Looking for Lily Page 11

  His excuse didn’t hold up. A graduate student could help him. But he wanted me, whether for tutoring or something more, I wasn’t sure. In most cases, I would simply refuse and direct the student to one of the more capable graduate students in the field. I would chill him with my coldest leave-me-alone look. But there was something about Drew that made me feel anything but normal. He seemed needy and vulnerable under the surface. I was a sucker for vulnerability.

  “I’ll help you.”

  His smile returned in earnest, and I wished I could take back my words. I felt as if I’d agreed to something more important, something I might regret. Before I could think of a way to rescind the offer, Drew made an appointment to see me next week and left the office in a purposeful rush. I turned back to my papers, trying not to think of Drew at all.

  Later that day, Jack and I sat on my back porch drinking white wine and eating pizza. I didn’t realize that I’d had too much wine until I heard myself telling him about Drew.

  Jack frowned and set down his glass and leaned forward on the wrought iron chair.

  “Let me get this straight—this student who’s what, nineteen, twenty—”

  “He’s twenty-one.” I’d looked up his records.

  “Oh, right, twenty-one. Anyway, you’re interested in a 21-year-old kid? A student?”

  I felt my cheeks flush. “I’m not interested in him.”

  His eyes showed his disbelief. “That’s not how it sounds. You know, there are policies against this kind of thing, Tina. I don’t want you to risk your career.”

  “He just wants a tutor.” Even as I said it, I knew it was a lie. I wasn’t quite sure what Drew wanted, but I didn’t think it was as simple as tutoring.

  “He wants you. Believe me, I know. I’m a man.” Jack just stared at me until I looked away.

  “If he wanted sex, would he be so obvious about it?”

  Jack laughed. “Tina, it amazes me how little you know about men.”

  We sat without talking for a moment, contemplating this truth. This was one of the reasons I thought it was good that Jack and I had ended up as friends instead of something more. He let me peek into the psyche of men and would always tell me the truth, no matter what.

  “It’s hard. I still see myself as fat, as ugly. I can’t trust my own instincts.”

  He nodded. “Men do like you, and it has nothing to do with your weight. But you’re always pushing them away.”

  “I don’t push them away, they leave. They don’t like me because I’m not pretty.” Self-pity and chardonnay were making me feel light-headed.

  Jack sighed. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

  “You don’t understand. Women fall all over you because you’re gorgeous. I’m just plain.”

  Jack laughed. “Have you looked at yourself lately? You still see yourself as an awkward teenager, but you’re not that girl anymore.” He jumped up and left the room, returning a moment later with a hand mirror. Standing behind me, he held it up to my face.

  I looked, at first focusing on Jack’s familiar smile behind me.

  “Stop looking at me. Look at you.”

  I saw the short hair I’d always had, the brown skin, the wide mouth. But I also saw high cheekbones and long, sweeping eyelashes.

  “You’re beautiful.”

  I blinked, not sure if I could believe Jack, not sure if I could believe the image in the mirror. I felt tired, my limbs heavy. I turned around and hugged him.

  “You’re a good friend. The best.”

  He pulled away and seemed embarrassed.

  “It’s late. I’d better go.” Jack walked into the house toward the front door, and I followed. Before he opened the door, he turned to me.

  “Be careful, okay? With this Drew kid. Be careful.”

  I shooed him away. “Don’t worry about me.”

  He shrugged. “Good night, Tina.”

  * * *

  The first tutoring session was scheduled for a Tuesday afternoon in February. Most days I wore the same thing when teaching: A tailored pantsuit with a crisp white shirt, sensible yet stylish black or brown loafers, pearl earrings or tiny gold hoops. I didn’t wear makeup. But today, I found myself wondering if I should wear a blue shirt. Maybe a skirt? Peering into the bathroom mirror, I noticed a series of fine lines at the corners of my eyes, and considered whether some eyeliner might be in order.

