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“Thanks.”
“Are you unwilling to do long distance with him?”
“Well, yes. But that’s not really it.” I gripped the steering wheel. “He’s been this brick—and I could make it work withhim. But I’m not tied to him anymore, and it’s a relief. Mostly.”
She nodded. “He’ll be fine.”
“Yeah, he will.”
I didn’t hear from Clint again and I found myself drinking more wine for the next week and spending a lot of time alone. My heart had become a fortress with the gate shut tight.
Returning to school kept me busy and I had plenty to do, keeping up with my classes. On Thursday afternoon I walked down the long creaky hallway of the art building to Peter’s office and knocked on the door.
“Come in,” he called.
He was at his desk, bent over a pile of papers. There weren’t any teenagers crowding the small space. He glanced up and his face softened into a warm smile.
“Coffee break?” I asked.
“Yes.” He stood up and slipped on his sports jacket. “Reading freshman essays requires a lot of caffeine.”
“You’re shaping the young minds of America. It’s a hero’s work.” I followed him out into the hallway.
He shook his head, closing his door. “It’s drudgery. But how are you?”
“Still a little bruised but I’m better. I have my freedom back. It all seems worth it, mostly.”
We chatted on the walk to the coffee shop about my trip to the coast and about his mission to visit as many galleries as possible in Oregon. “I gave up on fishing,” he said, with a rueful smile as we stood in line for coffee. “Maybe I’ll pick it back up in the summer.”
Coffees in hand we took a seat at a little table in the crowded café, our knees bumping as we shifted around. His Superman face was focused on mine—it was pleasant but my heart seemed numb.
“You’re a little solemn today,” said Peter. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
I forced a smile. “I am a little gloomy. Maybe I feel out of place lately—I’m in class with people I don’t relate to anymore.” I shrugged. “I like to pretend trauma doesn’t affect me, but here I am struggling to get my mojo back.”
“It’s only been—what, not quite two weeks?” He patted my hand.
“Yeah. That’s true.”
It was a nice meetup. Peter wasn’t what I’d thought he was at first. He seemed like a decent man who had been a little reluctant to settle down. Or maybe being alone had changed him.
Another week passed and I was slogging through my first set of major exams and deadlines for the term. All parts of me were recovered enough that I was back on the bike, working out in the mornings. I hadn’t heard a peep from Hank.
I met Amber for lunch on Friday before my last class of the week. She smiled brightly at me and stood up from our table for a quick hug.
“That sweater dress is so fall. I love it with those boots.”
“Thanks. You’re looking happy—another date with Mario tonight?”
“Yeah.” She grinned.
The server stepped up to our table with menus and we put in our drink orders. A gust of wind rattled the front door of the steamy Italian restaurant in an older converted craftsman home.
“More walks?” I asked Amber as our server dashed away from the table.
“We did dinner last night.”
“Oh really? Was cuddling involved, after dessert?”
