Private North
Tess Oliver
Private North
Copyright © 2013 by Tess Oliver
This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by an means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Strangely Normal Excerpt
Author Contact
Other books by Tess Oliver
Chapter 1
It was the type of frenzied energy that could only be produced by the end of a stressful week of finals coupled with the visions of sugarplums, whatever the heck those were, floating through caffeine infused, study-weary brains. For me it had been a particularly grueling week of insidious group projects with flaky team members who I could now credit with the unrelenting twitch in my left eye and fingernails that had been chewed to unsightly stubs.
“Auggie!”
I turned around. Rylie made her way through the maze of people in the hallway and caught up to me. Her blue eyes sparkled the way only a natural ginger’s eyes could. “Thank God that’s over.” She wrapped her arm around mine and we continued down the long hallway. “Is it possible to have a small series of strokes instead of one major one?”
It was a strange question but not an unusual one for Rylie. We’d met on our first day at freshmen orientation, and we’d formed an instant bond. And she was still one of the few people that I always looked forward to hanging out with. “I think so. My grandfather once had something called lacunar strokes or at least I think that was what they were called. But why are we talking about strokes?”
“Because Professor Freeman should be put away in a mad house. She would have made a great schoolmaster in a Dicken’s novel. The woman is pure evil. I studied ten friggin’ hours for that biology test. I rewrote all of the lecture notes by hand three times.” She raised her hand to show me her calloused finger. “I had this ridiculous notion that the exam questions would actually have something to do with what we’d talked about in class.” Riley shook her head. “Apparently, there is a whole other strand of biology that none of us in the class knew about. I sat there and stared at the test wondering if it was written in Greek or if I’d hit my head on the way to class and forgotten how to decipher the alphabet. My whole GPA is screwed now because of one lunatic teacher.”
“I guess that’s why they call her Freeman the Demon.”
“The worst thing about it is I have to have her next semester for advanced biology.”
The din in the hallway grew louder as more finals ended and more winter breaks officially began. We skirted around a group standing in a circle lamenting about what must have been another awful final. I squeezed Rylie’s arm. “I’ve got my own tales of horror. Remember that huge group project for medieval studies?”
“The one that got you addicted to Tums?”
“Yep. First drug habit I’ve ever had. Well, Derek, the guy who was doing the section about architecture called me two nights ago and said he’d lost his flash drive with his piece of the report. I laughed, of course, because I knew no one would be stupid enough to count solely on a one inch flash drive to store a semester’s worth of research. Turns out, I was wrong. There was someone stupid enough. I had to piece together the incoherent, scattered parts he’d sent me from time to time to proofread. It took me hours.” I pointed to my eyebrow. “Still have a nervous twitch from it.”
We tromped downstairs holding tightly to each other in the rush of people. “Everyone is sure in a hurry to get out of here.” Rylie said. “I guess I’d be happier to leave if Jason and I weren’t getting on airplanes that were heading in opposite directions.”
I was relieved to reach the bottom landing without being pushed or elbowed. “So, you’re not going to see each other at all?”
Rylie shook her head emphatically. “Picture a small, double-wide trailer bursting at the seams with loud, mostly overweight, half drunken relatives. I don’t want to scare Jason off. One day with my mom and aunts grilling him and he’d break up with me for sure.”
“No, he wouldn’t. Jason is nuts about you.”
“He wants me to fly to New York and meet his parents for New Years, but I don’t think I’m ready. Jason thinks our families should meet, but I told him there wouldn’t be enough Valium in the world for me to live through that. I keep imagining this Hatfields and McCoys type scenario only it would be more like the Hatfields and the Vanderbilts. Our two families are from different worlds.”
I smiled at her. “Yet you and Jason are perfect together.”
Rylie sighed. “We are, aren’t we?” She stopped suddenly. “Oh shoot, I forgot I have to turn my paper into Professor Learner’s office. My printer was on the blink so he gave me an extra day. He’s so cool. Why can’t they all be like him?”
“I think the fiendish professors believe that they are preparing us for the reality of a harsh world.” I glanced back and it was like sitting at the end of the river looking upstream as a school of anxious fish swam toward us. “I’ll go with you. I’m afraid to send you back through alone. You’re liable to get trampled.”
“You’re a true friend, Auggie.” We turned around and braced ourselves for the trek against the tide. “Are you heading home or does your mom have some exotic cruise planned?”
“No cruise. I begged my parents to plan a holiday at home. It took some doing. And get this— I even talked my mom into the two of us cooking Christmas dinner . . . alone. No chefs, no caterers, just us. I can’t wait. It will be just like a real family.”
It was much slower going against traffic, and more than once we had to stop and step out of the way or risk getting run down.
