CHAPTER 21

ERIC HAD A HEADACHE. In the last week since they’d broken up, he’d been popping aspirin like it was candy. He rubbed at the hinge of his jaw, opening and closing his mouth to loosen the muscles. It was no use. He reached for the bottle of pills on his desk.

It wasn’t the first of his relationships that had failed, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. There was no need to wallow in it, and besides, hadn’t he been attracted to the way Aletta kept him guessing? Hadn’t he wanted to figure her out? Mistake number one.

When he’d received the e-mail, complete with a message to someone who must have been her agent, or maybe her editor, Eric’s first instinct had been to send Lettie a friendly reply telling her she’d sent the e-mail to the wrong address. Good thing he read on, because otherwise he would’ve missed that glimpse into reality. The thought of the e-mail still made his gut tighten:

To: eclayman@noahwebsterelementary.ct.ed

From: alittleosbourne523@gmail.com

Subject: Erotic Novella

Dear Marcy,

Here’s my next book, with a few hours to spare! Woo-hoo! The synopsis is attached, but basically it’s a star-crossed-lovers story about Starr and Jase. Jase is Starr’s contemporary but also her boss, and being found together could spell doom for both of them. I think it’s better than my last one. Let’s just say I was lucky to recently find the right Mr. Wrong to help me work through the love scenes!

Off to sleep. Talk to you later.

Lettie

The right Mr. Wrong. She’d told him right there in his office how wrong they were for each other, and then she’d changed her mind, and he’d never understood it until then. He thought back to how she was in Bar Harbor, picking up strange men, trying to find material for her books. . . . He felt used.

The thing was, he liked her. A lot. Maybe he even loved her. But he couldn’t be with a woman who wanted him to be rugged and tough and dangerous—what would that mean? That they’d have to have sex in the car all the time? That he’d have to get a neck tattoo? His ex-girlfriend had complained that he was too boring for her. Well . . . yeah. He liked stability. Maybe he wasn’t always boring, but sometimes he was, and if he was going to be with someone, he needed her to understand that this was okay. Life wasn’t an erotic novel.

So he’d been planning to tell Aletta that he didn’t appreciate the way she’d approached their relationship and that they should take a break. Then when he got to school and Gretchen had pulled him aside and asked him point-blank if he was sleeping with Aletta, he almost lost it. “Of course not,” he’d snapped. “Who said that?”

Gretchen lifted her eyebrows and cocked her head at him. “A little bird told me. I realize it happens, but it’s not smart. And to not have disclosed it . . . ” She paused. “I’ll be frank. I won’t tolerate that conduct in my school. It undermines my authority and yours, and while I realize this isn’t the case with other principals in the district, it’s the way it is with me.”

Eric’s muscles went rigid, but he tried to keep his voice level and calm. “I told you, it didn’t happen.”

She searched his face and then sighed. “I always thought she had her eyes on you. She’s apparently going around talking about it, because this other teacher ran straight into my office.”

Eric felt cold at the revelation. “Aletta is telling people that we’re sleeping together?”

It was a betrayal of the worst kind. He’d trusted her. He’d thought she’d keep their relationship private, as they’d agreed. But no. She’d not only written a book that made a fool of him, she’d also been talking about it in the faculty lounge. He still felt sick. All of his years of hard work, all of the effort he’d put into his reputation, possibly gone.

And so he’d lied. “Gretchen, nothing’s happening between me and Lettie. It’s some terrible misunderstanding, but she’s nothing to me.”

Not his finest moment by a long shot, but telling the truth would’ve been messy. Aletta had deceived him. He didn’t see why he should put both their careers at risk for a relationship that had been built on deception.

In the end, he suspected that Gretchen didn’t believe him. It would be just like her to punish him by making him write a letter of reprimand for Lettie’s file—a task he still hadn’t been able to complete. He started typing:

Aletta Osbourne overslept and arrived at school twenty-five minutes late. She was reminded that she is to notify the principal or vice principal of her tardiness.

He sat back and stared at his computer. It all seemed so inconsequential. Aletta was a good teacher who cared about her class. She shouldn’t be punished this way. He’d always been a person who followed the rules, but this rule sucked.

