a problem that needed solved. No amount of deprivation was going to make her solid, tall body frailer and more feminine. To think so was like saying she could shift shoe sizes. And, damn it, she liked her glasses.

It had been a while since Lucy had heard her mother's voice in her psyche, but Lucy was unsurprised at its sudden resurgence. After all, one could hardly forget a voice that was clearly still alive in one's head.

Forrest would likely be bereft to know he had in any way sparked self-doubt in someone else, especially someone with whom he was friends. And they were friends. It wasn't just Miriam who had helped Lucy lessen the frequency of her internal critic. It was also the people in the four offices around her own who regularly sung her praises, regularly reinforced her strength and intelligence and efficacy.

Sure, it might be nice to have an adoring man say she was perfect while gazing at her across a candle-lit table. Lucy's eyes shut tight at the unbidden thought. It would be nice, but having the unwavering admiration of friends and colleagues should surely be enough.

"Lucy, did you think I should move this sentence to the front of the paragraph or keep it in its spot at the end? I can't remember what you said earlier."

Lucy's eyes opened wide and her shoulders straightened as she came out of her reverie. She looked where he was pointing and said, "I would move it."

Without questioning her judgment, Forrest returned his attention to the computer, oblivious to the battle raging in Lucy. With skill obtained over a lifetime of practice, Lucy shut the door on the critical voice, hoping it would once again go dormant for a while.

Forrest pressed one last key with a gusto of finality, and turned his chair back towards her. "There, everything else can wait for tomorrow."

"Great! Should we eat something besides gelatinous candy made of ingredients I couldn't possibly pronounce?"

"That does seem like the responsible thing to do," Forrest replied as he pulled out the coffee-shop sandwiches. Lucy walked to the office mini-fridge and got them each a bottle of Sun Drop, the soda of choice in Kentucky. When Miriam had attended an out-of-state seminary, she had sent money each month to Lucy to ship a six-pack of Sun Drops her way.

"Let's not get too carried away with unprocessed food, though," Lucy said as she put the bottle of neon green liquid in front of him.

With food between them, the levity and ease they usually enjoyed returned.

After only a couple of bites, Forrest said, "I feel like I have sandwich all over my beard. This is the problem with beards."

"Yep. Your beard is definitely sandwich-flavored now." It was a ridiculous joke, but it had the intended consequence of making Forrest laugh. The laugh lines around his eyes had only recently become more noticeable, such a subtle sign of aging. They looked right on him. Anyone who worshiped Mark Twain with Forrest's enthusiasm was clearly an old soul. Aging for him was going to be a process of the external reflecting more accurately the internal. Also, Lucy had always loved how quick he was to laugh, and she now loved that his face held markings of this personality trait on the surface.

Lucy squirmed at the thoughts her mind was entertaining. She loved his laugh lines ? Thinking about the other professors, Lucy tried to identify what she loved about each of them. No facial features came to mind. Although Dr. Hubert's eyebrows were certainly noteworthy, she wouldn't say she loved them.

Forrest said between bites, "I have to admit, despite your often-wacky sense of humor, I still sometimes think of you as the smartest student in class. In my over-a-decade of teaching, you still stand out as remarkable."

Lucy smiled at the compliment, but in the recesses of her mind, the thought passed that she would prefer he not think of her as a student. Of course, she, too, had a hard time moving on from their original dynamic.

"And I still have a hard time not calling you Dr. Graham."

Forrest set down his sandwich, and with mock anger said, "I know. Can you please tell me what that is about? We've been working side-by-side now for ten years." To emphasize the point, he tossed a chip into the air that Clark caught and swallowed in a single, smooth motion.

Lucy shook her head in exasperation and said, "Not sure. Your professorial prowess is so great, it has stunted my ability to move on in our relationship."

Yikes. What had made her use the word relationship . The teasing went out of Forrest's eyes, and he said, "I hear you call Porter by his first name all the time. He was also your professor."

Desperate to recapture the levity from a moment ago, Lucy said, "Don't know. Maybe if we tried a nickname. How do you feel about Forry?"

Lucy breathed an internal sigh of relief. It had worked. The dimples reappeared over the edge of the beard, and Forrest said through a chuckle, "I feel very bad about Forry. That is how I feel about Forry."

An impish grin crossed his face. "Here. I have a fantastic idea. Let's practice you saying Forrest."

Lucy's eyebrows rose in question, wondering what she had gotten herself into.

"I have chocolates." He reached for the entire bag she had brought in the break-up supplies. "I happen to know you love chocolates, especially after dinner."

"Guilty."

"Ask me for a chocolate, but say my name."

The air changed in the room. Lucy felt the tension rise. It was a challenge, but it wasn't just a challenge to her. It was a challenge to the structure of the working relationship or friendship or whatever one called what she and Forrest had.

Quietly but smoothly, Lucy spoke: "May I please have a chocolate...," Lucy paused briefly as she watched Forrest’s head tilt in question. Then, frustratingly, her voice came out in a whisper, "Forrest?"

He thought for a moment, then said, "I don't think so. Whispers don't count. Try again."

Determined not to be defeated, Lucy sucked in a breath, looked straight into his challenging brown eyes, and said at a perfectly reasonable volume, "Hand over the chocolate. Forrest."