Claire

Sunday, I woke up damp from sweat, heart racing, throat raw. Burying my head in my pillow, I cursed the heart-to-heart I’d had with Aiken. It had been a while since I’d relived that ill-fated night, and for the last two nights, my dreams had been flooded with memories.

Ill-fated night was a nice way of putting it. More like, fucking disaster in which my daughter ended up murdered. My fists balled tightly as the night came back into focus.

If I was one hundred percent honest with myself, I would’ve fessed up to my supersized bullshit—I’d been counting the seconds until the girls hustled out of the car.

I’d been desperately craving some time to myself.

A few hours were all I’d been hunting for—no work, no kids, no reminders of my failed marriage.

I hadn’t been asking for much.

Their nonstop chatter had vibrated in my head as I shuttled them in my late-model, yet extremely safe, SUV. I shouldn’t have been feeling the way I’d been feeling on that night.

Or any night.

I shouldn’t have been in a hurry to ditch the girls, but there was no denying I was.

After all, it was a big deal—I should’ve been celebrating and picture-taking with them, of them. First night at a concert, no chaperone, extra money in their skinny-jean pockets, and lip gloss on their young faces. They were never going to be fourteen or that innocent again.

I’d stopped on the corner, the large sign lit up like a giant Lite-Brite in front of us, the face of the stupid-as-dirt rapper they’d wanted to see for months adorning the screen. I could’ve sworn he was smirking at me, his gold tooth glittering against the night sky.

Whatever, I’d thought to myself, soon I’m free.

A bottle of wine, a bubble bath, and a salacious romance book were all waiting for me at home.

“All right, ladies. Have fun, behave, stick together—do not separate—and text Michele’s mom when you’re walking out. Laurie will tell you where she’s parked,” I said as the car idled outside the horrible monstrosity. I missed the old fieldhouse. The university had torn it down for a much sleeker basketball arena that could double as a concert venue.

Whether other concertgoers would behave never crossed my mind as I sat there with my foot on the brake. I’d told our girls the basics when it came to going out: make smart decisions, stick together, don’t talk to strange men, stay off social media.

That was enough—right?

“Thanks, Claire,” they hollered as they shimmied out of the car, their skin aglow with glitter lotion.

“Abby, be good.” My fingers grazed my daughter’s as she exited the passenger seat.

“Mom, I will…’kay? Gotta go. Love you.”

I nodded and whispered, “Love you more,” to no one. She’d already slammed the door in my face and grabbed Michele’s hand, swinging their arms toward the sky as they walked to the entrance. Shelby and Olivia did the same, their bangles falling down their bare arms. They looked like quadruplets in their black tank tops, dark painted-on jeans, and metallic gladiator sandals as dusk fell on that late August night. They’d combed style magazines for weeks, seeking the right look. It had taken several trips to our Podunk mall and a few orders off the web to perfect Abby’s outfit.

I couldn’t help but stare at their butts as they made their way to the door. Couldn’t help but remember how many times I’d wiped Abby’s very own tiny tush. It was one of the perks of being her mom, as far as I was concerned.

Pulling away from the curb, my excitement had been coupled with melancholy. My girl was growing up. First concert on her own, soon it’d be prom, then sorority life. She’d make her own life, and where would that leave me?

Doing the same thing I always did, overworking and wondering when exactly my ex-husband lost interest in me.

I punched the pillow and stood before any more tears came. As I shuffled to the bathroom, Smitty whimpered. “One sec, tough guy, lemme pee, and then I’ll let you.”

After splashing some water on my face, I opened the door for Smitty. Not brave enough to step outside and run into my neighbor, I hid in the kitchen while my dog did his business. I smacked the button on the coffee maker as if it had done something to me, fed Smitty, and dressed for a run.

I’d chase my bad thoughts and boredom away with running.

The only thing I did well these days.

When I got back home, my phone rang. I almost ignored it until I saw it was Mary.

“Hey, if you’re calling to drag me out drinking again, it’s not happening,” I answered.

“Nope, it’s your lucky day, bitch.”

Guzzling water, I didn’t respond to her ridiculous obscenity.

“Hey, don’t be so touchy. I’m calling with good news.”

“Not touchy. I was drinking.”

“So early?”

“Mary, get to the point.” I opened my fridge and looked inside for something decent.

“Well, the grad student I had subbing in for you broke her foot, shattered it in a million places…her words not mine…and she’s laid up.”

Slamming the fridge and looking up to the gods, I said, “I’m coming back?”

“You’re coming back, babe.”

“Oh, Mary, I could kiss you.”

“Hey, I didn’t really want to give it you, but the universe has different plans.”

