Chapter 8

The bustle in the classroom settled as soon as I strode to the front, printed feedback sheets stuck under my arm. I surveyed the faces of my students out of the corner of my eye and tried hard to hide my disappointment at seeing no one new sticking out. I couldn't squash the hope that one more student would show up and even out the numbers.

A hand in the first row shot up the moment I put the sheets onto the lectern. I didn't need to turn around to know who it was. Now that the concept phase was over and the outlines were done, it would be harder to deflect Lacie, who had good reason to want a partner. I had designed it as a pair assignment, after all.

Because you suck, Hale.

I leaned my butt against the table and considered various scenarios. Just forming a permanent three-people group wouldn't work very well with the assignment parameters, but creating a special assignment for Lacie would be laborious and probably force me to spend one-on-one time with her. Neither option appealed.

I sighed and rested my eyes on the still raised hand, resigned to hear the redhead's thoughts about the topic. I opened my mouth to call her name. Before I could, another hand went up in the back. Surprised but grateful for the temporary reprieve, I gestured at it. "Do you have something to share, Omar?"

"Luke asked me to let you know that he won't be back for the next few weeks." The student with the deep voice and deeply tanned skin grimaced. "He had a little accident with his new jumping horse and cracked his right wrist and shoulder."

Several students winced in sympathy. I wasn't far behind. Had the poor guy sent me an email, and I'd overlooked it in my determination to avoid Lacie?

"Thanks for letting me know," I said. "Are you in contact with Luke?" The student nodded. "Tell him not to worry about passing the course for now but focus on getting better. I will get in contact with him, and we can try to figure something out."

"He'll be relieved to hear it," Omar said. "The less classes he has to repeat the better. I'll need a new partner for the assignment, though."

My eyes widened. Of course!

I saw how the hand in the first row slowly but surely sank. If you had looked in the dictionary, you would have found Lacie's face smack-dab under Disappointment.

Sucks to be you, Luke, but be certain that I could kiss you right now.

"Would you pair up with Lacie?" I asked Omar.

Interestingly enough, as he nodded resignedly, there was someone else besides Lacie who looked much less than ecstatic. The student had a beard and a single gold loop in his right earlobe, sitting in the row behind the pouting redhead. I thought his name was Pete. He gave Omar a silent sneer as the dark-skinned young man trudged over to his new partner.

Huh, curious.

I shrugged it off. Who knew, maybe the unhappy student had been the black widow's last unwilling victim. Or maybe he liked Omar.

"Great," I stated, clapping my hands together. "Let's hope Lucas recovers quickly and can at least enjoy the fruits of all your labour when it's time for your presentations." A collective groan travelled through the room. I chuckled. "You didn't really think you would get out of that, did you?"

I handed out the graded outlines with a bounce in my step, happy as a clam. Things were looking up. There'd be no need to give Lacie any extra coaching now. Maybe there was such a thing as karma.

My good mood carried me through the rest of the afternoon. After the lecture, I ran into Harry in the hallway, who was in the process of lecturing someone about how to properly write a dissertation.

"If I come across anything with less than twenty textbooks for citations again, I'll burn it," he informed a crestfallen-looking student.

I had to bite my tongue to keep from cracking up. The student, thoroughly chastened, took to his heels shortly after. My old teacher's expression changed to a smirk as soon as the kid vanished around the corner. Everyone who really knew Harry was well aware he was all bluster and no bite.

"You put the fear of god into him," I idly remarked as I approached.

"'It is better to be feared than loved if you cannot be both,'" he mused and pushed his black-rimmed glasses back up his nose.

"Is there a reason you're quoting Machiavelli at me?"

He sighed. "I should stop reading The Prince on the toilet."

My sudden bark of laughter scared some of the students around us. Harry graced me with another one of his boyish grins, clearly happy that he'd made me laugh.

"Walk with me?" he asked.

On the way to the car, I explained he was a charming man and had no need to frighten students into respecting him. What did it say about me that I liked this twisted side of him?

"It's much more fun this way," he told me conspiratorially.

He was watching me from the side, making me wonder what he wanted to talk about. Hopefully not about the blue painting. I still hadn't decided what to do about it.

The sun reflected off his glasses when he stopped next to his small sedan and turned to face me. And because he still hadn't come out with it, I made a show of looking at my watch. "I'm supposed to meet my grandfather in half an hour, so out with it. What did you want to talk about?"

Harry leaned against his car. "In case it escaped your attention, I'll retire next year."

Even the janitor knew Harry was leaving, so it was anyone's guess where he was going with this.

"A permanent position will open up in the faculty, and I want to put your name forward."

I blinked at him, shocked into stillness. Was he serious? We had never even talked about me staying on past my temporary substitution. And the thought of Harry playing favourites on my behalf made me more than a little uncomfortable.

"I've only been teaching here for four weeks, Harry, and I don't even meet the requirements of becoming a professor. I thought you were already looking for someone else."

