Madeline shrugged. “I told them you’d call as soon as you got in, but you’re already late. Make it a quick call.”
“I’m sorry.” Laura walked behind the counter and picked up the phone, thumbing through her pocketbook for the tiny phone book she always carried. She located the number for the high school and began to dial.
“Carter High School,” a cheery voice rang out on the other end.
“I need to find out about my son. I understand he was involved in some sort of an incident on the bus this morning.”
“Ah. You must be Mrs. Chapman. We’ve been trying to reach you for hours. Can you come up to the school?”
“I just got to work,” she said, “and I can’t leave.”
“It won’t take long, Mrs. Chapman, and we really need to talk to you.”
“Where is Kent?” She asked the question carefully, dreading the woman’s answer.
“He’s here in the office, sitting across from me as we speak.”
“You mean he’s been there all day?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll be right there.” Laura spoke the words, hoping that Madeline would understand. She hung up the phone, heart racing, then turned to face her boss. “They need me to come to the school.”
“Now?”
“It’s some sort of emergency; at least that’s what they said.”
“How long will you be?”
“I don’t know,” Laura whispered, feeling a lump begin to grow in her throat. “But I’ll come back just as quickly as I can. I promise.”
Madeline sighed. “Do the best you can,” she encouraged, turning to take care of a customer.
Laura turned at once and headed for the door.
seven
Laura sat in the courtyard of the college, battling with her emotions. September 28. Our anniversary. Today would have made twenty-two years. She wiped away a tear, reaching for her American History book knowing that distraction would surely be the best way to get through this. She thumbed through the text frantically, looking for the right chapter. I’ve got Dougherty completely figured out. At least I think I do. I can predict there will, without any question or doubt, be another pop quiz today. His demeanor in the last class left no uncertainty in her mind.
Staying focused seemed difficult these days. Problems at home escalated daily, causing Laura to be even more distracted than before. She suffered from lack of sleep. Night after sleepless night, she promised herself things would be different, but nothing appeared to be changing. She managed to stay awake reading, studying, writing, or worrying.
Things with the kids weren’t much better. Jessica remained in a foul mood much of the time, and Kent had been suspended from school for three days because of his fighting incident on the bus. When Greg was here, things were so different, so much better—in so many ways. Kent had always been close to his dad, but now. . .
Now everything felt different. Her son grew angrier with each passing day, and it showed in a variety of ways. Looked like they were in for a rough year.
She needed to remain focused on school things. Despite all of her gloating, Laura’s grades were slipping dramatically in History. A sixty-two on the first quiz set the ball in motion. She hadn’t done much better on last week’s paper. Her best hope lay in the essay she would turn in today on the Declaration of Independence. She’d spent a great deal of time on it. Of course, Dougherty would find plenty wrong with it. He always did.
Why this particular professor had singled her out remained a mystery to Laura. Surely he couldn’t still be holding a grudge after all of this time. There must be something more. But what? Did he hate women in particular, or just her?
Sighing deeply, Laura closed the book. Studying seemed to be pointless. His pop quizzes defied logic, anyway. She made her way toward the class, wondering about Jessica. How would her daughter treat her today? Would it be the cold shoulder, or a friendly hello?
Will things be like this forever, Lord?
Somehow, in the midst of the battle, it seemed they would.
ß
Andrew watched Laura Chapman carefully as she entered the room. His disappointment in her had diminished greatly over the past month, replaced with a growing amazement at her tenacity and charm. He hadn’t shown that, of course. Andrew looked forward to this class on Tuesdays and Thursdays above all others. All of these changing emotions perplexed him, but not overwhelmingly so. On the surface, she seemed just like any other woman.
Or did she? He looked at her with curiosity. Today she wore a pair of jeans and a soft blue sweater—quite a sight for his sore eyes. Her hair had a shimmer that held him captivated. She’s really very pretty. And maybe she’s not as lazy as I made her out to be. She seems to be trying.
He quickly changed gears, hoping not to attract her attention. “Class, please turn in your essays on the Declaration of Independence.” He watched as she rose, stepping into the aisle with paper in hand. His gaze never left her. She carried herself with grace. Andrew hadn’t yet figured out her story. Was she divorced, widowed? No wedding ring adorned her left hand, and yet she had a daughter, Jessica.
Ms. Chapman placed her paper on the desk—typed, double-spaced—just as he had requested. She certainly seemed to be doing everything in her power to conform. Perhaps the time had come to declare a peace treaty. Enough damage had been done. Clearly she struggled, not just in this class, but with deeper issues. Her eyes were often weary, and her shoulders down. He would change that. He would be a better man. He would step up to the plate.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said to the class, “today we’re going to have an open discussion on the Declaration of Independence. Whom did the authors intend to include? Whom did they exclude? How do you feel about the men who signed, etc.?”
The class erupted into a lively discussion—everything from the lives of the men who had framed the document to those excluded from the rights of the Declaration because of the issue of slavery. He kept a careful eye on Ms. Chapman, who never stirred once during the entire discussion. She seemed frozen in place. Finally, when he dismissed the class and the other students left, he approached her. “You were unusually quiet today, Ms. Chapman.”