“I don’t give a shit. See you tomorrow. Gotta go, bye.”

I disconnected the call and ran upstairs for my laptop. The grad student was using my syllabus, so it was no biggie for me to take over. All I had to do was check out where the class was in the plan and prep for the following day.

Teaching was the one thing I did well. Or, at least, right.

Monday, I parked my car in the staff lot on campus and walked with purpose to the Frable Humanities Building. I could’ve walked from home, but had decided to bring my car in case I ran errands afterward. I loved living close to campus, but enjoyed the ability to escape to the surrounding small towns equally as much. The farther out I went, the more anonymity I had.

You’d think I’d be tired of the area, working at the same large state school—Central Pennsylvania State—where I’d attended undergraduate and graduate school, but I wasn’t. The lush trees, expansive lawn, quaint Main Street all felt like home…and Abby had been born and buried here. I’d never leave where she was buried.

Today, my steps felt a bit lighter. Teaching was like smoothing Vaseline over chapped lips. It soothed the itch and relieved the ache temporarily. If I wanted it to go away completely, I had to stop licking my lips—or scratching my itch to know what had actually happened on that ill-fated night.

I held the door open for a few students, lingering and walking in after them. Frayed jean shorts, flip-flops, the smell of sunscreen…some of the reasons I loved summer session. Students were generally happy, eager to get to class and get it over with so they could bask in the sun. For a brief moment, I thought of Abby.

Would she be taller?

Tanned?

She’d be driving by now. Would she blast music? Text me when she arrived somewhere?

Would she have taken the SAT already?

The questions were endless.

“Excuse me.” A guy breezed past me in a rush to catch the elevator.

I took the stairs to the second floor and entered Canter Lecture Hall. The seats were filling up, and I set my bag on the lectern and tightened my hair back into a bun at the nape of my neck. As I pulled my tablet out of my bag, a young woman approached.

“Excuse me, Professor Richards?”

“Yes?” I stopped what I was doing and looked up, giving her my full attention.

“I just wanted to say I’m glad you’re teaching. I don’t mean any disrespect to the other woman, but she was a grad student, and well, I signed up for this class for you. So, thanks. Really—”

My heart beat overtime. I wanted to ask her to tell Mary, but Mary knew this was my life.

Teaching.

The best part.

The only part.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know everyone’s name yet. What is your name?”

“Oh. Abigail Evans. Everyone calls me Abbie, with an ie.” She smiled, happy to make my acquaintance, having no idea of the significance of her name.

“Beautiful name.” I cleared the frog in my throat. “I knew someone once with that name. I’m sure she would’ve been as nice and as sweet as you. Thanks for coming to class.” I excused her with a nod.

Abbie with an ie.

The grandfather clock in the hallway rang nine o’clock, and I said, “Good morning. Everyone have a nice weekend?”

There was a cacophony of grumbles and sighs.

“Well, mine was about the same. So, let’s get down to business.” I shoved any memories of Aiken kissing me to the far recesses of my mind and any remaining lust down to the pit of my stomach.

“Let’s talk nature versus nurture. Show of hands, are we a product of our environment?”

A smattering of hands went up around the midsize lecture hall.

“What about genetics? Who believes their pull is stronger when it comes to behavior?”

A larger display of hands went up.

“When I was young, I used to believe that too. That our inherent makeup made up for more than our environments. It was an easy way to excuse poor decisions and behavior. Can anyone give me an example of what I’m saying?”

Abbie’s hand shot up. “Well, let’s say you have unprotected sex with a bunch of people and find out you’re pregnant. Then you go and say you were manic or whatever. This wasn’t your fault, then…but manic has become so commonplace in being used to describe behavior. It can’t be that so many people are manic. It takes away from the true diagnosis, which is a nature thing.”

I moved in front of the lectern and down into the aisle, constant motion helped to keep my feelings at bay. Sweet, little Abbie basically just described my life, except for the multiple-partners part. It was only David, anywhere and everywhere, with or without condoms, until I realized I was preggo. Then, I told my mom, it had been a lapse in my judgment. The urge to have unprotected sex must’ve been the result of a mood swing or something. After all, my dad was in and out of the funny farm.

It wasn’t a mood swing. It was stupid lust.

“Good example,” I complimented Abbie. “If someone is truly manic, they don’t know enough to blame poor choices or actions on that episode. Either they’re in the moment or out of the state.”

The class went on to debate the topic, and I felt myself pull together. This was where I belonged, teaching, explaining, sharing my opinions on what I knew.

There was nature, but nurture was always everything.