Eric rose and walked to Gretchen’s office. She was staring at something on her computer. At least she wasn’t drinking. She looked up. “Yes?”

“Gretchen, I want to talk to you about that letter of reprimand I’m supposed to be writing for Aletta Osbourne. Basically,” he folded his arms, “I don’t think I should do it.”

“You think I should do it, then?” Her lips curled. “It would be nicer coming from you.”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying. She’s a good teacher and an asset to the school. She was late one day—so what? It’s not an ongoing problem.”

“It’s what the handbook requires,” Gretchen said flatly.

“I realize that. But it’s not a great rule in this case. It’s punishment for its own sake. She didn’t do anything deliberate or irresponsible. She overslept. She’s human. It happens.”

Gretchen folded her hands on her desk and eyed him. “She went around telling people she was sleeping with you, Eric. She failed to follow protocol when she was late. The woman’s a mess, and between you and me, she’ll be a tenured teacher at Noah Webster over my dead body.” She pointed one finger at the top of the desk and tapped it firmly as she said “my dead body,” emphasizing each word. “Now. Go write that letter so I have documentation when I tell her she’s not welcome back. If you can’t do it, I will.” With that, she turned back to the computer screen.

The blood rushed through Eric’s ears as he went back to his office, the words echoing. She’ll be a tenured teacher at Noah Webster over my dead body. He could go back in and tell Gretchen the truth, that they had had a relationship, except he doubted that would help anything. Then Gretchen would say that Aletta had exercised poor judgment by sleeping with her superior. Gretchen was determined to get rid of her.

He closed his door behind him and set his hands over his face. Something in him moved, and it hurt. Gretchen was determined to hurt Aletta, and he felt sharp anger in his chest. Because he still cared for Aletta. Deeply. Even if they were wrong for each other and he was too boring for her, he would never want to see her get hurt. He had to set his ego aside and act like a man.

He’d screwed up. He could’ve done more to protect Aletta, or told Gretchen that she’d called him when she knew she was going to be late. He’d been too angry.

He had to figure out how to fix this.

A WEEK before Christmas, I decided I’d had enough moping around the house and I called Faye to join me on a road trip. This time, it was my turn to give orders. “Leave the twins with Win. It’ll be a girls’ day.”

She sighed into the phone. “I don’t know—”

“Come on, when was the last time we did anything fun like this together?” Never, I thought. We’d never done anything fun together. So it was high time to start.

We took my car, and I drove. Faye brought snacks in a little cooler. “I have peanut butter and crackers—”

“Those orange crackers?”

“Mmm-hmm. And some oatmeal raisin cookies and fruit snacks. I even brought a chocolate bar.”

“You realize it’s only a few hours away, right? And I’m not a toddler?”

She tore the chocolate bar wrapper and broke off a square. “It’s a day off. I’m on vacation.”

As we drove up to Boston, we talked without interruption. Things with Win were going well, she said. Dr. Lewiston and his wife were listing their house for sale and moving to Florida. “It’s for the best. Win and I still see a marriage counselor, and I think it’s helped.” She broke off another square of chocolate and bit off the corner. “I want our marriage to work. We both do. Somehow we lost our way, but we’re going to find it again.”

“I’m really happy to hear that, Faye. So we’re not worried anymore about inheriting Dad’s serial marriage gene, right?”

“Whether I have it or not, it’s not going to control me. Besides, Dad’s happier than I’ve ever seen him! I went over a few weeks ago and the front door was unlocked. On purpose.”

“The transformative power of love.”

“Sadie’s writing erotica now. Their sex life is probably pretty good.”

I shot her a look and tightened my grip on the wheel. “Let’s agree to never talk about Dad’s sex life again.”

Breaking up with James had done more than leave a gap in my life. It had shattered my sense of myself. I wasn’t convinced that anything positive would come out of breaking up with Eric, not when our month together had been so intense and full of promise. But whereas after James I’d focused on self-destruction, after Eric I was determined to focus on healing.

