I crossed my arms and refused to sit in the desk chair he offered. The prep space had four desks in two pairs and he perched on the corner of the farthest one. I hovered near the door and fought the urge to bolt before he could say a word.
"You were right about having to earn credit," Ford said. He scrubbed his cheek hard and sighed. "When I was discharged from the Army, I was excited to write any story. The idea that I was free of the strict parameters and editing of the Army was like a shot of pure adrenaline. I chased any story I could."
"Way to bury the lead and try to make me empathize with you," I snapped, "but remember, I'm taking your class and I know all your journalist tricks. Just tell me what I need to know."
Ford slapped an open hand against the top of the desk. "It is important, Clarity. I haven't told more than a few people what I'm trying to tell you."
I squeezed my arms tighter together and wished his words hadn't sparked a flame of hope. "Why you're here?" I guessed.
"Yes." Ford got up and paced to me and then back to the far wall. "I chased a really big story despite everyone's warnings. I went after the wrong people and it cost me everything. My story wasn't enough, the truth wasn't enough, and not only did I lose my job, but I lost my reputation and my credit. No one else would hire me after the subjects of my expose were through with me."
Out of the hundreds of questions overflowing in my thoughts, I asked, "So you found a job here at Landsman College?"
"I didn't want a professorship, but I needed a job. I needed the paycheck and it was the only way I could feel like I hadn't completely turned my back on my career," Ford said.
I brushed my hair out of my eyes. "So you celebrated your good fortune by breaking all the rules you could?"
Ford's eyes were a painful storm. "I was angry. Despite the truth of what I had uncovered, people with influence had chased me out and left me with nothing. Then I came here and was surrounded by the same style of power, money, and influence. I was bitter, self-destructive, and I drank too much. All the time. I even had a flask I poured into my coffee."
"Your reputation was ruined so you decided to ruin the image of professors everywhere?"
His shoulders slumped. "I dropped my flask in the cafeteria. When I went out back to look for it, there was Libby. I was drunk. She threw herself at me. I wanted the consequences more than her."
My voice wavered but I said, "Libby brags about it being a full-blown affair. There's a big difference between one, drunken mistake and having a relationship."
Ford's eyes slid to his shoes and stayed there. "I repeated the mistake. I tried to fool myself into thinking it was more, into making it more than just a stupid, ridiculous mistake."
"Libby calls you her ex-boyfriend. How long did it go on?" I hated myself for asking and it hurt that I cared.
"It didn't. Not more than a week, and I never gave her any indication that it was anything more than a bad idea."
My heart ached. I was torn between believing the pain I saw in his eyes and the heavy waves of disappointment that pushed me back.
"It doesn't matter," I decided. "I don't care what happened between you and Libby. That was your mistake and I don't think I should have to pay the price for it."
Ford grabbed both my hands. "Clarity, I promise you, I won't let it affect you. You're right, you're totally innocent. What we have—"
"We don't have anything." My voice was hollow.
He shook his head and tried again. "What I meant was what we shared—"
"Nothing happened," I said.
"Clarity, please. You have to believe a person can change in two years. Don't you believe people can redeem themselves?"
The anguished question pierced me to the core. I wanted to believe that people could redeem themselves more than anything in the world. Then I could believe my father could someday be the man I had loved and trusted.
My father, the dean. I took a deep breath and kept my voice steady. "It doesn't matter what I believe. All I know is that it seems like you got close to me, complimented me, and mentored me, just so you could get closer to my father."
"What? Why would I be more interested in your father than you?" Ford asked.
"You're hoping he'll save your job, but now he can't even save himself."
The look of shock and dismay on Ford's face was the final push I needed to walk away. The glimmer of hope his horrified expression gave me was more than I could take.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Ford