Why else would someone blow up a stadium full of young people? Yeah, he or she could’ve had a screw loose, but someone had enabled that person to do something as grotesque as what happened to Abby.

Anyway, that was my only theory, and I needed to hold on tight to it.

On my way home, I stopped off-campus for a sugared latte something or other, comfort in a cup, and found myself on my back steps, guzzling the last dregs of it while Smitty relieved himself on a bush.

“Hey there, tough guy.”

Without turning, I asked, “You talking to me?”

“Nope, talking to your dog. He’s nicer.”

“Oh.” My shoulders fell a bit. I tried to resurrect my stance, unsure why I sought Aiken’s good graces or attention at all.

“Tough day?”

“Are you talking to my dog still?” Still resisting eye contact, I stared at my empty cup as if it held all the answers in life.

“Not this go-round. How you doing, Claire?”

Finally, my gaze met his. He stood there, hip cocked against the fence, mesh running shorts outlining his muscular legs, a plain white T-shirt tight across his chest.

“Actually, a good day. My students are happy to have me back.” My feet brought me closer to him. There was the faintest hint of stubble over his jaw. I stilled my hand from reaching or stroking.

“One student in particular. Abbie with an ie…” The last bit lodged in my throat, making its way out on a croak.

“Hey, I’m about to go for a run. Want to come?” He said it as if he asked that all the time, his tone easy, his eyes warm and inviting.

Trying to prevent my brow from furrowing, confused at his casual interruption, I felt my lips form, “Okay. Let me change,” before I could think about it.

“Smitty and I’ll wait right here.”

Leaving my clothes in a pile at the edge of my bathroom, I slipped into running shorts and a tank, shoved my hair up, swiped off my makeup, and grabbed my shoes and Smitty’s leash. The breath rushed out of my lungs. This was the most spontaneous I’d been in years.

“Here.” Aiken grabbed the leash as I laced my shoes on the back stoop.

“Hope you can keep up with me,” I said as we neared the end of the driveway.

“You better set the pace, then. Right or left?”

“Left.” And off we set on a run.

“Are you a talker or not?”

I eyed him up, once, twice.

“When you’re running. Lord, what were you thinking? Get your thoughts out of the gutter.” He emphasized the word Lord, drawing it out with his tongue, making my belly swirl with warm fuzzies. It had been a while, but they felt invigorating.

“I haven’t run with a partner since grad school when Mary and I would go for miles, burning off steam and trying to work off all the coffee and pastries.”

“I could take or leave the talking, so it’s your call. You want to talk? Then I’m cool. If not, I’ll just run.”

“Um, was it a good day for you?”

I hadn’t made small talk in a decade. I might as well have asked about the weather.

“Yeah, picked up a new client. Dairy farmer close-by. Needs a website revamp, custom email, interactive kind of stuff for their site. Bright lights, big city, babe.”

“So that’s what you do?”

He nodded. “Always had a knack for computers and programming. Was pretty much the outcast on the farm growing up. When I wasn’t doing my chores or playing football.”

“Football, of course,” I mumbled.

“I’m ignoring that comment,” he said with a smile, barely breathless from our pace.

“A lot of times, my pops would find me in my room, taking apart some piece of used electronic equipment, making YouTube videos, or some shit like that. My dad didn’t know what to do with me. Then, for my senior project, I created a website and all the social media stuff for our farm.”

He ran and kept talking, while my legs were on fire, my lungs working overtime.

No way I’d give in, though.

“And?”

“And my teacher called my dad in and said he knew he wanted me to work the farm, but there was an associate program nearby, and I should do it. Showed him some of the intricacies of my work. Said I was too good to let this go.”

“Look at you now. Your dad must be proud.”

He shook his head but didn’t answer. “He’d be happier if I came home. I make good money, but at home, I can still come around the farm. He says it’s my legacy.”

“Parents,” I joked, but I’d sure as hell be happier if Abby came home too.

“Hey, you okay?”

“Sorry, I thought of Abby for a second,” I wheezed. “Sometimes, I push myself too hard when my mind won’t settle.” The admission was out of my mouth as quickly as I wanted to shove it back in.

“Shit.” He stopped dead in his tracks, Smitty pulling me to a stop next to him.

“I meant for this run to take your mind off crap, not make it bubble up. Now I feel like a fool.” A small crinkle of concern formed to the side of his left eye, and I couldn’t help but get lost in it. That was there for me. At least, I thought so.

“You know what? It helped. It’s been fun and easy, except I don’t think I can do that pace on the way home. That was my bad.”

“Sure, you can.” He smacked my butt and said, “Let’s go.”

Just like that, the tension was forgotten, and I ran that pace all the way home.