Ever the peacemaker, James directed everyone’s attention back to their purpose for being there. “We’d better get back to the books. Question for Ron—What’s the first-line treatment for Y. enterocolitica infections?”
“Ampicillin or tetracycline,” Ron shot back, his eyes still looking a bit dark as he slid into his chair.
“Fifty points,” James conceded.
Everyone obligingly marked the air, but since their light moods seemed to have evaporated, they went back to work without further foolishness.
It was rather late when Anne returned to her apartment, but Liam was still up. She found him in the office, slumped in the desk chair and glaring darkly at his computer screen. Several crumpled sheets of paper lay on the floor around him. They’d been ripped from the legal pad sitting by his right hand, as though he’d been making notes but had not been happy with what he’d written.
“How are the revisions going?” she asked when he turned in the chair to greet her.
She wasn’t surprised when he sighed and answered, “Not well.”
“What’s the problem?”
He pushed a hand through his dark hair, then looked at that hand as if it still surprised him his hair was so short. Or maybe she was just projecting because it still startled her at times. “I’m not sure, exactly. I’m having trouble figuring out how to handle the transitions between anecdotes. My editor said I need to make the segues smoother.”
“Maybe I can help. Would you like me to read what you have so far?”
He smiled, shook his head and reached out to turn off his computer. “You’ve got enough on your plate already. I’ll dive into it again tomorrow. I’m sure I’ll figure it out. How did your study session go?”
“We got through most of today’s material.”
Lifting an eyebrow, he glanced at his watch. “It’s after ten. It took you that long just to get through one day’s material?”
“I said most of it,” she returned wryly. “I’m going to spend another hour or two looking over anything we might have missed.”
“Don’t you have an early class in the morning? You should get some sleep.”
“I will. After I’ve looked over these notes. Feel free to turn in whenever you get tired. I’ll try not to disturb you when I come to bed.”
“But, Annie, you need—”
She shot him a look that silenced him midsentence. “I need to study. I’ll turn in when I’m finished.”
Though disapproval was evident in his expression, he held up both hands in a gesture of surrender. “Fine. Do what you want. I’m going to watch some TV, then turn in.”
She could tell he was a little annoyed with her for not listening to his advice, just as she was with him for trying to pressure her into doing so.
Arranging her study materials on the dining table, she bit her lip, wondering if she and Liam would even be able to survive a full week of living together. They had already quarreled twice today alone. That certainly didn’t bode well for the state of their future marriage.
The noise of the vacuum cleaner Liam pushed across the bedroom carpet drowned out any other sounds in the apartment. He had only a couple of feet left to sweep and he’d be finished cleaning. The scents of lemon furniture polish and antiseptic cleaners filled the air, a fresh aroma that made him think of his grandmother’s Saturday-morning cleaning routine.
He’d scrubbed every surface in the kitchen and bathroom, mopped the kitchen and bathroom floors, dusted everything in the apartment and vacuumed every inch of the bland beige apartment-grade carpet in the living room and bedroom. It was almost four, and he’d been cleaning most of the day.
Running the vacuum cleaner over the last square of carpet, he flipped the switch to cut the power. The silence was immediate and quite a relief.
“Looks like you’ve been busy.”
Turning, he saw Anne standing in the open bedroom doorway, her arms crossed over her chest as she leaned against the jamb and watched him.
Pushing his glasses up on his nose, he greeted her with a smile. Though she’d been in classes all day, after little sleep the night before, she still looked fresh and appealing in her crisp white blouse and dark jeans, her hair pulled back in a loose braid. He’d hoped to have time to freshen up before she came home. The gray T-shirt and faded jeans he wore with white socks were rumpled from his day’s activities, and there was a smudge of grease on his shirt from when he’d cleaned the stove.
“I got restless sitting in front of the computer,” he explained. “I thought a little physical labor would get my mind in gear. Besides, I know you don’t have time for this sort of thing right now.”
She kept her apartment tidy—mostly, she’d told him, because she didn’t like coming home to a mess—but he knew it had been a few weeks since she’d had time to really scrub the place top to bottom. Now she’d been given a reprieve from trying to schedule that chore. It felt good to do something to ease her load at this stressful time.
She pushed away from the doorjamb. “How did you do on your writing today?”