Chapter Fourteen
Clarity
I collapsed on Ford's saggy sofa. From there, I realized the only real things of substance that Ford had in his apartment were all media. Two newspapers were stacked under his coffee table. Bestselling nonfiction books were in random stacks. Magazines were all dog-eared or folded open. His tablet was charging on the edge of the table next to me.
"I wonder how many of these things tell the real truth," I sighed.
Ford raised an eyebrow and sat down slowly on the opposite arm on the sofa. "What do you mean?"
"Online media, print media—it's all just the same. The story is slanted no matter what. The only difference is some people make it go their way," I said.
"Come on, you can't think like that. You're too young," Ford joked.
I sat up and tossed the magazine next to me onto the coffee table. "So what? That's it? The difference between being a child and being an adult is a working tolerance for dishonesty?"
"Things just get complicated. The older you get, the more demands there are on your time and money and ability to believe," Ford said. He scrubbed a hand over his chin and frowned at his own statement. "What you lose in believing in honesty, maybe you gain insight into other people's motives."
I groaned and flopped back again. "I don't want messy motives. They're never easy to understand. I just want the facts to work, to tell the truth, and for the people who are wrong to be punished instead of the ones who are trying to do good."
Ford slid onto the sofa and nudged me with his elbow. "The best articles always reveal or hint at the subject's motives. People are interesting but mostly static, but motives shift and move. Motives are action."
I leaned away from his elbow, but the sag in the couch brought us closer together. I fought off the gravity that pulled me towards Ford and said, "I'm glad I have a reason to turn down that internship at Wire Communications."
"What reason is that? You're not going to actually list this sideline private college corruption as a reason to decline one of the most prestigious internships in media arts, are you?" Ford leaned in to study my face.
"Why not?" I asked, "Then they won't have to guess my motives. Maybe it'll make a great subject for whomever takes my place."
Ford scrubbed his stubbled chin again in a sign of exasperation. He was so close I could smell the faded traces of his cologne. "Don't give up the internship," he said. "I'm not saying that success is better than honesty, but don't you imagine that sticking with this internship is the only kind of revenge your father really wants?"
In order to push my shoulder away from his, I had to press my knee against Ford's thigh. Immediate heat flooded from where our legs touched all the way up to my cheeks. "I don't want to be there," I said. "No matter how far the internship lets me go in my career, I'll always know where and how it started."
"No." Ford turned to me, our legs pressed tighter together. "You're a great journalist. You can make it there without letting it taint you. Just let things like this slide right off of you. They won't be able to touch your integrity unless you let them, and I don't think you will."
His words set fire to my mind as his proximity heated every inch of my body. I forced myself to inch away and shook my head. "I'd make a terrible journalist. I'm not willing to play games or spin the truth. Let's be honest, I should quit pretending."
The thought of quitting was an ice-cold bath over my senses. I jumped up from the sofa and squeezed my eyes shut. My whole carefully planned life had a fatal flaw. One little thread got pulled, and the whole thing came apart. Without a career in journalism, I didn't have a writing career based in current events, facts, or concrete styles. Suddenly I was completely at a loss, and the feeling overwhelmed me.
A gentle hand reached out. "Clarity?"
I pried one eye open to look at him. Ford was hesitant, leaning over the coffee table, but he brushed his hand up from my arm to my shoulder. This time, I did not flinch or pull away. I felt like any movement might cause me to fall over into a deep abyss.
Ford must have felt it too because he cleared his throat. "Clarity, you don't have to rethink your whole life. Everything will work out the way it's supposed to," he said. He came around the table and cupped my cheek in his hand. "You're taking too much of this on yourself. Your father didn't want you burdened with any of this, and everyone would understand if you took a step back from it. Your life is allowed to go on."
He dropped his hand as I met his gaze. Ford's movements were jerky, as if he were unsure of every millimeter he moved. Then I saw his eyes. Ford's stormy-blue eyes were deep with concern, but his face was rounded in an expression of restraint. He wanted to comfort me but knew I might think his physical touch inappropriate.
I glanced around the empty, Spartan apartment, then threw myself into his arms. "I just feel like everything has changed," my voice wavered as I pressed my cheek to his strong chest.
Ford's arms closed around me. One hand trailed up from my waist to smooth down my hair, and the repetitive motion lulled me to peace. "I know how you feel," Ford confessed. "When I had to leave Wire Communications, I felt like my whole life had been stopped and rerouted."
