Learning to Fall (19 page)

In the aftermath we both laid flat on our backs, staring dazedly up at the ceiling as we waited for our vital signs to return to normal. Daniel was the first to speak. Entwining his fingers with mine, he lifted my hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it.

“That…that was incredible.”

I smiled dreamily. “I know.”

Turning his head to the side, he grinned at me. “You sound impressed with myself.”

I
was
impressed with myself. “I meant I agree with you.”

“I know.” He nuzzled my neck. “Stay the night? I’ll drive you home in the morning.”

I tensed. I couldn’t help myself. Feeling the sudden tightness in my body, Daniel pressed his mouth against my shoulder and lifted his gaze to mine.

“It’s late, Imogen.”

“But Whitney-”

“She’ll be fine. She can always call if she needs you.”

I bit the inside of my cheek. I didn’t know why, but suddenly spending the night curled up next to Daniel with his arm around me seemed far more intimate than making love. Still, he had valid points. It
was
late and I had a feeling Whitney hadn’t been expecting me back until tomorrow anyways. “Okay,” I whispered. “I’ll stay.”

And I did.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

January

With midterms rapidly approaching and the holidays right around the corner, I didn’t get to see Daniel as much as I would have liked. Still, we talked on the phone nearly every night and at least once a week I stayed over at his apartment.

The sex was still amazing. Better than I could have ever dreamed. And every day that passed we became closer. But neither one of us had yet to make any sort of verbal commitment, and after the night we first slept together when Daniel had told me about his mother, we reverted back to sharing information about ourselves that was far less personal. It was a barrier, I think. One final wall to be breached. The last thing standing between being lovers…and being
in
love.

When Thanksgiving came, Whitney and I stayed in Camden. With college only on break for four days and indoor soccer practice starting up on the twenty-seventh, it didn’t make sense to go anywhere. So we remained at home, attempted to cook a turkey, ordered pizza instead, and watched every single Harry Potter movie in order from
Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone
to
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows
(part two).

The few short weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas flew by. When midterms were finished, I felt enormously relieved. Relieved enough that I allowed myself to spend my very first snow day with Daniel. We went sledding down an enormous hill called ‘Mt Tom’ and drank hot chocolate at Poppy’s before returning to his apartment and warming ourselves up in an entirely different (but equally delicious) way.

I still felt the familiar licks of anxiety from time to time, but I was getting better.
Daniel
was helping me get better. When I was with him, I didn’t worry about having to be perfect. He accepted me as I was, eccentricities and all. If I occasionally froze up or became too consumed with work or began an impromptu lecture on the history of figs in Portugal, he was there to gently steer me back in the right direction.

As my old habits slowly slipped away and I was finally able to start letting go of the old Imogen and embracing the new, only one shadow remained unchanged.

My mother.

She still wasn’t returning my phone calls or letters and I had a sinking feeling she never would. At least not anytime in the near future, which meant I wouldn’t be welcomed home for Christmas. Thankfully I had Whitney and Whitney’s family, who, while certainly not perfect, were loud and crass and exactly what I needed.

We flew down to Florida and spent nearly two weeks basking in the sun, eating ice cream until our stomachs hurt, and playing in the ocean like children. I hardly did any work at all (mostly because every time Whitney saw me with my laptop open she grabbed it and ran away) and by the time we returned I felt more refreshed and relaxed than I had in years.

The second semester at Stonewall began with more of a whimper than a bang (I suspected mostly because the undergraduates
and
the faculty were still in a bit of a post-winter break haze) and for the first week I devoted all of my time to catching up on all of the work I had missed while I’d been enjoying myself in sunny Florida and trying not to miss Daniel too badly. Over the twenty-one day break we’d talked and texted, but had yet to see each other in person, something which we planned on rectifying over the weekend. For now, I had other things to concentrate on…first and foremost being my very first night class.

All night classes were held in Harbinger Hall, a tall, narrow brick building framed by towering pine trees on the far end of campus by the soccer fields. It had been converted into small classrooms sometime during the eighties and was undergoing yet another renovation next summer. A renovation that
should
have taken place two years ago, but had been delayed due to budget cuts.

