The Weight of Words (The WORDS Series) (15 page)

I spent the afternoon at the library, using my homework as a salve for my gaping wounds. An afternoon of intensive study was exactly what I needed. After four hours of reading and note-taking, with a little research thrown in for good measure, I repacked my bag to head home, proud of what I’d accomplished.

I arrived back at the apartment, weary and hungry, and was pleasantly surprised to find Joanna in the kitchen, chopping vegetables for what appeared to be a stir fry.

“Hey,” I said. “I thought you were going to see
The Sound of Music
with Stephen tonight.”

“No, that was last night. Remember, it was my Valentine gift?”

I actually hadn’t remembered. Jo was around so little, I wasn’t exactly plugged into her social life. I bit back a snarky comment. There was no need to make her feel guilty for actually having a successful love life and a boyfriend who spoiled her rotten.

“Oh, I guess I got my dates mixed up.”

“That’s okay. How was dinner? You and Matt went out, right?”

She gave me a pointed look, as if she thought I’d have some cataclysmic news to share. I was in no mood to share cataclysms.

“We had a nice time. He’s a good friend,” I said, emphasizing the last word, while hoping the events of the night before hadn’t completely ruined our friendship. “But I don’t want to talk about my night. How was the show? Were the hills alive? How
did
they solve a problem like Maria?”

“It was amazing,” she gushed. “The staging was incredible. I don’t know how they pulled off the first scene on the mountain top. It was super cool.”

I listened to her ramble on about
The Sound of Music
for a while, helping her slice veggies and prepare rice. It was nice to have her home. She was a breath of fresh air. She encouraged me to share dinner with her, and we ate together in front of the TV. We talked about inconsequential things, and as we chattered on about nothing in particular, I realized I was talking like this with
everyone
. A constant stream of trivialities and one-liners was all I seemed capable of sharing, confiding in no one. It couldn’t be healthy.

I’d feel stupid divulging my feelings for Daniel to Joanna, though. She was a lovely girl, but she was so level-headed. If I went out on a limb and shared the inappropriate crush I was harboring on my TA, she’d disapprove and tell me to smarten up. And she’d be right on the mark.

After dinner, I sat on the floor while Joanna sat on the couch behind me, styling my hair, one of her favorite ways to relax. I loved it when people played with my hair, so I wasn’t about to complain. Three different braid experiments, a couple of practice up-dos, and two hours of mind-numbing reality TV later, we were both partially brain dead and we called it a night. I curled up in bed to read some short stories for Wednesday night’s class. I’d been reading for about an hour when there was a gentle tap on my door.

“Come in,” I called out.

Matt entered, moving awkwardly to sit on the edge of the bed. He looked drained. I guessed he’d slept as badly as I had.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey, yourself.”

I sat up, wrapping my arms around my knees.

“How was your day?” he asked.

“Okay, I guess. I went to the Metro Reference Library to get some work done. You went to the gym?”

“I did. Kind of needed to blow off some steam. Played pool at the frat house this aft. I needed to chill with the guys.”

“Yeah, I get that. So…?” I said, not knowing how to begin. This was what I’d been afraid of. The awkward silence. The “how do we broach this topic” dance.

“Are we okay?” he asked.

His voice sounded so choked and tight, I thought he might actually cry. I held out my hand to him. “Come here,” I said. He took my hand and crawled up to sit beside me.

“Last night was pretty crazy. I’m not gonna lie; I did
not
see that coming. I don’t know what got into me, well, aside from a vodka and soda and three-quarters of a bottle of wine,” I said.

This was only partially true. I knew exactly what had gotten into me, but I wasn’t about to tell Matt I’d been using him to boost my own damaged ego, especially considering how soundly I’d failed.

“But I’m not blaming the wine for my behavior. Leading you on like that was wrong.”

Matt tried to interrupt me, but I squeezed his hand and shook my head to stop him.

“Please, let me finish, I need to do this,” I said. “Matt, you are an incredible guy. Every day I wonder if things could be different for us, but the truth is, I’m scared to death that if things didn’t work out, I’d lose you. I’m not prepared to sacrifice our friendship for a little bump ’n’ grind, you know?”

He snorted. “That’s exactly what I was trying to tell you last night,” he said. “Although I don’t think I put it quite so eloquently.” He laughed and kissed my forehead. “Aubrey. You’re one in a million, you know?”

“So I’ve been told,” I said, pressing my cheek to his shoulder.

“Hey, I mean it,” he said. Then he delivered his zinger. “Whoever this guy is, if he can’t see what a great woman you are, he doesn’t deserve you.”

“What—?” I said. “How—?”

He gently cradled my face in his hand. “This expression here? It’s very familiar. I’ve been seeing it in the mirror every day for the past two weeks.”

I gaped at him.

“Just say the word, sweetheart. I’ll kick his ass.” He pushed himself off the bed and moved to the door. “So, yes, we’re okay?” he asked, his hand on the doorknob.

“We’re awesome, cowboy,” I assured him.

