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He might have told her how utterly ridiculous she was being. That she was a classically beautiful college co-ed. And that she was far too smart to wear any labels imposed on her by people who didn’t know any better. But he couldn’t.
Not his place. Get her to a counselor.
She stood up, watching him for a moment, and Matt had no idea what was going on behind those troubled blue eyes. “Okay, I’ll go register.”
And then she was gone.
Though he’d seemingly won that round, Matt stared after her, uneasy. He didn’t know what had just happened. What the entire conversation had really been about. But he had the distinct impression it wasn’t good.
NOT FEELING ANY BETTER that afternoon, Matt tried to concentrate on the schedule in front of him. He needed five crew members for next week’s Winter Dance concert. And that many plus more for the two-week Theater Department production of Charles Dickens’s A Christmas Carol following that. And they’d just had a request from the Phoenix Symphony for extra rehearsal time for the show they were doing in Shelter Valley the week before Christmas.
He volunteered himself for that show. He could work as many hours as needed during the Christmas holiday. It wasn’t as if he had any shopping to do—or anyone to celebrate with.
That thought brought him a measure of relief.
Until he wondered what Phyllis Langford was doing for Christmas. Did she have family to go home to? Family she’d have to break her news to? Or had she already told them all?
He wondered how her loved ones had reacted—or would react—to the news.
Or if she even had any loved ones. Seemed like something he should know about her. But he couldn’t figure out why he felt that way. It had nothing to do with him.
The phone on his desk rang, and Matt grabbed it, glad for the reprieve. “Sheffield,” he said more brusquely than necessary.
“Matt?”
“Phyllis?” How could he immediately know her voice when he’d only talked to her on the phone a time or two?
“You busy?”
He glanced at the schedule. And then at the stacks of paper on his desk, all concerning new projects, all waiting for something or other from him. He could be there till midnight.
But at least he’d taught his last class for the day.
“Not at the moment. What’s up?” He hadn’t seen or heard from her since their trip to Tortilla Flat two weeks before.
“I really hate to do this,” she started, and then stopped. Her unusually hesitant tone had him instantly alert.
“Do what?”
“Ask you to drive me to Phoenix.”
Matt dropped the pencil he’d been holding. “Something wrong?”
“I don’t think so,” she said quickly, her words more confident than her tone. “I’m just…bleeding a little.”
“Did you call your doctor?”
“Yes. She doesn’t think it’s anything, but she wants to see me. She did say, though, that I probably shouldn’t be driving all that way by myself.”
“Of course you shouldn’t.” Matt reached for the keys he’d thrown onto the corner of his desk when he’d come in that morning. “Where are you?”
“In my office.”
“Here on campus?”
“Yeah. Psych 132. I’m really sorry about this—”
Matt cut her off. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