She shrugged her response.
“Nothing to add to the conversation?”
“Since you brought it up,” she said, looking at him quizzically, “what about a woman’s right to independence—and, in particular, her right to vote? No one even touched on that subject.”
“What about it?”
“I mean, for all the good it did, the Declaration of Independence still didn’t provide for the women of those original thirteen states. It excluded them, didn’t it?”
“Well, to some extent, perhaps,” he said frankly. “But women were viewed differently in those days.” Things are about to get touchy. I can feel it.
“How so?”
“Well,” he said hesitantly, “they were viewed much more as. . .” How could he put this? “They were viewed more as possessions than as thinking people. When a man took a wife, she became his property.”
Ms. Chapman’s expression hardened. “Isn’t that how most of you still feel?”
“Of course not.” He felt a little twitch of irritation. “Though how I feel is irrelevant, I think that women are completely entitled to their right to vote, as are all American citizens of voting age.” He did. No question about that.
“But. . .” Laura looked at him intently.
He chose his words quite carefully. “Well, it’s just that some of the women I know aren’t exactly nuclear physicists, if you get my drift.” Visions of his blind date danced in front of his eyes. Judy’s nail fungus had been far more important to her than political matters, that was for sure. Of course, she wasn’t like many of the woman he had known, so he couldn’t judge them all by the way she’d acted.
“You mean, ‘men are smarter than women,’” Laura argued.
Andrew noticed how pale her face had become. It intrigued
him but worried him as well. He certainly didn’t want to create an even larger rift between the two of them. “Well, no,” he stammered, trying to make the best of this. “We’re not all smarter. . .”
“All?” Her eyes began to sparkle with anger. Had he said something wrong? No. Every word he had spoken could be backed up with intelligent and accurate statistics.
“Men, as a rule, have a higher intelligence quotient than women,” he argued, “but that’s because we’ve been privy to a history of learning, whereas women have only been allowed full access to all of the academic opportunities this country has to offer for a short time. We’ve got several hundred years of university education under our belts.” There. That should satisfy her.
Apparently not. She stared at him in silence—deafening silence.
“What I mean to say,” he stammered, “is that you—I mean, women, haven’t had the same access to a college education. You’ve missed out on many years of possibility.” Could he get any plainer than that?
“Are you really saying what I think you’re saying? You honestly believe men are smarter than women?”
Her words were heated, and they stirred something in him. She didn’t seem to understand where he was coming from. Her stubbornness wouldn’t allow it.
“That’s not what I. . .” he tried to interject another explanation. He found himself completely frustrated with the direction of the conversation. How can I turn this around?
“All you have to do is look around you, Ms. Chapman. You’ll find a good many women here at Lone Star in your age group, but not many men. I’m sure Jessica’s father, if he didn’t have his degree yet, would head to a major university to obtain his bachelor’s or master’s. That’s true of most men. But you’re going to a junior college. See what I mean?” He smiled in her direction.
“I think it’s time for me to go.” She turned to leave the room. Her eyes widened with his last comment, a sure sign she had misunderstood his words. Laura disappeared down the hallway, never looking back. Andrew sprinted after her. He needed to say something to her—obviously something more carefully thought-out than his last statement.
“Ms. Chapman,” he called out her name, but she kept walking. “Ms. Chapman.” Nothing. “Laura!”
At this, she turned and looked at him, ashen-faced. “There is one thing you should know, Mr. Dougherty, one very important thing.”
“What?”
“My husband died nearly three years ago after a terrible battle with cancer. Does that answer your question about why I’m struggling? He never cared if I had a degree or not. He didn’t put a lot of stock in things like that. He loved me for who I was. He respected me. He would have been proud of me for going back to school—even if it was only a junior college.”
Andrew swallowed hard, and his heart pounded in his chest until he felt like it would explode. “I’m so sorry. I. . .”
“Except for my kids, I’m alone. Up ’til now, I’ve been doing the best I could to get by, no thanks to you. I may not be the smartest woman in the world, but until today, I’ve given this my best shot. Apparently my best wasn’t good enough.”
Andrew’s heart sank to his toes. How could he begin to redeem this? “I’m a tough teacher. Maybe a little too tough; I don’t know. But I’m really sorry if I’ve said anything to hurt you. We can work this out.”
“I don’t want to work it out. I’m tired of trying. So I’m dropping your class, Mr. Dougherty. Isn’t that what you wanted? You’ve won.” Defeat covered her like a shroud.
I haven’t won. Neither of us has won. I’ve caused this—caused her to fail. But how can I stop her? “Laura, please don’t.”
“That news should make you happy. I’m not going to be around to make fun of anymore.”
He never had a chance to respond. She turned to walk in the opposite direction.
