Stepping Up To Love (Lakeside Porches 1) (5 page)

Joel asked her, “What are you planning after you graduate?”

He was smiling now, and his eyes were warm and interested. Manda rallied a smile for him. She didn’t trust her voice yet.

“Grad school? Marriage?”

She rolled her eyes. She was definitely off men for life, but she wasn’t going to tell him that. “I have some applications in for—”

A knock interrupted.

“Come in, Tina,” Joel welcomed the caterer who quickly set up breakfast. Eggs and a basket of croissants, butter, and jam for Manda, an egg-white omelet and dry toast for Joel, a carafe of fresh-squeezed orange juice, and a large pot of coffee. No cream, no sugar, no white linen napkins.

“Will there be anything else, Mr. Cushman?”

Manda covered her smile, glad Tina was focused on Joel. Joel’s eyes sparkled, and she bet he was thinking the same thing. “I believe we have everything, Tina. You can shut the door on your way out. Thank you.”

“Thank you for breakfast.” Manda picked up her paper napkin, slowly, with two fingers.

Joel teased, “We have you to thank for no linen napkins.”

“I’m cool with that.” She shook open the oversized napkin and made a show of spreading it on her lap.

Joel laughed out loud at the performance.

Manda poured orange juice for both of them.

“Tell me what you know about the Manse rumor mill,” Joel directed.

“It’s humming this morning. So far I’ve heard (A) you and I are hot and heavy, (B) you pulverized Kristof, (C) I’m pregnant—lots of speculation about whose baby— and (D) Remy is on probation. You’re feeding me again, which is feeding the rumor mill. What’s up with that?”

“What’s up is that I need to keep close tabs on you, and you need to eat.” He waved his fork playfully. “Don’t think breakfast is part of the deal after today.”

They ate in silence for a few minutes. As Manda relaxed, she realized how tense Joel was. She wished he’d ask her a question. Halfway through her eggs, she caved. “What do you need to know?”

“Counselor first. What did she say?”

“Well, between the counselor and the doctor, I understand that I have the disease of alcoholism, but they decided I don’t require detox or rehab.”

“And how do they know that?” Joel asked casually.

“The way I heard it is they use two criteria. First, I totally get that I can’t drink again without hideous consequences, like losing myself and being totally humiliated, which is exactly what happened. And I know from experience that, for the last year or more, once I pick up a drink I don’t stop, even on a good day, until I pass out. So I don’t need rehab to know I’m an alcoholic. And I don’t need detox because I’m not in withdrawal.”

“And what does that mean? How do they know you’re not in withdrawal?”

“I guess they measure blood alcohol level and look for symptoms like delirium something?”

“Delirium tremens or DT’s.”

“That’s it. Did you know you can die from alcohol withdrawal?”

Joel nodded. “And who made the determination that you’re not in withdrawal?”

“The doctor. One of the doctors I saw.”

At Joel’s raised eyebrow, she explained. “A campus physician’s assistant went through a series of questions and tests for my physical condition in general and alcohol damage in particular, and then I was sent for blood work and to a gynecologist.” Manda dropped her eyes and focused on her plate.

Joel sat quietly.

Manda felt him watching her. She went back to her first topic. “And since I know I’m an alcoholic, I plan to go regularly to AA. I’m going to a Saturday night meeting with Tony and his girl this weekend.”

“Tony will take good care of you. There’s a women’s meeting at seven tonight at the Presbyterian Church; I want you there. Ask around for Cassie.”

Manda paused with a forkful of eggs halfway to her mouth. How would he know that?

“Please,” he added.

“Absolutely,” she agreed.

“Are you pregnant?”

“No.”

He was so guarded right now, she wasn’t sure, but he seemed seriously relieved. She decided not to make a crack about how un-politically-correct his question was. “Then,” she continued lightly, “I visited the eye doctor, got a whole new prescription, and I get to pick up my awesome new glasses at eleven today.” She added, “Thanks for arranging that.” She was guessing about him arranging it.

He didn’t deny it. He was intent on his omelet.

She didn’t know how he could get dry toast down his throat. She layered more butter and jam on her croissant and saw him watching the procedure. She nudged the jam closer to him and followed it with the butter dish.