Cutting across the back parking lot, I was forced to grab onto my hat as a strong, blustery wind threatened to carry it away. Winter, in all its bitterly cold glory, had officially arrived. Five inches of snow (or, as Mainers called it, ‘a dusting’) already covered the ground in a blanket of white with more due to arrive at the beginning of next week. Ducking my head against the wind, I stayed on the shoveled path leading to the front of Harbinger Hall. Tall black lamp posts lit the way, reflecting eerily off the snow and nearby pines. Reaching the front door, I used both hands to shove it open (I’d already been warned by John that it had a tendency to stick) and stumbled inside, carrying a gust of cold air and a sprinkling of snowflakes along with me.

The very first thing I noticed about Harbinger Hall - once my eyes had adjusted to the fluorescent lights glaring down from sagging ceiling tiles - was the smell. It reminded me of my grandparent’s house. A house with moth balls in every closet and lace curtains on every window. Nose wrinkling, I went through the lobby and turned left, the heels of my calf-high leather boots echoing on the linoleum as I walked briskly down the hall. Courtesy of John’s instructions (given with a smirk and a nudge that I now understood), I knew my class was being held in the fifth room down on the right. The door was marked with the letter ‘G’ which didn’t make sense, but then neither did having night classes in the oldest, furthest, most decrepit building on campus. Unlocking the door with the tiny brass key I’d been given, I stepped inside and turned on the lights.

“Seriously?” I muttered under my breath, repeating one of Whitney’s favorite sayings as I surveyed my new classroom. Although how it qualified as a classroom was an absolute mystery.
A broom closet would be a better description
, I thought with a surge of annoyance. How on earth was I supposed to squeeze twenty-two students in here? There weren’t even any windows, although there was a green chalkboard at the front of the room and a row of ancient looking filing cabinets at the back. Wooden desks and ugly orange chairs filled what minimal space there was in between. When was the last time I had used a chalkboard? I couldn’t remember. Everything was digital now. Everything, it seemed, except for Harbinger Hall.  

Setting my computer bag down, I started to rearrange the desks and chairs into neat tidy rows, counting them off as I went. After fifteen minutes or so (as was my habit, I’d arrived significantly early) I heard students making their way down the hall, their voices amplified by the high ceilings that most likely contained asbestos.

“You can sit anywhere you like,” I said, still working on arranging the desks to my satisfaction as they began to trickle in one after the other.

A heavy-set brunette with bright orange hoop earrings and a vaguely familiar face stopped short on her way to a seat in the back of the room. “I know you!” She grinned at me, then tugged on the arm of the girl beside her. “Lacy, this is Professor Finley. I have her for-”

“English Literature, Tuesdays and Thursdays.” I may not have immediately recognized the girl’s face, but her voice - high pitched and always filled with energy - was unforgettable. Britney Watson. A sophomore with a strong writing voice and poor attention to detail.

“Yep. I didn’t know you were teaching this class.” Reaching inside a thick red notebook she had tucked under her arm, Britney pulled out a single sheet of paper and quickly scanned it. “On here it says Professor Greer.”

“Professor Greer had a scheduling conflict. I’ll be teaching this class for the rest of the semester. If you’d rather take Creative Writing with him, I believe he’s offering a course next semester.”  

“No way. Professor Greer is so
boring
. I would totally fall asleep.” Britney’s eyes widened. “Oops. I probably shouldn’t have said that.”

“Probably not,” I agreed, although it was true. At sixty-three Professor Greer was on the brink of retirement. He hadn’t made an official announcement yet, but according to John everyone knew it was happening soon. In addition to a Thursday night class, he only had three other courses. His leaving was one of the reasons I’d been hired. “Why don’t you take a seat? We’ll begin momentarily.”