I nestled closer in his arms but couldn't help my question, "why did you have to leave?"
"I found out a truth that no one wanted revealed. When I threatened to publish it anyway, I was discredited." Ford gave a self-deprecating laugh. "By the time they were done making their point, it was a definite rout."
I leaned back and look up at Ford. "That's what I don't understand. You keep talking about retreating and playing it safe, but nothing about you personally tells me you would do that. Why? Why did you give up your fight?"
He traced a finger down my arm and then clasped his arms around my waist again, not ready to release me from the hug. "I tried at first, but there was no way around it."
"Couldn't you have pushed the story to light some other way? Did you consider taking it to a rival media outlet?" I asked. My ideas made me step back, anxious to see if there was a way out of the situation that Ford had not noticed.
He hesitated to squash my hope. "The competitors weren't interested; it showed I would bite the hand that feeds me. My only choices were to bow out or get sued for more than I will ever have in eight lifetimes."
"Then a good attorney would have noticed the discrepancies and looked for another motive," I said.
Ford stood back and laughed. He chuckled all the way across his small living room to lean against the kitchen island.
"What's so funny? I'm trying to help," I snapped.
"I know, I know," Ford held up both hands. "It's just I wish you would realize the complete about-face you've had in the last few minutes."
My mind ran in a panic over why I had let Ford hold me. "I, I don't know what you're talking about," I said.
"A minute ago you were saying how you hate messy motives and you just wished people would stick to the facts. And now you're telling me a lawyer could have built a case for me based solely on motives." Ford chuckled again. "See? You are going to make a great journalist yet."
He meant it as a compliment, I could tell by his easy smile, but my shoulders were stiff with indignation. Ford was laughing at me again like I was some kind of entertaining child. I wondered if he laughed about his students with his other professor friends.
"You keep saying I'd make a great journalist," I said. "Why don't we test out your theory?" I started to circle Ford's apartment. "There might not be a lot of stuff here, but I think that means there's a story here instead."
Ford straightened up and shoved his hands in his pockets. "I already told you more about my story than I should have said. It all boils down to the fact that I am a boring college professor with very bad interior design instincts," he said.
It was my turn to laugh, but a thought struck me. "You live like you don't make any money, but you are a college professor. I know you have a decent salary, so the money must all be going somewhere."
"Gambling," Ford muttered.
"I don't believe that for a second," I said. I glanced at the secondhand dresser Ford used as a combination entryway table and television console. "I'd think you are saving all your money for something big, except you have no motivation. No pictures of fancy sailboats or brochures for fancy vacations."
"Guys don't really make vision boards," he grumbled.
I turned and crossed my arms in triumph. "I think you're sending all the money to your family. The only family you mentioned at Thanksgiving was your sister, so you must be helping to support her."
Ford's stormy eyes flew to a framed photograph on an otherwise bare shelf. "So what if I send a little money my sister's way? That doesn't really tell you much about me. Lots of people feel beholden to the bonds of family," Ford said. "Like you."
I scowled at the reminder of my father's situation. It was much easier to focus on Ford. "Oh," I said as I did the math in my head. "You were forced out of Wire Communications right when your sister was considering medical schools. That's why you didn't put up a big fight. That's why you settled for the job at Landsman College. You wanted to make sure that your sister got to go to the medical school of her choice without having to worry about money."
Ford paced into the kitchen and then back to the living room. "I get that people like to figure me out like a puzzle, but it's really not all that interesting," he snapped. "I did what any other person would do for a family member. I did exactly what you are thinking about doing for your father."
"What? Lying low? Just taking the hit and crawling away?" I asked. "I'm thinking about exposing the people that are trying to trick my father into helping them. I'm thinking that no matter what the consequences are, I want the truth to be known, and I want to be the one to tell it." The volume of my voice dropped away when I saw the angry set of Ford's jaw.
"I took the hit so my sister wouldn't have to," Ford bit out. "For the same reason that you are not already running all over campus raving about donor corruption. You don't want to do more harm than good. You're hesitating because you are just like me, and, no matter what, you want to make sure you do what is best for the people you love."
I sank back down on the edge of the sofa. "I just don't want to make things worse. I'm not going to give up, though."
Ford sat down on the coffee table directly in front of me. "The best thing you can do is continue on your life just like you were before. Don't give Michael Tailor a reason to target you or squeeze your father anymore," he said.
