I raked both hands through my hair. "Oh my god, I have to go buy a turkey!"
"Wait, now?"
"Yes, now, before the store runs out of the right size." I gathered up my book bag. "My father's gotten it into his head that he wants a real Thanksgiving gathering this year. I spent half of last night trying to figure out what fruit looked best in a cornucopia. How insane does that sound?"
Ford laughed, then stopped on a long, barely audible sigh. "Actually, that's sounds wonderful."
I watched his face and saw the shift from amused to wistful. "Why? What are you doing for Thanksgiving?" I asked.
"Nothing," Ford shook his head. "It's no big deal. Liz is volunteering in the city and doesn't want to be away from school long enough to drive up here for the weekend, which I totally understand. Still, the microwave dinner selections for Thanksgiving were pretty bleak."
My pulse jumped into a riotous jig but I managed to speak calmly. "My father is determined to have a big Thanksgiving meal. And he still wants to thank you for braving the frat party check with him the other night. I'll have him call you, but you should plan on coming to our house for Thanksgiving."
"Are you sure?"
I rolled my eyes, "My father will be happy you're there."
"Will you be?" Ford bit his lip as if the question had escaped.
I couldn't breathe so I nodded until I could manage to say, "Just don't say anything about my short story."
CHAPTER SIX
Ford
I folded the title page of every article so that I couldn't see the student names. It helped me judge the writing and check if my journalism students had mastered a neutral tone. Jackson taught me the trick he had learned from tackling hundreds of creative writing essays and stories.
Clarity's short story rose to the surface of my mind again and I leaned back in my office chair to avoid it. The characters were clear in my mind, the overlapping paths they took a common knot that tied my thoughts to them.
I shook it off and groaned at the stack of grading. "I have to stop giving my students homework that gives me homework."
I snatched up the next article and knew by the first sentence it was Clarity's. Her open curiosity was contagious and her leads were getting better. She needed to work on simplifying her language, but her enthusiasm kept me reading for three paragraphs before I realized I hadn't written a single comment.
What could I say to her?
It was impossible to erase all the thoughts that had popped into my head the night I met her. If only I didn't need my job so much.
My mind drifted back to the cocktail dress she was wearing when the door to my office crashed open. "Sleeping on the job?" Jackson asked.
"You know, for a bookish, lit. Professor, you’re loud enough to wake the dead." I settled back in my office chair and unclenched my fists.
"And you're a little too jumpy. What's on your mind?" Jackson strolled around my narrow office, hands in pockets, studying the bookshelves.
"What's on my mind? You came to my office, remember? Unless your entire plan was to give me a heart attack."
Jackson chuckled then turned back to point at the bookshelves. "A little Spartan, don't you think? I thought you were finally settling in and resolving to be a Landsman man."
I swallowed the instant distaste that thought brought up. "Maybe I just have something against crowded bookshelves. Maybe I'm Feng Shui."
"Feng full of shit," Jackson said. "I'd take it personally if I didn't know how much you miss journalism. But you really should get rid of the temporary vibe in here if you want your department head to stop sharpening her axe."
"She can't fire me before the holidays." I grinned.
"Speaking of the holidays, what are you doing for Thanksgiving?" Jackson leaned on the corner of my desk.
"Apparently I'm grading articles." I gestured to the slipping stack on my desk, then caught it before it toppled. "Any more tricks of the trade that could speed this up?"
"So you don't have any plans for Thanksgiving? I know Liz is staying in the city."