The Weight of Words (The WORDS Series) (16 page)

Gah! Screw off, Saturday night!
I did not want to think about Saturday night. Not ever again.

I returned the photo to its spot and glanced at the others. And there she was. Penny, the femme fatale. Mrs. Grant-to-be. But…
what the hell?
She was being embraced lovingly, not by Daniel, but by one of Daniel’s brothers, the tall one. He was holding her hand out and facing the camera, showing off the engagement ring while she stared adoringly at him.

I fell back in the chair, the wind knocked out of my sails.
Wasn’t she engaged to Daniel?
I was so shell-shocked, I must not have heard the outer door to the office open because suddenly there was Daniel himself, standing before me in all his Dr. Hobo glory, his face clouded with fury.

“What are you doing in my father’s private office?” he demanded. “Why are you sitting at his desk?”

I grimaced, quickly sliding Dean Grant’s file drawer closed. “This isn’t what it looks like,” I said calmly. “What I mean is, your father knows I’m in here. He wanted me to do something for him—”

“You can’t seriously expect me to believe that? Do I look like an idiot to you?”

Now I was pissed. I stood up. “No, I definitely don’t think you’re an idiot, but I guess I
have
overestimated your ability to be a good judge of character!” I shot back.

He clenched and unclenched his fists for a moment before pulling his phone from his pocket and swiftly dialing a number. He turned on his heel with a dark backward glance over his shoulder and walked across the room to look out the window.

“Hi, Dad? Where are you?” His voice was tight and controlled.

I crossed my arms and tapped my foot impatiently.

“Did you forget we were meeting this morning at Wymilwood at eight thirty? Yeah, I figured as much. Well, I’m here at your office. I came looking for you.” Daniel gave me another glare.

He listened to his father for a minute or so, and I watched as his eyebrows shot up, his lips straightening into a grim line. “Yes, she’s right here, in fact. Hold on.” He approached the desk, his hand outstretched to pass me the phone. “He wants to talk to you,” he said sheepishly.

I took the phone, and Daniel slumped down onto one of the chairs in front of the desk. I resumed my seat behind the desk. “Dean Grant?”

“Hi, Aubrey. Thank you so much for taking care of that for me. Everything came through fine. You can re-file Shannon’s information and lock up my office now. I’ll be back within the hour,” he said. “Oh, and this is all strictly fencepost, Aubrey. Shannon’s already been through enough. No need to stir up the rumor mill.”

“Fencepost” was Dean Grant’s code word for “Top Secret.” As a man who prized discretion above many other traits, “This is between you, me, and the fencepost” was one of his favorite expressions.

“Fencepost. Absolutely. See you shortly.”

“Thanks so much. Tell Daniel I’ll give him a call tonight to reschedule our coffee meeting. See you soon.”

I leaned across the desk, handing Daniel his phone. “He said he’d call you later.”

Daniel gazed at me contritely. “He’s told you about ‘fencepost’?”

Of all the things I expected him to say in that moment, that was definitely not one of them. I couldn’t help smiling. “Yes, among other things,” I said.

“I see you’ve earned my father’s respect and trust, two things he doesn’t dole out to the undeserved,” he said. “I think I owe you an apology.”

Well, shit. My defiance faltered as a series of images and thoughts collided in my brain—the illicit dreams and idle fantasies he’d starred in, the way I’d shamelessly followed him after class that first day, the phone conversations I’d eavesdropped on, not to mention how close I’d been to ripping open the file in the drawer beside me to pour greedily over its contents. Now here he was apologizing to me for overreacting to what had appeared, for all intents and purposes, like an employee snooping through her employer’s office.

“There’s no need to apologize,” I said. “Your reaction was perfectly understandable.”

“You can’t honestly be that gracious. Five minutes ago, you looked like you were going to spit bullets at me,” he said, the right side of his mouth turning up in that one-dimpled grin that made my knees wobble.

“Well, I’ve decided to forgive you for your father’s sake,” I explained, giving him a wry smile of my own.

“I see. That’s kind of you.” After a brief pause, he scanned my face. “By the way, how are you feeling? No aftereffects from Friday’s illness, I hope?”

“No, I felt fine by Saturday morning. Thanks for asking, though, and thanks for…well, taking care of me and bringing me home.”

He frowned, perhaps aware of the piss-poor job he’d done. I didn’t want to review the events of Friday night, but I didn’t want him to leave yet either, so I quickly leaned forward and picked up the family photo.

“I couldn’t help noticing—this is your family, right?” I asked.

He leaned over to glance at the photo. “Yep, that’s Mom and Dad, of course, and my brothers, Bradley and Jeremy.”

“Hmm.” I gestured to the photo beside it. “They make quite a couple.”

He picked up the frame and looked at the picture, sitting back down as he gazed at it. “Penny and Brad? Yeah, they were made for each other. I’ve known Penny for years. Met her in my first year at Oxford.”

He smiled nostalgically, leaning forward in his chair. “In fact, I met her within my first week at the university. I was new to the country, paralyzed with fear, all that sort of thing. She was a force of nature. Totally intimidating, ballsy and smart. I think she decided right away I needed help and took me under her wing. We’ve been great friends ever since. Brad came over to visit me two years ago—once I started my PhD, it got harder to come home for visits. He met Penny, and within ten minutes, it was pretty much a
fait accompli
. The rest is history.” He replaced the photo beside the family portrait.

His affection for this Penny, despite his fortuitous lack of engagement to her, was obvious. I was intoxicated by the warmth in his voice as he talked about her, not to mention his apparent failure to remember that he was talking to me, one of the students from class:
She Who Must Never Be Spoken to As a Human Being with a First Name.