We reached Boston just before noon. I parked at the Prudential Center so Faye could go Christmas shopping. “Where are you meeting?” she asked.

“At the Public Garden. It shouldn’t be long.”

We established a meeting time, and I headed out into the cold December morning.

And there was James, standing by the wrought iron gates to the gardens, wearing the familiar gray wool peacoat with the matching suede patches on the elbows. Funny how he’d worn it for years, and I’d forgotten about it. He waved when he saw me and brought his gloved hands up to his mouth to heat them. I’d wondered what we’d do when we saw each other again, if we’d do that awkward dance where we tried to determine whether it was appropriate to hug or kiss or whether we should shake hands. But he pulled me into a tight hug without a thought. “It’s so good to see you.” His breath was warm against my ear.

“You must be freezing. Should we grab lunch?”

“There’s that place over here—”

“Yes, that’s what I was thinking, too.”

We chose a café on Newberry Street, one of our favorites, and ordered tomato soup with a decadent grilled cheese panini stuffed with brie and pear. We asked after each other’s families and work. He had a heavy teaching course load but was happy. He’d have more time to work on his dissertation in the spring. I pointed to the silver band on his left finger. “Married already?”

He twisted it in place. “Still engaged. We have a date in the summer.”

I shifted in my seat and took a breath, because this was the reason I’d come. “I want to apologize for the way we left things when you called. I’m happy for you, and really, you did the right thing by calling off our wedding. You have to be who you are. No one should try to change that.”

Until that moment, I hadn’t realized how tense he was. His forehead and shoulders relaxed and his eyes softened. “I hate that I hurt you. I care about you. I always will.”

He reached across the table to squeeze my hand and, I don’t know. He must have turned on a faucet, because I started crying. Not ugly crying, just streaming tears. I pulled my hand back and rubbed at my face. “Shoot. I’m actually wearing mascara today, too.”

He chuckled softly and looked down at the food he’d only picked at. “My fault. I shouldn’t have told you that I care about you.”

I found a tissue in my purse—I’d been carrying them everywhere lately—and attempted to clean up the damage. “No, it’s okay. These are relieved tears.” I pushed my plate aside and leaned both elbows on the table. “I’ve spent a long time believing that I’m unworthy of love. Ridiculous, right? Illogical. But our brains don’t process everything logically.” This was another thing Dr. Bubbles had taught me. “Instead, when something bad happens, we make up stories to explain it. We’re natural storytellers. When you left me, the story I told myself was that the world is dangerous and that I am fundamentally unlovable, and so if I try to love someone, that is an unsafe position to be in because they will not return my feelings. They will leave me. And yes,” I added, “I’ve been seeing a therapist for some time.”

There was a long pause. “I hate that I did anything to make you feel that way.”

James’s forehead creased with pain, and when I saw it, I softened still further. He wasn’t bad or unloving. He hadn’t “betrayed” me by being true to himself. The story I’d told myself was utter and complete bullshit.

“No,” I said gently. “You didn’t make me do anything. I made myself feel that way. But I don’t anymore.”

We ordered coffees and shared a piece of pumpkin spice coffee cake with pecans. When we parted ways, I kissed him on the cheek and he promised to invite me to the wedding, and it was all okay. I’d loved James for a long time but, sitting there in that café, I didn’t feel that love I was afraid I would feel. I felt affection and nostalgia but not love. Maybe he was right about us growing apart. If we’d been married, we would’ve been miserable.

In a big way, I also felt like I was finally over myself. The James Incident was not about me and my awkwardness, or that Sears Portrait photo of me and Faye. It was about James.

The walk back to the Prudential seemed faster without so much emotional baggage.

Good thing, because Faye had enough baggage for the both of us. When I saw her, she and ten shopping bags were sprawled out on a bench beside a middle-aged woman in a purple velour tracksuit.

“There are some great sales,” she said in response to the questions that must have been written all over my face. “You wouldn’t think so, being so close to Christmas—”

“It pays to procrastinate. Here, I’ll help you.”

“You don’t want to look around?”

“I do my shopping online.”

We walked to the elevator to the parking garage. “How’d it go?” she asked.

