Lightning Strikes (Hudson 2)

Where is this place where some people go to find true love and trust? Where did they discover a way to invest their hearts and have faith in their relationship? What sort of a man would I eventually find? Who would love me more than he loves himself and begin his day by thinking, What can I do to make her happier and our lives more complete?

The way the couple sat so contentedly, so pleased with their moment, I was sure that some time in the future, each of them would think back to the peacefulness of this hour they shared and smile and think they were right, they were secure, they had made a good decision when they whispered their love and declared their intent to be one. No children would fall by the wayside. Was I living in an illusion again?

I rose and walked on. Maybe it was purely by accident; maybe I subconsciously knew where I was going. Maybe Fate herself decided to take a more direct and definitive role in my life, but I suddenly realized I was minutes away from my real father's school. The thought of going there titillated and excited me, but also filled me with fear.

Yet I needed to see him again and I wanted so to hear his voice. Randall had been right about that, at least.

Tossing caution to the wind, I continued in that direction and found myself standing in front of the building. Could I do this? Should I do this?.

As if invisible hands had pressed themselves against my back to propel me forward, I stepped up to the entrance, took a deep breath and entered. He was, after all, my father. Maybe he could deny it and live as if I didn't exist, but I couldn't. I hated lies, but I hated being a child of lies even more. It made me feel dirty inside, contaminated, tainted with deceit. I longed to rid myself of all of it, regardless of the consequences. Only then, perhaps, could I look at anyone honestly and even dare to think I could love and be loved.

There was a directory in the lobby and an information desk with a girl who looked like a firstyear college student sitting behind it, obviously taking the opportunity to do some homework.

She looked up after I reached the desk.

"May I help you," she said.

"Yes. I was wondering where Professor Ward's class was."

"You mean this hour?"

"Yes," I said.

"You know he has one this hour?"

"No," I said.

Her eyes blinked with confusion.

"Are you in his class?" she asked.

"No. I'm supposed to audit one," I said.

"Oh. Well, let's see then," she said and opened a large folder. She ran her forefinger down, glanced at her watch. "Oh, his class in Shakespeare's tragedies has already begun. Twenty-five minutes ago in Room 211," she said. "That's down the corridor, the second stairway and then to the immediate right."

"Thank you," I said and followed her directions.

Professor Ward's classroom was about threequarters full. He paced in front of his students as he lectured and most of them were busy taking notes, their heads down, their pens scribbling. I opened the door as softly as I could and thought I had slipped in and sat in a seat in the rear completely undetected. How could he possibly notice me in this crowd? I thought confidently and sat back, listening to his lecture on Othello.

Twice he seemed to look my way, pause and then continue.

"The question I want you to ponder today is what was it in Othello's character that made him so vulnerable to lago's evil plan?

"Shakespeare provides us with some answers," he continued as he sta

rted up the aisle. "However, this will take a closer reading, a reading between the lines, so to speak."

He paused, the moment of silence so long that heads were raised and pens stopped. Students looked at him, saw the direction of his gaze and turned to look at me.

He couldn't be looking at me, I thought. Why would he? My heart began to pound, and my throat suddenly became so dry, I couldn't swallow. He smiled.

"So," he said, "now some students are wandering into my classes to pass the time. Is that a compliment, I wonder, or should I consider myself to have become amusement rather than edification? What do you think, Miss Austin?" he asked the girl right beside him. "Am I entertaining or edifying?"

The girl shrugged.

"I don't know what you mean," she said.

"Oh, pity. Well then, perhaps we should ask our guest," he said, taking a step up the aisle toward me. "Miss Mystery Person?"