ß
Laura made her way to the car, jaw clenched. She just wanted to get out of here and never come back. She couldn’t blame it on the school. Her other classes were going well. Even the younger students all treated her with respect and dignity. It was only him—only that professor. Why do I let him get to me? What is it about him that bothers me so much? He’s not worth it. The class isn’t worth it.
Laura climbed in the car and rested her head on the steering wheel in defeat. “Now what?” she asked herself. She knew the consequences of dropping the class. It meant she couldn’t possibly get the degree within the two-year period. It messed up everything. He messed up everything. Her thoughts deepened from melancholy to hopelessness. Without a degree, she would never make it out of her dead-end job. Unless they fire me, of course.
September 28. Looks like I might not make it through the day, after all. The tears began to flow. Frustrations were mounting. And now, thanks to Mr. Dougherty, the sky was falling.
eight
“Come on, Matt—just tell me,” Andrew coaxed the young man in the admissions office. “I just need Laura Chapman’s work number so I can call her about something that happened today after class.”
“Why are you so hard on everyone?” Matt asked. “Why don’t you just give this one a break?”
“Is that what everyone thinks—that I’m too hard on people?”
Matt smiled. “Well, yeah.”
Andrew shook his head, miserable. “I really need to apologize, but I can’t if you won’t give me the information.”
“You’re gonna humble yourself and do the right thing, eh?” Matt said. “Think you’ll regret it?”
“Probably not.” He couldn’t possibly regret anything more than he did the mess he’d gotten himself into already.
Matt typed a few words into the computer. “Here you go,” he said finally. “She works at the Bookstop on Tully. The number’s right here.”
“She works in a bookstore?” Interesting.
“Yeah. Do you want the number or not?”
“Sure. Sure.” Andrew quickly scribbled down the number, but he’d already decided on a better plan. A bookstore. What a logical place for a college professor to turn up. Nothing contrived. He would simply be one in a number of shoppers, especially in a store the size of the Bookstop. Maybe, just maybe, he would find her there.
ß
Laura drove to the store, anxious to get inside and start working. The harder she worked, she reasoned, the quicker she could put this afternoon’s incident out of my mind. And that’s exactly what she had to do in order to maintain her sanity.
“Laura, everything all right?” Madeline asked.
“Yeah. Rough day.” She decided not to elaborate. “But I’m fine. Really. I want you to know things are going to be better, Madeline. With me, I mean.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean,” she said, with a look of determination, “I’m going to drop a class or two, and that should relieve my schedule a little.” Madeline will appreciate this news. She, of all people, knows how stressed I am.
“But your plans. . .”
“Never mind my plans,” Laura asserted, putting on her best face. “I’m going to be fine; just wait and see. Now, what needs to be done?” There would be no time to dwell on the day’s events if she had her mind on her work.
“Well, I’ve been thinking of revamping the inspirational section,” her boss said. “That area’s not getting a lot of business, and I think maybe it’s because of the way we’ve got it set up.”
Laura nodded. “Sounds great.” Just the titles alone in the inspirational section would cheer her up. She moved forward, into a newer, brighter day. She would put Mr. Dougherty and this whole fiasco out of her mind.
ß
Andrew pulled up to the Bookstop and looked toward the door, anxiety growing. He glanced at his reflection in the rearview mirror before getting out, then wet his fingers, and ran them through the lopsided curl in the center of his forehead that never seemed to lie down. Useless.
He made the short walk to the entrance of the large store. A poster in the wind
ow advertised the former president’s latest book. Looked like they were also having a sale on art books. None of that interested him at this moment. Only one thing captivated his mind: He had to find Laura Chapman.
ß
Laura pulled books off the dusty top shelf with a little more force than usual, placing them onto the cart in front of her. She looked around her, trying to imagine what this section would look like in a few hours. With her help, it could be a showcase. This area could be improved in so many ways. What they needed were posters and promos, drawing people to this corner of the store. Perhaps a center table with inspirational bestsellers available at a glance.
Laura thumbed through a few of the books on the cart. Some of them looked a little dull, but others really caught her eye. One in particular stood out—Put Your Troubles in the Blender and Give Them a Spin. She didn’t recognize the author’s name, but she could certainly relate to the title. Who would have thought inspirational books could be humorous? She gave it a once-over. The text was clever, funny—yet packed a real punch in the emotional department. Lord, are You trying to tell me something?
ß
Andrew wound his way through the bookshelves, nervously looking for Laura. He rehearsed the words over and over again in his mind—what he would say when he saw her. He would start with a practical apology. He owed her that. He would then shift into a reasonable explanation of why he had said what he had. He would do his best not to further damage his case. Rather, he’d try to make himself look like the reasonable man that he was. Being a reasonable woman, she would respond in kind.
At least he hoped she would. He rounded a corner, practically running into a cart full of books. Looks like I’ve found her. Now who’s running into whom? He smiled warmly, attempting to regain his composure.
Laura glanced his direction, her face falling. “What are you doing here?”
“Me?” He tried to look calm. “I come here a lot, actually. Interesting you should work here.”
“Very.”
“Laura—”
“Ms. Chapman.” She stressed the words.