I nodded. “Great. He’s happy, and we closed things up. It was great to see him.”

“Ah.” Faye stared straight ahead at the brassy elevator doors. “Does this mean you’re ready to move on?”

My heart. Faye didn’t know that I’d already tried to move on, and I’d already messed up miserably. That was the other thing that seeing James had done: it had given me a comparison with Eric, and I missed him.

“When I’m ready,” I said as the elevator jerked to our level. “I may have someone in mind.”

Odin missed me so much that he’d pulled my dirty laundry out of the hamper and scattered it all over the stairs. When I opened the front door, he was sitting beside the stairs with one of my black T-shirts around his neck, wagging his tail with no guilt whatsoever. He followed me as I collected the clothing and returned it to the laundry basket.

“What am I going to do with you, Odin?”

He rolled onto his back and put his legs in the air.

“Pretty much,” I said, and gave him a big hug.

That evening, I felt lonely. It was Saturday night and I was home alone with my dog, and that didn’t cut it with me anymore. Mindy was out on a blind date, Faye was home with Win and the twins, and Eric was who-knows-where. Probably at Bar Harbor being hot and charming and moving on with his life. So I was at a pretty low point when I made the decision.

I dialed the number three times before I gathered enough nerve to allow it to actually ring through. While I waited, I sealed my eyes shut and bit my lower lip, thinking that this was one of those uncomfortable things you had to power through, like a pelvic exam or a booster shot. On the fourth ring, he picked up. “Hey, Lettie.” He sounded surprised. I hated that I’d surprised him.

“Hey. I was wondering if you’d like to do something maybe tomorrow. Grab dinner or something. Nothing serious. Just to hang out.”

I didn’t imagine us dating. No way. It was just that we’d always been friendly, and being without Eric left me feeling like I had yet another gap to fill. Might as well fill it with friends. Besides, Max had suggested we have dinner many times. It’s just that until that moment, I’d never been lonely enough.

“Well, let me check my calendar.” He laughed. “Just kidding. With you? Of course. Pick you up at six?”

“We can meet at a place. I may be coming from somewhere.” The thought of Max coming to my house made me nervous. Too familiar.

“Fine, fine. I’ll pick the place then and text you. Sound good?”

“Sure. You have my number—?” I stopped myself. Of course he had my number.

He chuckled and said, “Yeah, baby. It’s this number you’re calling me from. You don’t have to be nervous, I won’t bite. Unless you want me to.” More laughter.

Ugh.

As we hung up, I tried to convince myself that dinner with Max was nothing more than me getting over Eric and moving on—the same way he surely was—and that exploring my options and being open to possibilities was a reasonable, responsible thing to do. Max and I could be two colleagues having a friendly dinner. Besides, I sort of felt bad about all the times I’d laughed about him bench-pressing beer kegs and the homeless. Whatever the case, this was not about avoiding spending another night alone with my dog, being depressed and lonely on my couch.

Sometimes I’m a very bad liar.

WE MET the next night at Cedar Hill Tavern, a little place on the edge of River Junction with a rustic feel. When I entered, it was decorated warmly for the holidays with fresh garland and wreaths wrapped in red velvet ribbons and strung with white lights. The ceiling was exposed beam, and the floorboards were wide, unfinished, and well-worn. The bar looked like it had been made of reclaimed wood. It was a warm, unpretentious choice, and so I relaxed a bit and thought that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

“Hey!”

I looked up and saw Max waving to me, calling from the other side of the tavern. Diners looked at us. I mustered the strength to put a small smile on my face and wave back. Yes, I see you. I’m hanging up my coat. But he kept shouting at me. “You wanna drink? I can get you a drink.”

I held up one finger and hurried to get my coat on the rack, but the hanger was stuck. A young hostess took pity on me. “I’ll get it,” she said. Subtext: Please go so he stops shouting.

When I came over, Max gave me a twice-over and said, “You clean up nice.”

