A Slow Boil (6 page)

“Ready to go?”

“Yep.”

“Follow me.  The garage is through here.”

He opened the passenger door for me and waited until I was buckled
in before putting the car in reverse and backing out of the garage.  As we
headed down the road toward town, I tried to quit stealing glances at his hand
as it rested on the gearshift.  Such long fingers should be against the
law.  Or maybe mandatory.  Yes, mandatory was much better.  It
also didn’t escape my notice that my naked knee was mere inches from said long
fingers.  Maybe I should have changed back into my jeans just to keep a
leash on this inner hussy I seemed to be incubating.

“Do you play the piano?” I asked impulsively.

“Not nearly as much as I used to.  Why?”

“No reason,” I answered too quickly and turned to look out the
window.  I thought I heard him chuckle as he shifted the car into a higher
gear.

I gave him directions to my dorm as we entered the campus and we
pulled up a couple of minutes later.  As I unbuckled and reached down for
my bags, Mr. Hunter asked me what time I’d be leaving for his place tomorrow.

“I usually leave around twelve-thirty.”

“Hmm.  I can’t pick you up then.  Could you come out
earlier?”

“I suppose I could.  My last class ends at eleven-thirty, but
that doesn’t give me much time for stopping by
Southbay’s
.”

“Tell you what.  I’ll pick you up here at quarter to
twelve.  Leave the shopping to me tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

“Good.  Let me get your door.”  He got out of the car
and came around to my side, opening my door and extending his hand to help me
out.  With my bag over my shoulder and my laptop in the other hand, I let
him help pull me up.  His hand felt firm and warm as it closed around
mine.

“Goodnight, Mr. Hunter.  Thanks for the ride home.”

“Goodnight, Miss Lane,” he nodded.  “I'll see you
tomorrow.” 

I walked up the path to the dorm, taking one last look over my
shoulder as I pushed open the front door.  Mr. Hunter was waiting on the
sidewalk until he was sure I’d made it inside the building.  And they say
chivalry is dead.

“Yes!”  I did a small fist-pump as I hit the save and print
buttons on my computer.  Another paper down.  I had to get through my
oral presentation of this paper, then I had the rest of the day and night to
finish the big one.  Technically it wasn’t due until Friday but I was
hoping to pull it together tonight and finish it a day early, which would give
me a whole extra morning of apartment-searching.  The other
roommate-seeker had never called me back and there were no new listings in the
Center, so I was resigned to living in a miserable death-trap for the
summer.  I would just have to spend as much time as possible at work and
out with Britt.

I looked at the clock – an hour until class.  Time enough for
a quick shower and a bite from the cafeteria.  I eased up out of my chair
and stretched my arms as far over my head as I could.  I couldn’t wait to
be done with this week and actually get a normal eight hours of sleep. 
What a simple, divine luxury - eight hours of sleep.

Class went well, at least I thought it did.  My presentation
was better than most of the others and only worse than a few.  I still
couldn’t get a read on the professor’s reaction to it, but that was par for the
course.  Ah well, it’s over now, I thought, as I headed back to my
dorm.  I’d done my best and my fate was out of my hands.

Anna was packing her suitcase when I arrived.  I realized I
probably would never see her again and gave her a tight hug good-bye.  I
liked Anna and wished too late that I’d gotten to know her better, but as
usual, there just never seemed to be enough time.  I hastily stuffed my
folded uniform into my bag, checked to make sure I had all the notes and books
I needed to work on my last paper, and with one last wave to Anna, headed
downstairs to wait for Mr. Hunter.

It wasn't long before I saw his car approaching and he pulled up
to the curb in front of me.  I started to reach for the door, but he made
a gesture that I should wait for him.  He put the car in park, and got
out; coming around, he put my book bag and laptop into the back seat and then
opened my door for me.

“That's really not necessary, Mr. Hunter.”

“Indulge me.  I get very few opportunities to practice my
manners.”

“One wouldn't know it.  They're impeccable.”

“Thank you.”  He ushered me into my seat and closed the door
behind me.

Once we were on the road, he asked me how things were going.

“Great.  I got another paper finished this morning and
survived an oral presentation.  Now I just have the big one that I hope to
finish tonight, and then I’m done.”

“Good.  Listen, as far as today goes, I’m just dropping you
off at the house now, as I have an appointment shortly.  I’ll be back a
little later than usual, probably around four, and like I said, I’ll bring home
something for dinner.”

“Okay.”

“And don't worry about cleaning the windows in my office
today.  They won’t be opaque with filth if you skip a week.”