I held my breath and looked at Ford. It was amazing how in a few short months, he had become entangled in my small family. I trusted him with thoughts I had not yet voiced even to myself.
"There's nothing else they can do to my father," I said. "Actually, losing his position at Landsman might be the best thing for him. You know how much he goes on and on about painting. Surely Michael Tailor is not going to be able to stop him from retiring and taking painting lessons."
Ford frowned. "That's not your father's worry, and you know it."
I threw my hands up. "No. He's worried, like you, that I have enough room in my life to stand up for the truth. My future, my career—everything is flexible. If you think about it, and stop thinking about me as a child, then you'd see that I'm the only one that can take down someone like Michael Tailor. There's nothing he can do to me that I can’t throw back at him or recover from."
One corner of Ford's mouth quirked up. "Even if doing so is directly against your father's wishes?" he asked.
I sprang off the sofa again and marched over to poke him in the chest. "If I'm the only one that can protect my father, I'm not going to let anyone talk me out of it. Not him, and not you!"
Ford caught my accusing finger and held my hand. He chuckled again and then laughed out loud when I tried to yank free of him. "I'm not laughing at you. I just love how you are defying and protecting your father all in one breath."
"Isn't that what family does?" I snapped.
Ford held my hand with both of his and a quiet sadness settled over him. "Yes, but you shouldn't have to deal with any of this. Can we, just for a minute, forget that you have to be involved?"
"What good is that?" I held still as each brush of his fingertips sent tingles up my arms.
He didn't lift his eyes. "You should be studying, going to parties, making plans for winter vacation, and flirting with boys," Ford said.
"The last thing I need right now is some 'boy' trying to take me out to dinner, as if this isn't way more important," I said.
Ford tugged my hand and brought me closer. "You deserve to have a normal and easy life. Especially when you're in college."
I leaned back an inch, overwhelmed by the magnetic pull of Ford's body. "I like this. I mean, my life. I like my life, complications and all."
"I just hope you know that you don't have to face this alone," Ford said. "I know you have your father too, but, if you need someone else... I'm here for you."
Our faces were inches apart. My hand was still captive between in his fingers. My whole body cried out to nestle into the spot against his chest where I had hugged him before. My shoulder fit just underneath his arm, and my head cradled between his taut chest and strong shoulder. One step, and I could slip back against him and feel our bodies align.
"Thank you," my voice came out breathless. "Thanks for being here for me. Even if your advice is condescending and full of male ego. I appreciate that you're trying to protect me and my father."
Ford shifted towards me, and my heart leapt with joy. Relief, I told myself; it was just relief. Clearly Ford felt the same magnetism that I did. I wasn't just a foolish schoolgirl flirting and floundering her way through a difficult situation. I wasn't just imagining things.
He brought my hand up and pressed it to his chest. I slid it over to feel his heartbeat, and Ford jerked back. He shook his head and looked around as if snapping out of a dream.
"Alright." Ford dropped my hand. "No more trying to stop you. It's time I start helping." He paced a semi-circle around his small living room. "We should start by cornering the football coach."
"He's not going to tell us anything," I said. I shivered in the cool vacuum his absent body had created. "But I'm sure we wouldn't have to look very far to find more of his team members that have cheated on tests and plagiarized papers."
"Already planning to put the screws to someone else to get at the truth?" Ford asked. "I like it, but I think you're right. The football coach won't talk easily. Maybe we should start with the professor that filed the complaint."
"Wait," I said. "Does this mean that you are planning to go after the story? I know it seems ridiculous for me to flip roles so soon, but don't you think the worst thing you could do right now is get involved in a story like this?"
"Maybe I should take up painting so I can join your father," Ford joked.
"I'm serious! If you're attached to this story at all, then Michael Tailor is going to come after you too. You might lose your job. I don't want you to lose your professorship because I needed help," I cried.
"I'm not along to help," Ford said with a wide smile. "I've seen your killer instinct and heard your plans. I'm just along for the ride."
I smothered my smile with a serious look. "This isn't like that train you've always wanted to catch," I said. I held my breath and wondered if he would remember.
Ford's eyes twinkled, and he stepped forward to capture my hand again. "That's right. We talked about just wanting to pack a bag and get a change of scenery."
My eyes misted. "Only this change of scenery isn't so fun."
"That's okay," Ford said. "There's only one view I'm really attached to."