You’re awesome
, I thought.
I don’t even come close to deserving you.

Monday morning. Five more days until Reading Week. This was manageable. I could do this. Again I was out the door and off to work at eight twenty. I would not think about Daniel. Thoughts of him ultimately led to thoughts of him with Penny—and them walking down the aisle, dancing their first dance, feeding each other cake. I refused to contemplate the honeymoon.

When I arrived at the office, the lights were out and Dean Grant was nowhere to be seen. Maybe he’d met Daniel for coffee at Wymilwood again. The Monday morning meeting seemed to be part of their routine. Thank God they weren’t meeting here. As the coffee brewed, I separated the mail, slipping Dean Grant’s correspondence into the plastic inbox attached to the wall outside his office door. I was about to sign into the student requests email account when the phone rang.

“Good morning, Victoria College, Dean Grant’s office, how can I help you?”

“Oh, thank goodness you’re there, Aubrey!”

It was Dean Grant. He sounded winded and a bit panicky.

“Is everything okay? I was worried when I arrived and you weren’t here. I hope you’re not ill. There’s a nasty bug going around.”

“No, no, everything’s fine. I do need your help, though. Do you have a pen and some paper?”

“Yes, go ahead. What can I do?” I wheeled my chair forward and leaned on the desk.

“Once we’re off the phone, I’ll need you to go into my office,” he explained. “Grab the extra keys out of the filing cabinet.”

“Okay,” I said hesitantly, waiting for him to continue.

“The bottom right-hand drawer of my desk is a file drawer. I need you to find something for me.”

“I don’t know how comfortable I feel going through your desk. Isn’t that a bit—”

“I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important, Aubrey. I trust you implicitly and I know you would never do anything to violate my trust. Will you help me?”

“Yes,” I agreed, albeit reluctantly. “Carry on.”

“Okay,” he said. “In that drawer, you’ll find alphabetized and color-coded files.” I smiled. Of course they were color-coded. The man had a serious case of OCD. “You’re looking for a file named ‘Davis, Shannon.’ I’m almost positive it’s red. It should be close to the front. Got that?”

“Yes.” I jotted the name down.

I knew all about Shannon Davis. She was a first-year Vic student whose family home had burned down over Christmas break. Her parents were struggling with the insurance company. Shannon’s second semester tuition fees remained unpaid.

“Once you’ve got the file, I need you to fax me everything inside it.”

I hastily wrote down the numbers he recited. “If you don’t mind me asking, where are you, Dean Grant?”

“I’m at the Bursar’s office. I was called along with the deans of all of the colleges on campus this morning and told to report directly here. Some funds were released to the university by the provincial government last night, and the bursar wants to earmark some awards right away. I think he’s afraid the premier might change his mind,” his said, chuckling darkly. “I’d like to get Shannon a bursary. The papers in that folder will help me to plead her case.”

“That sounds like a wonderful idea,” I said. I wasn’t kissing his butt either. The man was so thoughtful.

“I’ll call you when I’ve received everything, then you can lock up my office and go about your morning.”

I agreed and hung up, using my keys to open the standing filing cabinet where Dean Grant’s extra office keys were hidden. When I entered his office, my heart clenched. Even though I had his permission, being in there without him still felt wrong. I crossed the office and sat at his desk, noting how odd it was seeing the room from this perspective. I opened the bottom drawer and began to flip through the neatly labeled files.

Before I could get to Shannon’s file, my eyes fell on one titled with large black printed letters:
Daniel’s Court Case—Oxford
. My breathing halted. I pulled the file out of the drawer slightly, millions of questions racing through my mind. Court case? Why had Daniel had to go to court? Had he committed some terrible crime at Oxford?

Dean Grant’s words echoed in my head.
I know you would never do anything to violate my trust.
Daniel’s criminal past was none of my business and certainly not my problem. Penny was marrying the felon, not me. And Dean Grant
trusted
me. I gritted my teeth, replaced Daniel’s file, and continued until I found the one with Shannon’s name on top.

Inside it was a newspaper clipping, a record of Shannon’s marks, and a letter written to the college from Shannon’s parents dating back to early January. Satisfied that I’d accessed the correct file, I faxed the pages to Dean Grant. A few moments later, I slipped the file back into its rightful place in the drawer.

I was about to return to my desk to await Dean Grant’s phone call when a small collection of family photos perched on the desk caught my attention. The largest one, a photo in a dark oak frame, showed Dean Grant and a lovely auburn-haired woman—his wife, I presumed—surrounded by three young men. One of them was Daniel. I guessed the other two must be his brothers.

The photo emphasized how alike Daniel and his father were—both tall and dark, broad-shouldered, and similarly handsome. One of the brothers was dark-haired like Daniel, but was taller with a dimple topping off both sides of his smile. The other brother was slighter and seemed to favor his mother’s fair coloring and features. They were all fabulous looking—especially Daniel, of course. In the picture, he looked like he had on Saturday night: clean cut and well-dressed. Hot in the extreme. Mr.
GQ
.