“Thank you, I appreciate that.”

“No problem.”

Shortly thereafter we pulled up to the house.  Leaving the
engine running, he got out and opened my door, then carried my things into the
kitchen for me.  I started unpacking while he helped himself to a glass of
water.  My uniform came out of the bag first as I’d packed it on top.

“Where did you put your other one?” He asked, gesturing to the
dress.

“I hung it up in the utility closet.”

“And where do you change?”

“In the powder room near the living room.”

“From now on you can use one of the guest rooms to get changed and
keep the spare in the closet.  Pick any room you like.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And Miss Lane, even though I’ll be gone most the afternoon,
please change right away.”

“Yes, sir.”

He nodded and was gone.

The guest room I chose was two doors down from Mr. Hunter’s room
on the same side of the hallway.  I’d liked this room the first time I saw
it.  The walls were a soft green and as it faced the front of the house,
it had that same bank of imposing windows.  The bed and matching furniture
were a deep brown wood, the bedspread and curtains a solid green velvet darker
than the walls.  What I liked best about the room, however, was the
painting that hung above the headboard.  While the rest of the room was
done in soothing greens, the painting was an explosion of vibrant oranges,
another original abstract that seemed to leap off the wall with energy. 
Like the Rothko downstairs, this painting also pulled me in and I could have
stared at it for hours.

Maybe Mr. Hunter is trying to hypnotize me with his paintings, I
laughed to myself as I changed into my uniform.  I left my clothes neatly
folded on the bed and decided to get to work on the office before tackling my
paper.  Not having to do the windows meant I was done in practically no
time at all.  For a writer, Mr. Hunter was extraordinarily tidy.  His
desk was spotless.  I wondered if he put things away before I came and I
was tempted to peek into a drawer or two, but restrained myself. 
Something told me snooping was sure way to incur my boss’s wrath.

My chores done until Mr. Hunter returned with groceries, I was
setting up my computer and notes at the kitchen island when my stomach growled
loudly.  The toast I’d had hours ago had worn off, obviously, and my body
was ready for lunch.  Could I help myself to something in the
fridge?  I pulled open the double doors and did a quick assessment. 
There weren’t any left-overs, I knew that because I hadn't made anything large
for dinner since last week’s chicken and I’d already used that up.  Surely
Mr. Hunter wouldn’t miss an egg or two, but I only found three in the egg bin,
and thought he might need them for his breakfast tomorrow.  Some
afternoons I would find dirty dishes in the sink and could tell that he
occasionally made himself eggs for either breakfast or lunch.  Finally I
settled on an apple as there were plenty in the produce bin.  I sliced a
bit of cheddar off a large block and found some crackers in the pantry. 
He couldn't begrudge me any of this, I thought, as I sat my little plate next
to my laptop and got to work.

Working on my paper for the next several hours was
frustrating.  While I thought I’d found a cohesive base of data on which
to build my thesis, I was beginning to second-guess my assumptions.  The
data just didn’t fit with what I was trying to say, no matter how many times I
rechecked my sources.  I finally pulled on my hair in frustration and got
up to do the laundry, hoping a small break would help clear my mind.  No
luck.  What was supposed to be a fairly easy day of putting on polishing
touches was turning into a nightmare of misinterpreted statistics.  What
was I going to do?  I was basically back at square one with this project
and it was due in two days.  I laid my head down on top of my arms and
willed myself to find a way to fix this.

“Not going well?”

How did he always do that?  I didn’t hear the car, the garage
door, or anything.  I lifted my head and shook it, not having the
wherewithal to answer him.

He put a pizza box on the counter and stepped closer to me. 
He must have easily recognized my state of total panic and dismay because he
took one look at me and raised his hands to my face.  Smoothing his thumbs
over my cheekbones, he said, “My dear Miss Lane.  You look exhausted.”

I closed my eyes, partly to enjoy the feeling of his fingers on my
face and partly to ensure that no tears slipped out in reaction to his kind
words.  What he did next surprised me even more than touching my
face.  His hands moved up to my hair and I felt his fingers comb through
where I’d pulled it out of its pony tail.  My eyes were still closed when
he leaned down and said quietly, “I know you can do it.  You are one of
the most resourceful, persuasive, argumentative and inquisitive people I know.”

I couldn't help but smile as I recognized the words he’d used in
my interview.  I opened my eyes to look up at him and his returning
expression was full of confidence.  I merely nodded to indicate that I was
okay, and he let go of my hair.

“Are you hungry?”  He asked, turning toward the pizza
box.  “I thought I’d spare you having to cook dinner tonight as well.”