His moustache jumped as he pursed his lips. "I have to admit that that's not entirely correct. They were going to, but I convinced them to wait a little."

"Why would you do that?" I asked, now completely confused.

He frowned at me like he would a small child. "Because you're great at this, Sam. It might take you a little while to get used to the social interactions, but you love talking about art, and you're good at carrying that over to the students." With a sigh, he hefted his bag a little higher. "I know I told you this would be temporary, and it can be, if you really don't want to do it, but I think you're starting to like it, and the only reason why you wouldn't consider staying on is your fear of commitment."

I swallowed. There was very little I could say to that. Harry knew about my past and understand my need to play it safe, but he'd always told it how he saw it. I guessed I'd underestimated his motivation.

"As to your missing qualifications … well, while it's generally a good rule of thumb to assume that professors have a Ph.D., it's not a hard requirement. If you show them what I know you can do this semester, I'm sure the school would consider hiring you as an adjunct professor for my spot."

"I … I just…"

"Just think about it," Harry said gently. "You can always tell them to start looking for someone new at the end of the semester. No need to put pressure on yourself right now. You have time to figure this out."

I nodded and rubbed the back of my neck, still feeling overwhelmed at the prospect of such a big commitment and confused about how this situation had even come to pass. I was already strapped for time, and Frank had been thinking about retirement for a while, which would leave me with more responsibilities in the company. How was any of this going to work?

More than a little conflicted, I watched Harry get into the car and drive out of the carpark.

The day had more unexpected tidings to offer, though. Frank and I were on our way to the Taylors' house in companionable silence when my phone rang.

"So, I know I messed up," Casey rasped after I picked up. "I should have rested more, and instead, I've caught the damn flu. Can we skip the ‘I told you so' and jump right to the problem-solving bit you're so good at, though?"

"Since when have I ever used that phrase with you?"

A coughing spasm shook her on the other end. It was so loud that even Frank gave me a worried side glance from behind the wheel. She came back on the line with a wheeze. "Since always. But I'm guessing right now you're consumed by too much pity to be honest. Also, you dig me, in a totally awesome, none-butt-grabbing way."

"It's one of the mysteries of the universe."

"Well, considering I look like one of Frankenstein's monsters right now, I'll count myself fortunate. Believe me, I'm bad enough that Rambo has deigned it prudent to roll up on my feet."

It must be bad if even the cat was being sympathetic.

"When I asked you to help me out, believe me, this wasn't what I had in mind, but, Sam, I really need you to be me for a few days. I know that you're busy. Not just with work but with your teaching gig, too. But I'm a walking bacteria-infested zombie, and a danger to society. I can't leave this house. Ms Renaud might run away screaming if I get close."

"Or you'll end up in the hospital because you pushed yourself too hard."

"Or that," she agreed. "But the exhibit. I can't leave it all to Ms Jackson. That woman is a menace. I promise I'll make it up to you, and I mean that."

I rubbed over my chin, giving Frank a questioning look. He patted my leg in reassurance. He'd heard enough, and he thought we'd manage.

"Okay, Case. I'll do my best."

"Thank you. I promise I'll be back as soon as I can."

"It's not going to do anyone any favours if you cut corners and come back sick."

"Yeah, yeah. I swear I'll take it easy. Though, hang on…" The sounds of a scuffle broke out on her end, and Casey returned a moment later, slightly breathless. "You might have to order a tombstone if I'm trapped with the prince of hell the whole week."

"For you or the cat?"

"Jury's still out. I swear, he only sits on the remote because he knows how much it annoys me. Again, you're the best. I'll email you a list with to-dos later, but I promise I'll try to do as much from the sofa as I can. It's just the in-person stuff that I need you for."

After I hung up, there was no longer anything keeping me from pondering the implications of her request. I'd managed not to think about a certain artist all that much—yeah okay, except for the whole night-long sketching stint—but taking over for Casey, I knew that there would be more situations where we'd have to interact.

Wait. Did I offer to help Casey just to spend more time with Emmanuelle? A job, teacher-on-the-side, and now this? What am I thinking? I can barely keep up with things as they are.

I reminded myself of what was at stake for Casey. Instead of thinking about Emmanuelle, I should just focus on getting things done.

That night I finished marking the impressionist essays, giving the coal and the half-finished sketch of Emmanuelle nothing more than a cursory glance. Eyes tired, I carefully rotated my shoulder. The skin around the joint had turned a spectacularly vibrant blue, but luckily it didn't restrict my movements too much—or keep me from painting. Still, the discomfort was nothing to sneeze at.

With a sigh, I eyed the to-do list I'd printed out. It felt like as soon as one problem was taken care of, another sprang up in its stead. My brother Charlie would call it an uphill climb and tell me that you grew with your tasks. Still, it was best if I didn't get caught in the same spiral of stress as Casey. I'd better make sure I at least got some painting done tomorrow.