I had hundreds of questions, but I didn’t want to break the spell that had settled on the room—a spell that seemed to make him feel as if it was all right to finally wear a little piece of his heart on his sleeve.

“So Penny moved all the way here from England to be with Bradley?” I prodded.

“Yes, they got engaged over Christmas, but Brad’s been in Chicago for six weeks on business. Thankfully he’ll be home soon. They’re both inconsolable without each other,” he said, chuckling ruefully.

Isolated snippets of the phone conversation I’d overheard the first day I’d met him replayed in my mind: “
Miss you? Ha! Completely inconsolable is more like it.”
God, he’d been talking about Bradley all along!

And “love” was nothing more than a term of endearment for a dear friend and future sister-in-law. In the washroom at Canoe, Penny had told her friend on the phone that she was going to be “Mrs. Grant,” but she wasn’t referring to Daniel. I thought about the way I’d tortured myself and almost speared Penny with my stiletto, all because of a non-existent engagement. Not to mention what had almost happened with Matt as a result of my wounded ego. Good God.

I snorted and shook my head, amazed at my own foolhardiness. Daniel misinterpreted my reaction.

“Yeah, it’s nauseating watching them pine for each other, but Penny’s been a great friend. She’s been by my side through some pretty difficult times. I’m doing my best to return the favor,” he explained.

Of course, by taking your future sister-in-law out for dinner on Valentine’s Day while her fiancé is away so she doesn’t sit at home sulking
. This was all too good to be true.

“Well, I’d best be off,” he announced, breaking the spell.

“Your dad said he’d be here shortly. If you wait for a few minutes, I’m sure…” What I really wanted to say was, “Please stay. You can help me pick out some books from the bookshelf!”

Ah, the fantasy. Back in full-force. Oh, happy day!

“No, I think I’ll leave you to it. I’m sure you’ve got work to do, and I should probably take advantage of the time to review Professor Brown’s lecture notes from Friday. I didn’t get much done this weekend, what with the play on Friday and family commitments.”

I cast my mind back to Friday again, and the roller coaster ride that had found me sitting beside Daniel in the dark auditorium one minute, then bending over a toilet puking while he stood outside waiting for me the next.

“So I’ll see you in a few hours?” he asked, interrupting my thoughts and standing up.

“Absolutely.” I followed him across the room. I closed the door behind us and locked it before returning the keys to the filing cabinet.

“I’d rather you didn’t tell my father about my abysmal behavior here this morning,” he said.

“Fencepost,” I said, locking my lips with an imaginary key.

He bit his lower lip contemplatively and gave me a quick parting smile. Beaming like a thirteen-year-old who’s been asked to her first school dance, I watched through the large front windows of the office as Daniel walked away. Heart thumping and knees wobbling, I dropped into the chair behind my desk.

In reality, not a lot had changed between us, although I certainly had a tiny bit more background information to go on. However, most importantly, one of the seemingly insurmountable obstacles I’d wrongly imagined between us had evaporated into thin air. Damn it, I couldn’t help it—I giggled.

And I may or may not have clapped my hands.

Chapter 13

This Petty Pace

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time…
(
Macbeth
, Act V, Scene 5)

L
ATER
T
HAT
A
FTERNOON
when I was in class with Julie, Daniel sat at the front of the room, cool demeanor in full force. I refused to let myself scrutinize every expression that crossed his face. Besides, I was still busy mulling over the events of that morning. Daniel had been livid with me, which was definitely not without its strange appeal. Angry-Daniel was something to behold. But then he was Tail-Between-His-Legs-Daniel, followed shortly afterward by Tiny-Piece-of-Heart-on-His-Sleeve-Daniel. The episode was rounded out nicely by Dimpled-Smile-and-Lip-Biting Daniel. Smorgasbord, right? Was it too much to hope that we might begin working toward a comfortable friendship? Now if only I could get some
benefits
to go along with that friendship.

I tried not to let my over-active imagination amplify the significance of the court case file either. For all I knew, he might have challenged a speeding ticket or been arrested for being drunk and disorderly at Oxford. On second thought, that one was hard to believe, but the speeding ticket? Certainly plausible. Regardless, I pushed the whole issue to the farthest recesses of my mind, determined not to make a mountain out of a molehill.

My decision to stop overanalyzing everything made for a much more relaxing and productive week. I handed in a couple of English papers, wrote two tests, and delivered a seminar in my French class. Everything was going swimmingly.

By the time Friday’s tutorial rolled around, everybody was in high spirits and anticipating the spring break. Now that we’d been in class for three weeks and spent several tutorial sessions together, we were bonding as a group. For the most part, we’d settled into the habit of reclaiming the same seats. On Friday, Julie and I were in “our” seats halfway down one side of the table, chatting about her plans for the break, when Daniel arrived.

“Well, ladies and gentlemen, I can see you’re all excited to get started on your vacation,” he said. “One more hour and you’ll be free, so let’s get to work and you’ll be on your way before you know it.” He pulled his copy of
Macbeth
out of his bag, along with a pen and some note paper. “I thought we’d try something a little different this week. I’d like everyone to take a few moments to flip through the play and jot down one of your favorite lines. Each of you will have a chance to share your line and explain why you like it or why it resonates for you.”

Right away, everyone started scanning the play. I, on the other hand, wrote down the line from Act I that I’d always found to be a most poetic explanation for King Duncan’s obtuseness. Finished, I leaned back to watch my peers.

Julie was scribbling frantically, but I resisted peeking at her page. As I looked around, my eyes met Daniel’s. He glanced at my page, which of course he couldn’t see, but I made a big show of covering it up protectively anyway, like a third grader trying to hide her answers on a spelling test. He smiled.