“I’m starving.  And I don’t think I could boil water right
now if my life depended on it.  Thank you.”

We ate the island, together.  He asked me about my paper and
I tried to explain what was going wrong.

“So basically the data you’re using doesn’t support your thesis.”

“Yeah, that’s exactly the problem.”

“And it’s too late to find new data.”

“There’s no way.  It took me all term to collect what I
have.”

“Then I guess you’ll have to change your thesis.”

“Change my thesis?  How do I that?  These are the ideas
I’ve been working on for months.  I can’t just turn around and start
arguing something else.”  But even as these words were coming out of my
mouth, I recognized that this is exactly what I would have to do.  It was
basic Anthropology 101, the data must support the thesis.  “Ugh,” I
moaned, pulling on my hair again in frustration.  “You’re right. I have to
change my thesis.”

“Will you be able to do that in two days?”

“One.”

“One?  I thought you had until the end of the week.”

“I do, technically, but I really need to hand this in tomorrow so
that I have Friday morning free.”

“Why?”

“Because I still don't have a place to stay and I need an extra
day to look at apartments.”  The words were out of my mouth before I
realized it.  Damn it, Sylvia!

“You don't have a place yet?”  Maybe I was more exhausted
than I thought but his words sounded slower and clearer than usual, like he was
talking to a foreigner, or an idiot, or a foreign idiot.

“No.  Britt and I have been looking but all the decent ones
seem to be taken already.  I’m sure there’s still something reasonable out
there, so I just wanted to give myself a little extra time Friday to look.”

“Hmm.  I hope you’re right.  But right now, your
priority is finishing this paper.  Would it help if you worked here
tonight or would you like me to drive you home?”

“I could work here?”

“You can work here as late as you’d like.  You can have the
kitchen or the dining room, or wherever you’d be most comfortable.  I’ll
drive you home whenever you say, although I can’t promise to stay awake much
past midnight.”

“I’d love to stay a bit longer, if you’re sure that’s all right.”

“I wouldn’t have offered if it wasn’t.”  He got up from his
stool and took our plates to the dishwasher.  Then he put the rest of the
pizza in the fridge.  “Help yourself to anything in here that you want,”
he gestured to the open fridge before closing the door.  “I’ll be in my
office for the next few hours and then my bedroom.  Come and get me at any
time if there’s anything you need.  I’m going to stay upstairs and won’t
be down to interrupt you.”

“You can interrupt me if there’s an emergency.”  I gave him a
sideways smile.

His face broke into the widest smile I'd seen on him yet. 
“Don't worry, Miss Lane.  I’ll take care of any vagrant spiders on my
own.”

The next few hours flew by as once I had made the mental switch
about my thesis, the paper began to come together.  At first it was
difficult writing the exact opposite of everything I’d been thinking all term
but eventually, with the data backing me up, my writing grew more confident and
began to flow.  I’d stayed in the kitchen and was glad I’d done so, as
with the door pulled closed, I could talk to myself freely as I wont to do when
hashing out ideas; also the left-over pizza in the fridge called me back for a
slice or two as the night wore on.  By eleven, I was a good third of the
way done.  I knew I had to ask Mr. Hunter to drive me home soon if I was
going to return to my dorm tonight, but I was sorely tempted to stay. 
Surely it would be all right to sleep in “my” guest room tonight – I mean, I’d
be the one changing the sheets tomorrow, right?  And I could walk back to
town in the morning before Mr. Hunter awoke, so staying here tonight wouldn’t be
a bother to him at all.

My decision made, I went back at my paper and got in three more
hours of solid work before finally calling it at night at two.  I judged
myself to be about half way done, which meant that if I got up at six, walked
back to town and started working again by seven, I could be done by noon, in
time to come back to work.  I sighed, saved my work and powered down my
laptop.  I crept up the stairs and collapsed on the bed of the guest room,
too tired to change out of my uniform and having nothing to change into,
anyway.  Sleep came fast.

There was a bird.  No, lots of birds.  A whole
flock.  Crows or something and they were screaming at me.  What did I
ever do to you, I tried to yell back, and then realized that it was my phone’s
alarm going off.  Ugh, what was that, a mere four hours of sleep? 
Better than nothing.  I laid back for another minute taking in my
surroundings.  Green walls.  Green curtains.  Where was I? 
Oh right.  I’d decided to crash at Mr. Hunter’s house in his guest
room.  And I had to get out of here before he woke up.  And I had a
huge-ass paper to finish today, preferably before noon.  Time to roll.