  The trouble was that I didn’t own any eyeliner, which meant I’d have to go buy some at the drugstore, which meant I’d have to examine my impulse to spruce myself up for a tutoring session. So I put on my white shirt and settled for lipstick, which I told myself was meant to protect my lips from chapping in the Florida sun.

  I didn’t teach on Tuesdays and spent those days at home, grading papers or hanging out with Jack, who also had the day off. But today, I went into my office an hour before my meeting with Drew. I brought a thermos of coffee, and as I sat in my seat, the coffee tasted sweet but also made me feel jumpy. I read the same paper three times, smudging its corners with my damp fingers and not retaining a word. After a while, I gave up, pushed the pile of papers away and sat back, thinking of what Jack said. The tutoring session, the whole Drew situation started to seem like a terrible idea, and I looked at my watch, hoping I could call him and stop this before it ever got started. I was typing at warp speed, trying to call up his student records on my laptop, when Drew knocked on the door and poked his head inside. He was early.

  His hair was even more unruly today, and he looked harried, as if he had run from the dorm to my office. It was no surprise to see one of my students looking as if as if he had been up all night, studying or something else, but Drew carried a pile of books and a sheaf of articles, one of which, I noticed, bore my name.

  “Hi, Dr. Jones. I’m sorry I’m early, but I didn’t want to be late.”

  Apparently, just being on time was not an option he had considered. I was annoyed that I hadn’t been smart enough to just say no to his tutoring plan in the first place.

  “Hi, Drew. Did you read that?” I pointed to the article that I’d published in graduate school on Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl.

  He nodded. “I’m using it in my senior thesis. You had a lot of good ideas on voice in there.”

  I could have taken this as an advanced version of brownnosing, but he sounded so sincere that I gave him the benefit of the doubt. Before I could reply, he pulled out a typewritten memo that he pushed across the desk to me.

  “I hope you don’t think this is out of line, but I developed a plan for our sessions,” he said, fingering the books he still held on his lap.

  “A plan?” I hadn’t even considered a plan, nor had I considered the fact that there might be enough of these sessions to warrant one.

  “Yeah, you seemed a little taken aback by me asking for tutoring, and I didn’t want this to create extra work for you, so I outlined all the areas in which I need help. I think we can cover it all with weekly sessions for the next ten weeks.”

  “Ten weeks?” I knew I sounded idiotic, repeating his words, but he released the words in such a barrage that I couldn’t think of more appropriate responses.

  Drew leaned forward, running his hands through his hair in a gesture that revealed why it was so mussed.

  “Is ten weeks too much? I can modify the plan.”

  I shook my head. I was impressed that he had given this so much forethought—it was like something I would have done as a student. Yet, as far as I could tell, Drew wasn’t an outsider as I had been. He managed, as far as I could tell, to be smart and popular, despite the creases in his jeans.

  Before I could stop myself, I asked the question that weighed on my mind.

  “Why me?”

  Drew frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Why me? Why did you pick me for tutoring? Why not Dr. Gaston or Dr. Ferrer? Both of them are tenured professors, they have been doing this a lot longer than I have. In fact, they’ve both written books on slave
narratives, not just articles. So why pick me?”

  I still wanted to believe that he really needed tutoring and was not, as Jack claimed, angling for some kind of illicit thing with me. So I had to ask. I couldn’t spend the next ten weeks wondering. A little voice, which sounded like Jack’s, said that if he wanted to date me, he wouldn’t just come out and say it, not if I asked. I dismissed the voice.

  He placed his stack of books on the desk and sat back, looking around my office for the first time since he had gotten there.

  “Doctor, if we’re going to be here for ten weeks, is it okay if I call you by your first name?”

  I nodded, feeling as if I were sacrificing my last and most tenuous hold on student/teacher decorum.

  “It’s Tina.”

  “Like I was saying, you just seemed like the right person. I could tell right from the beginning of the semester. I was meant to be here, with you.”

  I wondered if he was one of those people who believed in God and karma and destiny and fate—the ideas people use to explain the inexplicable. I was not one of those people.

