Our First Love (14 page)

N
igel decided that it was time they met again. Seven months ago, their paths crossed when they offered consolation to a grieving stranger. She reached out to the stranger because she felt the depth of the woman's grief. Nigel was roused to help because he knew something about the wounded woman that no one else at Barney's burial knew. Nigel guessed—because he had seen the news clipping—that the woman was Frances Pelt, and he knew Frances was mourning the loss of the man she loved and betrayed.

Their first meeting lasted a few short minutes—the time it took Nigel to convince Frances that she was not the one being buried, and for Nigel and her to walk Frances outside the gates of Springhill Cemetery.

“Thanks for helping out,” Nigel said to her.

“Just doing my part,” she replied. “God bless.”

Those were her last words as she walked away.

There was nothing noteworthy about this first chance-upon, but afterward, Nigel couldn't stop thinking about her. During the day, he replayed his sole memory of her. Over and over, he watched her walk out of his life. And on the rare restful night, he dreamed about a life he shared with her: a life lived with two young sons in a house next to Flatley Creek. And somewhere in between, on the waning cusps of dusk and dawn, he fell in love without ever knowing her name. A little over a month ago, he saw her at a faculty
luncheon. Within a week, Nigel knew her name and her office and home phone numbers. He became a patron of her favorite restaurants. He knew she worked out at Lester's Gym on Tuesdays and Thursdays. He even knew that she lived in the third house on the right on Pine Bluff Road. He was well acquainted with her from a distance, but he was ready to move in closer. Ready to touch her… feel her…and love her.

Nigel's mind was made up. They were going to meet and it wouldn't be by chance.

The sun, while bedridden with the flu, called in sick today as the dawn's chilly overcast put in overtime. It was the first day of classes and the Hill should have been teeming with students. Apparently, most chose to stay inside and forgo classes and runny noses. By mid-afternoon, twilight's early arrival triggered the outdoor lighting sensors across campus. That's when the temperature plunged.

Nigel, wearing an unbuttoned hornet-green corduroy blazer over a beige turtleneck sweater, didn't mind the gnawing cold as he walked across campus to the School of Business and Industry's parking lot west. There's a faculty parking lot outside the School of Journalism, but he parked in SBI-West to set his plan in motion. Nigel was trying to unlock his car, when he looked up and saw Karen. His Lexus was parked next to her silver Pathfinder. She pressed the unlock button on her keychain, then glanced over at Nigel and smiled. He smiled back. After trying for nearly fifteen minutes to unlock the door, Nigel conveniently remembered that all he had to do was press the unlock button on the keychain in his hand. He opened the door to get in the car, but then he stopped and looked over at Karen. She felt him staring. She put on her seatbelt, cranked the Pathfinder before turning on the heater. When she looked up, he was waving to get her attention. So, she let the window down.

“Didn't we meet at Barney Aman's…?” he asked.

“I thought you looked familiar,” she answered before Nigel finished asking. “You're a reporter for the
Sentinel
, right?”

“I was.”

“I saw the faculty decal on your tag. How long?”

“I started during the middle of last semester.” Nigel thought he would be nervous talking to her but he wasn't. The words flowed like he had rehearsed them. “I teach Writing for Mass Communication in the School of Journalism.”

“So, you're still a freshman,” she said. “Welcome aboard.”

“Thank you,” he replied. His unfinished expression solicited, “…?”

“I'm sorry,” she apologized. “I'm Karen Davis. I chair the marketing department in the School of Business and Industry.”

Nigel walked over to Karen and extended his hand. “I'm Nigel Greene.”

She reached out the window and shook his hand. “I really enjoyed your work for the
Sentinel
, so it's a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“Meet you again,” he reminded her.

Nigel studied her hand and took mental notes about its softness, how securely hers fit inside his, and how much he didn't want to release her hand. Still, the moment he sensed her hand loosening its grip on his, he let go.

She looked at her watch. “I'm running a little late, so…”

Before she could finish her statement and before he knew he was speaking, Nigel asked, “What are you doing for lunch tomorrow?”

Karen was caught off-guard. “I'm not sure.” She hesitated. “Call me at my office in the morning.” She put the gear in reverse. “I have a third-period class so call before ten.”

“I'll do that.” Nigel smiled and stepped back. “Miss Karen Davis in the School of Business, right?”

“I don't care about handles, but if you have to use one, it's Dr. Karen Davis,” she
corrected him before backing out of the space.

“I'll talk to you tomorrow,” Nigel shouted. He couldn't have if he wanted to, so he didn't try to harness the smile scurrying across his face as he got in his car and pulled out of the parking lot. Their second meeting had unfolded like he intended.

Karen wasn't oblivious though. She knew their second encounter wasn't purely accidental. She saw through Nigel's contrived coincidence. But there was no way she could have known that the next chapter of her life had already been written by this transparent suitor long before the spring semester began.

CHAPTER 15
NIGEL

A
young lady sitting in the middle of the second row stood and announced, “I'm Toni Brown.” She pulled her auburn pin braids behind her ears, then continued, “I'm from Fernandina Beach, and I'm a junior advertising major.”

“Thank you, Miss Brown,” I said as I walked around the lecture hall passing out the course syllabus.

The guy sitting next to Toni stood. “My name's Chris Yado. I'm a second-year pre-law major.” Chris sat down and turned the Rattlers baseball cap sideways on his head.

“Thank you for removing your cap, Mr. Yado,” I said. An armada of caps landed on the desktops.

The introductions continued.