“Well, the real family Christmas isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” Rylie said. “Although we do have some great traditions— like the massive blowup fight between Aunt Clare and Uncle Richard, and it’s usually about something dumb like which color lights to hang on the tree. And then there’s Uncle Filbert’s after dinner possible heart attack, which is miraculously cured when Aunt Millie reminds him to open the top button of his pants. And, believe me, Uncle Filbert sleeping on the couch with his pants unbuttoned is a special holiday memory in itself. But we do always spend an entire day making a gingerbread house where my aunts and I eat more candy than goes on the house, and the whole thing ends up looking as if some mountain men had built a ramshackle log cabin while they were stone drunk on moonshine. But I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“I’ve always wanted to build a gingerbread house for Christmas. Of course, we always had one on the table, but it came from some exclusive Beverly Hills bakery with stained glass windows made out of sugar and exclu
sive French chocolates for roof shingles. And my mom forbade me to touch it. Then she’d have the maids toss it out the day after Christmas, candy and all. Who does that? Why have a gingerbread house if you’re not going to nibble on the damn thing?”
Rylie shook her head. “You poor thing. The only part left on our house by Christmas morning is the icing covered cardboard base and the gross tasting mints that nobody likes but that Aunt Milly insists make a ‘delightful roof pattern’.” Rylie gasped and grabbed my hand. “I just saw Trenton’s red beanie poking up above the heads.”
My heart stopped. “Are you sure?” I craned my neck to glance over the sea of people filling the narrow passage.
Rylie raised her red brow at me. “No, it was probably some other six-foot-two guy with a red beanie.”
“I’ve got to get out of here. I can’t endure another long conversation about our break up.” I leaned over and kissed her. “You’re on your own, Pal. Have a safe trip home, and think of me when you’re eating gingerbread.”
Riley hugged me. “I’ll see you in January. Love ya.”
I ducked my head down and scurried between a couple who had just finished a kiss. “Sorry to interrupt,” I muttered and pushed on several door handles until one opened. I scooted inside the lecture hall and shut the door behind me. A poster about a school ski trip covered the small window in the door. I lifted the bottom corner and peeked out waiting for Trenton to walk past. Sometimes the aftermath of a break-up was more tense than the actual break-up. That was definitely the case with Trenton.
“So, the rumors are true,” a voice called from the bottom of the lecture hall.
I dropped the corner of the poster and spun around. Professor North piled up the notes on his lectern and dropped them into his briefcase. Professor North was one of my favorites. He wore faded denim jeans but he always managed to make them look elegant, and he seemed like the kind of guy who’d make a great dad, the kind of dad who’d be really patient while you learned to swim or ride a bike. Of course, I had no idea if my own dad would have been patient or not. Maggie, the downstairs maid, had held the back of the bike seat and ran along with me as I pedaled clumsily around the circular drive. The woman was a saint.
I walked toward the steps that led down through the rows of stadium seats. “What rumor is that?”
Professor North grinned and finished clearing his lectern. “We teachers know all the latest gossip, I assure you. And the saga of August Stonefield and Trenton Peters is a well known one.”
I reached him just as he’d finished his task. His light gray eyes crinkled with humor as he smiled down at me.
“You’re kidding, right?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Talk was that you broke his heart, and rather mercilessly, it was noted.” He clucked his tongue. “And Trenton being the biggest catch on campus.” He waved his arm around the hall. “His grandfather funded the construction of this hall, you know?”
“Yes, I know. Believe me, Trenton never missed an opportunity to point out something on campus that one of his relatives had built.”
His forehead creased. “One of the reasons for the break up, I assume?” He leaned down and picked up his briefcase.
“One of many.” I glanced over at him as we made the long journey up the shallow steps. “This kind of stuff isn’t really being talked about in the lounge, is it? I mean there’s no way a bunch of academics sit around sipping imported coffee discussing the love lives of the student body.”
He chuckled. “Well, most of us have different areas of interest, so we turn to the one thing that we all have in common— the students. But we really only gossip about you guys when something exceptionally tawdry or juicy happens.”
I nearly tripped. “There was nothing tawdry, believe me. I just couldn’t stand—”
“Relax, August, I was only joking.” He stopped and slid into a row of seats to pick up a pen someone had dropped. He lifted it and studied it. “Hmm, this is an expensive one.” He stuck it into the front of his briefcase and then looked up at me as if he’d thought of something. “What are you doing during your winter break?”
“I’m going home to California.”