His eyes swept over my face and made me dizzy. I wanted to ask him thousands of questions, questions I would never dare voice, but that look seemed to answer them all. I slipped my hand free and looked around the room for anything that could ground me again.
"So, we've already decided to leave the football coach out of it, right?" I asked. "Brian's not talking, and we can't really blame him about that because it's family. That leaves the professor. He's gotta be innocent, don't you think?"
Ford watched me with a cryptic smile then his brow cleared. "The professor that turned in the paper? Why do you think he's innocent?"
I paced to the kitchen and back, hoping the air flow would cool my cheeks and clear my thoughts. It was hard to keep my mind on the details of our complicated story when Ford smiled at me like that. My heart wouldn't stick to a regular rhythm, and my thoughts spun out of order.
"The professor's innocent because..." I avoided looking at Ford, but felt his smile instead. "The professor's innocent because he wouldn't need to be pressured to turn in a plagiarized paper," I said.
Ford's eyebrows flew up in surprise. "True. I didn't think of that. But, that means we're stuck."
"No, there's one more piece of evidence we haven't looked at from every angle," I said. I retrieved my purse from the floor by the sagging sofa and tossed the long strap over my shoulder. "I'm going to make sure we get it. Maybe there's a way to trace it back to Michael Tailor."
"What are you talking about?" Ford asked. He followed me to the door and put the flat of his hand against it to stop me from leaving.
The position left me between the door and Ford's leaning body. My ordered thoughts scattered again. While I tried to piece them back together, my eyes traced up Ford's body. My hands itched to test out the contours I saw. He was fit and muscled for a journalist that had been languishing in academia for years.
"What piece of evidence are you after, Clarity?" Ford asked.
My eyes flew to his, and I laughed when I managed to remember. "The plagiarized essay, of course!"
His brow furrowed. "You think the writing can somehow tie Michael Tailor to this?"
"Sure, why not? If we're right, then Michael Tailor himself created the plagiarized essay. Do you think he actually sat down and wrote it?" I asked. "I'm guessing he just cut and pasted from the internet."
"Fine, alright, it's a long shot, but it makes sense," Ford said. He tugged me away from the door and stood in between me and the exit. "You can stay here while I go and get a copy of it."
"You?" I snapped. "How do you suppose you're going to get into my father's files? As his daughter, I've gone into his office to pick something up for him dozens of times."
Ford crossed his arms. "How do you think you're going to when your father's files are under review?"
"I'll figure it out." I tried dragging Ford away from the door, but he was too solid.
"No," he said. "You haven't thought this all the way through. People are going to stop you all over campus to ask about what happened with your father. The president of Landsman is still looking for you too. Let me go for you."
It was too much. I couldn't leave it alone and pretend it meant nothing. "Why do you care so much?" I cried.
"You don't need to be bombarded with questions or good wishes or whatever. You should call your father and tell him that everything's alright. At least tell him we've been talking it out. He's probably worried sick about where you are," Ford said.
"So you're doing all of this because you like my father? I know you chatted, and he invited you over for Thanksgiving, but now you're willing to risk your job and run all over campus just so I can call him and he won't have to worry."
Ford leaned back against the door and let his hands fall loose at his sides. "I like your father. It's been a while since I've had anyone like him to talk to. He's a good man, and he doesn't deserve to be routed for a mistake. Especially when he only made the mistake in order to help you."
"Are you sure that's it?" I asked.
I couldn't believe I was so bold. The heat and the connection had been surging between us since he answered the door, but I had no idea if I was reading any of the signs right. Ford wasn't just a college boy with underdeveloped conversation and over-eager hands. Just one glance from him could tumble my heart while I couldn't be sure what I read in his fathomless eyes.
Ford stood up and rolled his shoulders back. "No. There's more to it than that," he said.
I crossed my arms and eyed the door. I couldn't back down because behind him was the only exit to his apartment.
He saw my nervous glance and took a deep breath. "There's more to my feelings for this, for you, than the honor code allows. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing if I got a new job. One less complication to something that seems so obvious."
I readjusted my purse on my shoulder and then dug through the contents to find my keys even though my car was blocks away.
"Clarity, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," Ford said. He stepped aside and open his front door.
"No, it's not that," I said. My cheeks flared, but I raised my eyes to meet his. "This is just a little detour. They don't have those on trains, you know."
"Who knows," Ford smiled, "maybe I like road trips better."