This was the first session of the semester and a little over half of the seventy-six students registered for the class showed up. I figured the bad weather was to blame for the low turnout. Anyway, my assignment for the day was to have the students introduce themselves to the class, and although they didn't know it, introduce themselves to the course's co-instructor, Caleb, who was observing from his podium at home.

Caleb was where I hoped he would be—sitting in Dad's recliner, staring out the window, waiting for me. He smiled when I got out
of the car, which meant he'd chilled with all the drama. Then he stood and walked toward his bedroom.

The moment Caleb heard the front door close behind me, he opened his bedroom door, darted into the living room, and cheerfully asked, “How was our day?” Before I could answer, he pounced on the recliner and said, “It feels funny asking you that when I already know how most of our day went.”

“So you like the new cable system?”

“Love it, man.”

“I thought you would.” Caleb's eyes tracked my every movement as I put my briefcase down and sat on the sofa.

Caleb looked out the window at the Lexus. “I bet we were wildin' out on the Hill today.”

“You know it.” I used the remote to turn the TV to the Weather Channel. “When I went to work this morning, the campus was almost deserted. But on the way home, heads were turning.”

Caleb pushed the leg rest out and reclined as we relived our day. “What did Dr. Alexander have to say?” He prepared to write himself into the rest of my day and make my day his.

Locals on the 8s
was on. “We're in for a deep freeze tonight,” I told Caleb.

“Whatever,” he responded. “Now, what did Dr. Alexander have to say about the new ride?”

“He took a sick day, so he hasn't seen it.”

Since Dr. Alexander wasn't part of our day, Caleb leaned forward in the recliner and began reflecting on our first classes of the semester.

Last week I told Caleb that the reason for my peculiar behavior during the past month or so was because I wanted to keep him from finding out about the college's new cable system before I gave him his Christmas present. I explained that I was part of the team
responsible for installing the system, which meant I really was working most of the time. He bought it.

That's how our life got back to normal.

Karen and I met again today. I bumped into her in the School of Business and Industry's faculty parking lot after work. After seven months of starving for the sound of her voice, I was famished. So I devoured every word she said. She was getting ready to leave when, before I knew it, I asked her to have lunch with me tomorrow. She hesitated but she didn't say no. She told me to call her in the morning before ten. It's almost midnight, so in about twelve hours, I'd be enjoying lunch with Dr. Davis. I meant, Karen. I forgot. No handles.

I opened the curtains and blinds in my bedroom for the first time in months. I stood at the window staring at the narrow creek behind our house. Outside, the night was too dark for eyes to foresee tomorrow. The air was too cold for faith to kindle mercy. And the world was still. Nothing moved.

I was back again, standing on the banks of Flatley Creek fourteen years ago. The night was too dark to foresee tomorrow and the air was too cold for faith to kindle mercy. The world was still. Nothing moved. My feet were stuck in a fallen cloud. On one side of Flatley Creek, a trench, jagged and paneled with seared skid marks, jutted up the embankment to Stilman Road. On the side of Flatley Creek where I stood, there were two sets of footprints inscribed in the snow. The footprints started at the back door of our house and continued to the sleeted shoal of Flatley Creek. One set ended there; the set that belonged to me. The other set
of footprints vanished behind the dam of shattered ice clogging the creek. An unnatural-looking pair of red water lilies illuminated the clearing in the creek. But upon closer inspection, the red lilies were the rear brake lights of a submerged car. My dad's car.

I was back in my bedroom, standing at the window, staring outside at the narrow creek behind our house. It was a little after 4 a.m. and I hadn't slept a wink. It was going to be hard to sleep, but I figured I would spend most of the night worrying about lunch with Karen instead of reliving the last minutes of my erstwhile life.

I didn't get the answer I wanted.

“I'm sorry, but I can't get away today,” Karen said. “I completely forgot about a report that I have to present to the dean and steering committee this afternoon. I have to work on it as soon as I get back from class.”

No was what I heard, and I didn't know how to respond because I hadn't considered the possibility that she might say no.

“Nigel? Are you still…?”

“I'm here,” I promptly replied. “Sorry, I was kind of caught off guard when you said no,” I explained.

“I didn't say no. I said I couldn't make it today.”

She didn't say no. What she said was not today. Reassured, I suggested, “Tell you what. I don't want to keep you from your work, so I'll give you a call this time tomorrow and we'll go from there.”

“That works for me,” Karen answered. “Thanks for understanding.”

“Thank you for keeping the lines open.”

“Well, I'll talk with you tomorrow,” she said and waited for me to respond. I couldn't say goodbye, so she did. Before I knew it, the phone went dead.

I rambled on about something during my third period lecture, which ended twenty minutes early. I was halfway out the door when I informed the class, “That is it for today.” A few minutes later, I was placing an order at the Blue Moon coffee house near campus. At precisely 11:30, I knocked on her office door.

“She isn't here,” Karen yelled from inside. “She's skinny dipping in Jamaica.”

“Can you tell me how I can reach her when I get there?” I played along. “I've booked a seat on the next flight to Jamaica.”

The door flung open.

“You're back?” I smiled and showed her two mocha lattes and a bag of bagels. “How about a ten-minute break?”

“Are you always this…hold on, I'm reaching for the right word.”

“Call it what it is: pushy…annoying.”

“All of the above and then some,” she teased. “Come in.” She smiled and stepped aside.

Framed family pictures were on Karen's desk and hanging on the walls. Two of the pictures were taken outside the house she'd visited in Orlando. Karen sat in the window sill and I sat in one of the three Victorian chairs in the sitting area by the window. She ate a bagel and sipped her latte as I surveyed the office and photos.