“I figured. That’s too bad though. I have some work for a willing ancient antiquities undergrad. I have boxes and boxes of artifacts that need cataloguing and entering into my data base. Nothing too exciting, I’m afraid. Just a lot of pottery shards and wood fragments and the sort. But the data is important and it provides greater understanding and connections with other finds. My son, Ethan, will be working on it, but I know he could use a hand.”
My heart dropped to my stomach with disappointment. Winter break toiling over ancient artifacts shoulder to shoulder with Ethan North, the graduate student who every coed on campus dreamed about, would have been amazing. “It sounds like a great opportunity, Professor North, and under any other circumstances I would jump at the offer, but my mom and I have been planning a special holiday at home for months.”
“Of course. I understand. I’m sure I can still drum up someone’s help before everyone leaves for break.”
I was about to let him know that all he had to do was hold up a sign that said ‘come spend some quality time alone with Ethan North’ and he’d have to fight off volunteers.
He stopped before opening the door. “Do you think it’s safe to go out there yet?”
My cheeks warmed and I felt rather silly for hiding out. “Yes, I think I can venture out now, thank you, Professor.”
The crowd had already thinned considerably. My phone rang and I fished it out of my pocket. “Have a nice break, Professor North.”
“You too, August, and try not to break anymore hearts,” he called back over his shoulder.
“Hey Mom, I was thinking we should make a gingerbread house.” It was disappointing having to turn down the professor’s unbelievable offer, but I had really been looking forward to this holiday. “We’ll be covered in frilly aprons and all-purpose flour in no time.” There was a pause. Mom was not a pause person. She was a talk right over you type of person but not a pause person. “What’s wrong?” I couldn’t keep the anger out of my tone.
“Now, August, don’t get mad and defensive when I haven’t even said anything yet.”
“You paused, Mom, that’s all I needed to hear.”
“There’s been a slight change of plans,” she said hesitantly. She was definitely not a hesitator either. Mom could blast through a conversation or apology or admonition like a high-speed train. “We’re all going to France to celebrate the holidays at the Beauchamp’s country estate.” She slipped a nice dose of enthusiasm into her tone apparently thinking I was still eight and that if she said it with enough excitement then I would be right on board. But I wasn’t. My stomach turned in on itself. I needed some of my chalky tasting little helpers.
“First of all, Mom, I don’t know what your definition of slight is, but it is entirely different than mine . . . or the Oxford dictionary’s, for that matter. And you can sugarcoat your change of plans with as much of a happy tone as you can muster, but I’m not going. Frankly I would rather have a root canal than spend even one day with the Beauchamps. I can’t stand them.”
“Now August, don’t be so unsocial. They are extremely influential, and Margaret has invited her nephew to stay too. She says he is quite handsome and his father has great ties to Wall Street. And since you made the rather poor decision to break things off with Trenton—”
“Holy shit, is this what the trip to France is about?” The hallway was nearly deserted now and my voice echoed off the walls.
“Please watch your language, August, I didn’t raise you to talk like a sailor.”
“No, apparently you raised me to attract a rich guy so Dad could get stock trading tips.” I stuck the phone between my shoulder and ear and searched in my bag for my emerge
ncy supply of antacid. “Well, have a good time in France. I’m not going.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, August, of course you’re going. It will be warm and sunny in the French countryside.”
“Well, thank goodness, because I was dreading all those Southern California blizzards we have to contend with all winter.”
I could almost hear her frown in disapproval at my sarcasm. “Raymond and Patty can’t make it but Dylan and Eric will be there with Kristin and Rachel.” She always added in my sister-in-laws as if they were a bonus in any situation, but, actually, the opposite was true. I really only liked Patty, but I had nothing in common with Kristin or Rachel.
“Mom, I’m not going to be there.” My anger had diminished and now I was just profoundly disappointed. And she could not understand why, but that was usual for my mom.
There was another pause. “You can’t stay home alone for the holidays, August. That’s just silly.”
“I’ll just stay here and get some reading done. Have a good time and tell everyone hello.” I hung up before she could answer. We were on opposite coasts, and there wasn’t much she could do about it.
I trudged down the vacant hallway to the exit. Even the parking lots had cleared as people raced off campus to join in their cozy family celebrations. Tears burned the back of my eyes, and the frigid air made it worse.
Thin patches of snow on the ground had been trampled into slushy ice puddles. I stomped through them and headed toward the parking lot. My phone buzzed in my pocket but I ignored it. She’d be mad but not any more angry than I was at her for completely obliterating the fantasy I’d had about a cool, homey holiday. And now, more than ever, I realized it was just a fantasy, a silly, childish fantasy to believe that my mom would have gone for anything ordinary. At this point, I had no idea what I was going to do, but I knew one thing for certain, I wasn’t going to France. Staying alone had far more appeal than several weeks with irritating people.