I was wearing a gray sweater dress with black tights and gray ballet flats. Nice without being too fancy, because I didn’t actually want to look like I cared. As soon as I saw him, my heart sank. Max was wearing a red sweater with some kind of snowflake design and blue jeans. Casual—meaning I was the one who’d dressed up. I was already sending the wrong signals.

“Thank you. You look nice, too.”

He stood to pull out my chair for me, but I waved him off. He said, “I gotta ask, what made you call me? I’m flattered and all, but it was a surprise.”

Now there was a kickoff. “I just thought it might be nice to go out to dinner. Mindy and I go out all the time,” I added, and hoped he would see that there was no reason to believe that this was anything serious. Max was definitely a Mr. Wrong, and while I may have had a place in my life for such people, they were not permanent spots. When you’re lost at sea, any port starts to look good. “Nothing strange about having dinner with a colleague.”

He slumped one shoulder and sat back in his seat. “I guess not. I didn’t know if it was something more, because—”

“Yeah.”

“—you’re single, and I’m single.”

“Uh-huh.” We were not talking about dating or my need for human contact. I took a sip of my ice water and reached for the menu. “What’s good here? Something smells delicious.”

The menu offered new twists on comfort foods—like macaroni and cheese with lobster—as well as old favorites like a classic cheeseburger. When it came time to order, I selected the macaroni and cheese and Max chose a salad with grilled chicken and dressing on the side. Then he had the nerve to make a face and mumble something about the fat content of my meal, and I pretended not to hear. “How’s your training going?”

I sat back in my chair and listened patiently while Max went through his workout routine. “Today I did hams, quads, glutes, and calves. Complete lower body. Man, I was doing these burpees—”

“The what now?”

“Burpees. I do five different kinds, but it’s a squat with a powerful explosion. You could really tone up your thighs that way. Get in shape for swimsuit season.”

Oh goodness. I was not about to discuss the sad state of my thighs with Max of all people. “I’ll keep that in mind, thanks.”

“Body composition is eighty percent diet,” he said, and flicked a black cloth napkin onto his lap. “The human body is efficient. People don’t burn as many calories as they think they do when they work out. You can do burpees for an hour and you won’t burn off the mac and cheese you’re about to have.”

Well.

I scooted my seat a little and set my hands on the table. “You know, Max? I don’t care. I want to eat macaroni and cheese and I don’t care if it dimples my thighs.”

He smirked and rubbed at the back of his neck. “Hey, it’s cool. Lots of women care about looking hot on the beach, that’s all.”

“I’m not one of them,” I said easily as I swept some stray crumbs aside. “My time is valuable, and food is delicious. I will never be a bikini model. It’s not my lot in life.”

“I like your confidence. Can I be honest?” He leaned forward and plunged ahead without waiting for me to answer. “I’ve always found you attractive, dimples or not.”

“That’s sweet, Max.”

“Seriously. When I first met you, I thought, she’s cute and funny and the kind of girl I could take home. Like my mom would totally dig you.”

I tried not to grin as I imagined telling Max what I wrote and published in my free time. “Thank you. Really, it’s nice of you to say.” I had to return the compliment. “My dad would like you.”

“Oh yeah?”

“He likes running.” When he’s being chased by a bear.

“Then we’d have a lot to talk about.” Max polished off his ice water and set the glass down. “Look, I gotta level with you. I should’ve said something sooner, when you called, but I was so caught off guard . . .” He reached a finger up to scratch his temple, and I realized how high his forehead was. “It’s just . . . I’ve kind of started seeing someone.”

I jerked my arm too quickly and sent my flatware clattering into my bread dish. “Oh, stop.” I set my hands on the fork and knife. “I mean, that’s great.”

“It’s all new, she’s a real nice girl.” He tugged at his collar. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I would’ve been real excited to go out with you a few weeks ago.”

“Aha.”

“But you’re like, two weeks too late.” His grin was so broad I could see straight to the back molars. “And then you’re all dressed up and I—I don’t want to lead you on, okay? Tonight isn’t a date.”