“You’re going to
love
Professor Finely,” I heard Britney say as she pulled her friend towards the back of the classroom. “She’s
so
cool. In my English Lit class we’re going to study Harry Potter…”

Biting back a smile, I checked my watch and moved to the last row of desks. Five minutes to six. The room was more than halfway filled now, with more voices echoing out in the hall, no doubt waiting until the last possible second to come in and sit down. Thankfully - as long as my count was correct -  there would be exactly enough chairs for them to sit in.

“You never mentioned you were taking a night class.”

A patient smile already in place - this wouldn’t be the first time I’d been confused for a student, and I was sure it wouldn’t be the last - I finished pushing in the last orange chair and turned around. “Oh, I’m actually the…
Daniel
?”     

No.

No. No.
No
.

This could
not
be happening. Daniel was
not
in my classroom.

Except he was. He was right there, standing two feet away from me, looking slightly puzzled. He wore a blue button down shirt underneath his heavy green ski jacket and a pair of khakis. His hair was a little longer than the last time I’d seen him, but otherwise he looked exactly the same. Tall, handsome…and a student.
My
student.

Oh my God.  

“Can I…” I couldn’t speak, my throat was too tight. My tongue felt dry and swollen. I swallowed, licked my lips, and tried again. “Can I speak to you out in the hallway?”

His grey eyes - grey eyes I’d dreamed about, grey eyes I’d stared into while we were making love - narrowed in confusion. “Sure, Imogen.” He glanced at the clock hanging above the chalkboard. “Right now? Class is about to start.” He winked at me. “Don’t want to piss off the professor on the first night.”

You have no idea
, I thought as I forced myself to swallow a hysterical laugh. “Yes. Right now. And please don’t call me that.” 

“Call you what?”

My gaze darted to the other students sitting at their desks. “
Imogen
.”

“But that’s your name.” A lock of honey blond hair fell into his eyes as he head canted to the side. “Why are you whispering?”

“
Because
!” My hand itched to grab his arm and drag him after me into the hallway, but the last thing I wanted was to draw any unwanted attention to us. Right now anyone looking would assume I was simply speaking to Daniel like I’d just spoken to Britney, and I wanted to keep it that way. I
needed
to keep it that way. At least until my mind had time to wrap itself around what was happening.  “Just come out into the hall.
Please
, Daniel.”

“Okay,” he said with a slow nod. “Lead the way.” 

Even though I wanted to sprint out of the classroom, I forced myself to take tiny, normal steps. There were a handful of students gathered outside, but as we stepped out they stepped in. I closed the door behind them and crossed the hall. Still looking confused - and concerned - Daniel followed me to an empty stairwell and braced his arm against the railing as I sat down on the second step and buried my head in my hands. 

“Imogen, what the hell is going on? Did something happen?”

I drew in a shaky, trembling breath. “You could say that.”

“Talk to me, little fox. Is this because we’re taking the same night class?” He knelt down in front of me and put his hands on my knees. “I promise I won’t cheat off you.” His dimple flashed as he smiled. “At least not very much.”

“You can’t touch me!” Shoving his hands aside, I jumped to my feet and looked frantically at my classroom. From this angle I could just make out the first row of desks. It didn’t appear as if anyone was looking out into the hallway. Thank God. If one of them had seen Daniel touching me…I didn’t know what I would do. What I would say. How I would explain. All I
did
know was that ‘
it’s fine, he can touch me, we’re sleeping together
’ wouldn’t exactly make things any better.

As if things could possibly get any worse.

How could Daniel be my student? It was so unfair I wanted to scream. Just when I’d finally accepted my feelings for him…when I’d finally
found the right balance between my personal life and my professional one…when I’d
finally
been ready to tell him how I truly felt…this had to happen.

My fault
, I thought bitterly.
It’s all my fault
.

If I’d told him the truth when we first met…

If I’d admitted my lie after the fact…

If I’d ever, just
once
, mentioned Stonewall…

But no. I hadn’t done any of those things. Why? Because I’d been afraid of breaking down the final wall that stood between us. A wall that was now shattered into a million jagged pieces.