  He looked at me and shook his head. “I’m not crazy, and I don’t mean to be melodramatic. I just mean, well, this feels right.”

  We stared at each other for a long moment. It was starting to feel very wrong to me, but I couldn’t think of a way to say this without seeming to overreact to what might be a legitimate request for help.

  I looked down at Drew’s plan. Ten weeks was a long time.

  * * *

  I was packing my briefcase when Jack came to my office later that afternoon. He plopped down in the chair across from me and began drumming his fingers on my desk.

  “That’s annoying.”

  He ignored me and kept drumming. “So? How did it go?”

  I closed my eyes and rubbed my forehead. I hadn’t told Jack that I was tutoring Drew today.

  “How did you know I was meeting Drew?”

  “Drew, huh? We’re on a nickname basis now?”

  I glared at him and he smiled, holding his hands up in surrender.

  “Okay, okay. I came by earlier, saw him walking in.”

  I frowned. “How do you know what Drew looks like?”

  Jack’s grin broadened. “Research, my friend. You didn’t answer me. How was it?” Jack leaned forward with his chin in his hands, as if I was about to reveal everything—as if there was anything to reveal.

  “He’s a good student.”

  He raised an eyebrow, waiting.

  “He had a plan for our sessions, all typed up. He says he and I were meant to meet.” I wished I’d left off that last part.

  Jack’s demeanor changed from joking to serious in an instant. “See? That’s weird. What does he mean by that?”

  I shrugged. “I thought it was kind of creepy, too. But now, how do I get out of this? He has a ten-week plan.”

  “Ten weeks is a long time.”

  The next time I met with Drew, we went to a coffee shop just off campus. I still hadn’t figured out a way to get out of the tutoring sessions, but meeting outside my office would be better, less intimate. I noticed that he was more dressed up than I’d seen him before. He wore khaki slacks and a dark green button-down shirt that was wrinkled, as if he had had to search long and hard to find his nice clothes.

  We met midmorning, so the coffee shop was busy but not overcrowded. We found a table in the back corner, away from the noise of the cappuccino maker and the chattering students, and I sat at the wrought iron table while Drew got us coffee.

  Looking around, I felt a kind of nostalgia for my own college days. The Mexican tiled floor, the walls covered with student art, and the smell of expensive coffee beans reminded me of the hours I’d spent in coffee shops just like this one, studying for exams, writing notes for papers, or just sitting and watching the world pass by the bay windows. But I wasn’t like these cheerful girls, leaning in to giggle with my friends, chatting about classes and dates. I’d never had those kinds of close female friendships until I met Monica Coleman, and that wasn’t until senior year.

  Drew’s return interrupted my reverie.

  “I got you a latte—I hope that’s okay.”

  I hated lattes, preferring regular coffee to the trendy, milky drinks.

  “That’s fine, thanks.”

  He settled himself into a chair and looked around the room. “When I was younger, I never hung out in places like this. In Cleveland, there aren’t all these coffee bars like down here.”

  I was startled. And suspicious. Did he know I was from Cleveland, too?

  “I’m from Cleveland, too.” I watched him for signs of surprise. There were none.

  He laughed. “I have to admit, I knew that. That’s one of the things we have in common.”

  We sat there for a moment, staring at each other. He was smiling. I was trying not to grimace. I didn’t like the idea of him checking on me, on my background, and it just occurred to me that his interest coincided with my weight loss last year. I was alarmed but tried to keep things easy and neutral.

  We talked about Cleveland locales we both knew, and I tried to reveal as little as possible about myself, about my family, while appearing to be friendly. After we exhausted our lists of favorite Cleveland places (mine was shorter than his, since I hated Cleveland), he paused and then dug into his backpack.

  “I brought you something.”

  The knot already growing in my gut tightened. For the first time, I felt nervous. Gifts could not be a good sign.

  “Drew, I don’t think you should give me anything. It’s my job to help you with your studies.” I used my most formal official-sounding tone.