Oh my gosh, I was getting rejected by Max—and we weren’t even on a date! Something deep down inside of me bubbled, tickling as it rose, and I laughed. I laughed because this was one of the stupidest things that had ever happened to me, and because I knew Mindy was going to die when she found out I’d invited Max out for dinner, and because I didn’t know why I was there in the first place. Why in the world did I think I should have dinner with Max? Was I hoping all of my instincts about him being a meathead were wrong? They so weren’t!

Max watched me and then began laughing uncomfortably, clearly not sure what the joke was. “So, that’s cool then, right?”

“Oh, Max. I’m sorry. I’ve had a long few days.” I wiped at the tears pooling in the corners of my eyes. “Of course it’s wonderful. I’m happy for you. No hard feelings, I promise.”

I was still chuckling as I took a sip of my water. Hilarious. Mindy would fracture a rib laughing.

“So like I said,” Max began, “I’m surprised you called me.”

“Yeah?” That makes two of us, buddy.

“I could’ve sworn—maybe I’m wrong.” The sides of his mouth pulled into a mischievous grin. “I thought you might’ve had a thing with the vice principal.”

“Eric?” The smile fell off my face and my arms broke out into goose bumps. “Why did you think that?”

He lowered his head. “I see the way he looks at you. It’s unprofessional. Sexual harassment.” He pronounced it harris-ment.

I swallowed and felt a burn climb my chest. Max had noticed. It’s possible half the faculty thought I was sleeping with Eric. In fairness, they’d been correct at one point. I set one elbow on the table and leaned closer, lowering my voice. “Listen, I don’t know whether—it’s embarrassing, really. But someone actually went to Brun—Gretchen, and said that Eric and I were in a relationship. It got us both in some trouble.”

Max looked down as I spoke and ran his thumbnail into a groove on the table. “You got into trouble for that?”

I didn’t like the way he said it. Something about his tone sounded guilty. “Of course I did. Gretchen hauled me into her office. It was mortifying.”

He was really working that groove, and he refused to make eye contact. My stomach knotted as I realized what was going on. “Max. Did you say something to her about it?”

“No.” But he kept worrying that table, and his shoulders were hunched over. “I didn’t want to get you in trouble. He’s the one who’s wrong!”

I groaned and set my head in my hands. “You don’t understand. Gretchen dislikes me as it is!”

“You?” His eyes were wide. “For what?”

“Who knows. She’s not rational. But that’s beside the point. She’s putting a letter in my file. I may not receive tenure.” My voice cracked. The thought terrified me.

Max picked up a packet of sugar and started rapping it on the table. “That’s not right. I told her that I thought Eric was attracted to you, that’s all. I never said that you two were sleeping together.”

“So she took your piece of information and ran wild with it, just to hold it over our heads.” Why did nothing about that surprise me?

A server came over with our dinners, but my stomach was too knotted to digest anything. Brunhilda had robbed me of lobster mac and cheese. Unforgivable.

“I’ll fix it for you,” Max said. “I’ll go in tomorrow morning and tell her the truth, that it was all made up and you didn’t do anything wrong.”

I pressed my lips together. It was decent of him to make the offer, but when it came down to it, that wasn’t the truth. Eric and I had had a relationship. In any other school, we would’ve had to simply make a disclosure. I had a feeling that nothing anyone could say would make Brunhilda change her mind about me.

“You don’t need to get involved, but thanks. I’m sure it will be fine in the end. People have short memories.”

Max dipped his fork into his salad dressing and speared a piece of grilled chicken. “Not Gretchen. She’s like an elephant. Never forgets.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to hope she gets fired or resigns,” I joked weakly.

Max turned over some baby spinach on his plate and chewed thoughtfully. “Actually, I’m a little surprised she hasn’t been fired already.”

“Why is that?”

His mouth quirked. “You gonna eat your mac and cheese?”

I glanced at my plate. It was cooked in a small blue crock and dusted with breadcrumbs, and it looked well worth some cellulite. “If I eat will you tell me why Gretchen should be fired?”

“I figure if we’re both having dinner, we got to talk about something, right?”

I perked up and lifted my fork. “All right, I’m eating.” I took a bite of creamy shells and savored the texture. “So. Let’s talk.”

Max grinned. Then we talked.