  He pushed a small wrapped package across the table to me. “It’s not really a gift. Okay, well, I guess it is. I just saw it in a used bookstore and I thought you’d like it.”

  I didn’t want to touch it, but I knew I had to. I watched his face while I opened the package. He looked thrilled, almost like a kid.

  It was a first edition hardcover copy of Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl. It was weathered and worn, the title was difficult to read, and it smelled musty. But the cover was sturdy, and it had all its pages, which was amazing for a book dating back to 1861. I was in awe, forgetting Drew for a moment as I examined the book. It was a treasure, the kind of thing a book collector dreams about. It must have cost a fortune.“It’s gorgeous.” I looked down at the book again.

  “I knew you’d love it.”

  I held the book out to him. “But I can’t accept it. It’s too much.”

  He shook his head and pushed the book back toward me. “It’s perfect for you. More coffee?”

  He rushed off to get us refills while I sat there, desperate to escape. When Drew came back, he launched right into his study questions and never said another word about the gift. The book sat between us on the table.

  About an hour passed, and I looked at my watch.

  “I’m late for a meeting,” I said, even though it wasn’t true. I just needed to get away from Drew. The word “stalker” began to scream in my head. I made a mental note to listen to Jack the next time he gave me advice.

  We stood up at the same time and I moved toward the door as fast as I could, calling good-bye to Drew over my shoulder and leaving the book on the table.

  * * *

  The next day, when I arrived at my office, the book was propped against my door with a note from Drew.

  “Maybe next time we can have dinner.”

  I shivered and placed the book in a desk drawer. I didn’t hear from Drew the rest of the week. Friday, I was in the office later than normal to finish some overdue grading and plan for the next week’s classes. I worked all afternoon, and when I took a break, it was after six o’clock and the February evening was already dark. There was a knock on my door, and without thinking I assumed it was Jack. We had made plans to go to the YMCA for a swim, like the old days, and then have a late dinner.

  “Are you ready for a swim?” I looke
d up after I spoke. It was Drew. He was holding two white take-out bags.

  “I thought we would have dinner instead.”

  I felt panicked. This was weird. I was not overreacting. I was rarely, if ever, in the office this late, which means Drew was following me. Or watching me. Or both. I prayed that Jack would come soon.

  “What are you doing here?” I was tired of trying to be nice to Drew.

  The smile on his face faded. “Dinner. Didn’t you get my note?”

  “How did you know I was here?”

  He shrugged. “Lucky guess.”

  I didn’t answer. He stood in the doorway, both of us waiting for the other to say something. He set down his bags and walked closer to my desk. I stood, not wanting him standing while I sat at a physical disadvantage. If he was capable of spying on me and checking on my background, who knows what he might do.

  I found out soon enough. Moving in one smooth motion, he was standing next to me before I could move away.

  “I love you.” Then he gripped my arms in his, hard, so I couldn’t wiggle free, and he kissed me. I squirmed and fought, and then Drew was pulled off me. I rubbed my arms and ran to the phone while Jack held Drew down.

  * * *

  It turned out this was not the first time Drew had done something like this. He’d left his first school rather than be expelled, and at least two other local women held restraining orders against him. I didn’t want to think about what might have happened if Jack hadn’t come to my rescue. Here I was, once again depending on him, needing him in a way that I have never needed a man before. I was lucky he was always there for me, although I didn’t realize it until later. It was as if we knew our roles without having to rehearse. I was in trouble, and he was my rescuer. It was a variation on the damsel-in-distress fairy tale in which the prince swoops in to save her from evil. The only problem was, I wasn’t much of a damsel, and by all counts, Jack wasn’t my prince, no matter how much I might have wanted him to be.

  He might not have been a prince, but he was a good friend. He took me home and listened as I told him the whole story. Jack was nice enough not to say I told you so that night. In fact, he never said I told you so, but I shouldn’t have expected any less. The prince never blamed the damsel for getting herself into trouble.