“That is wicked,” he said. He spooned strawberry jam on his toast. “No fair smiling.”

Manda let out a laugh and went back to her eggs. She savored the luxury of being fed breakfast. Two days in a row. Today she would keep it in her stomach.

Joel, she noticed, was pushing a piece of omelet around on his plate.

Eventually he made up his mind about whatever internal debate he was having and told her, “Your new roommate is thought to have substance abuse issues, maybe illegal drugs. It’s not for you to rescue her or to tell on her. I bring it up because it may not be a healthy situation for you. Apparently all three roommates left within the past month with no explanation, and they’re renting an apartment together, which is a pretty big unnecessary expense, so it must have been a bad situation for them. I’m banking on you not having a drug problem?”

Stunned, she shook her head. Another un-PC question. She had to admire his strategy. He knew how to slip them in and get answers. But, she conceded, he did need to know the answer. She watched him chug his glass of orange juice, a total departure from his usual smooth style.

“I mean it. If that apartment doesn’t work out for you, I need you to tell me, and I’ll find an alternative.”

“Got it. Thank you.”

“Did you talk to the police?” Joel asked.

Manda’s hand jerked, and her fork flipped onto the rug. She ducked down to pick it up, set it on her plate and pushed the plate aside. “Yes, this policewoman Miriam interviewed me right after the substance abuse counselor. Another woman from the college was with us; I think she handles complaints about sexual harassment. They were both really kind. They asked hard questions, and they’re both really smart. I think the police are going to arrest Kristof. And they had me sign an Order of Protection so he can’t come near me. And they advised me to protect myself.”

“I’m not at liberty to discuss what is happening with regard to Kristof.”

Manda had no idea what to do with that statement. How would he know anything more about Kristof than she had just told him?

If Joel saw her puzzlement he did not address it.

What was happening here? He was all over the place. Was he avoiding some topic? What could be touchier than pregnancy, drug addiction, Kristof, the police and DT’s? Maybe she was taking up too much of his time. “You probably have meetings—”

“In fifteen minutes,” he told her without looking at his watch. “Tony showed me the stills and the video.”

So that was it. Manda set down her coffee mug, and Joel shifted in his chair.

“You’re not—?”

“Going to throw up again? No,” she told him. She let out a breath of relief at the same time he did. On his wavelength again, she told him, “I don’t trust that he won’t retaliate, and I’m watching my back.” She met his eyes. “And honoring my deal with you—keeping my focus on being sober and getting my work done, here and at school. My class work is on schedule, and I’m not worried about doing well and graduating as planned. And if I’m messing up here, I need you—I mean, I know you’ll—"

“I’m not worried about your work here. You do a fine job. I’m sorry about violating your privacy with those questions. I needed to know for myself. A lot of us have your back, Manda. Security is all over this thing, and I don’t just mean Tony and the police. I mean here at the Manse and all over campus. I want you to check in with Cassie at the meeting tonight and specifically tell her what’s going on; that’s very important; she’ll alert the appropriate people to watch out for you before, during, and after meetings, not just tonight.”

Manda tried and failed to get in a question.

“I know you have an Order of Protection. You need it; you’re still in danger. And I would be remiss in my duty as—as your employer if I didn’t do everything I can to protect you.”

Manda didn’t know why his suddenly patronizing tone annoyed her, but it did.

“What?” he snapped.

Manda decided he was seriously freaked out by this whole conversation. She wished she knew how to help him out.

She shook her head and apologized. “I get there are things you’re not telling me, and I don’t think you’re trying to treat me like a child.”

“You’re right on both counts. There’s a lot I can’t explain right now.” He gulped coffee and realized too late, “Hot!” She pushed her glass of orange juice over to him. He took a mouthful and nodded his thanks.

Manda saw that she had instinctively reached out her hand and laid it on his. She heard someone say, “Tell me how can I be most helpful with all of this.” Did she say that? And what she was doing touching his hand?

Before she could pull her hand away, Joel set down the juice glass and enfolded her hand in both of his. “Thank you for wanting to work with me on this,” he said with obvious relief. “The best thing you can do is let us help you, Manda.”

That was it? That’s what would make it easier? She was sure her puzzlement showed on her face.

Joel continued, “I realize asking for help is probably a foreign concept to you right now.”

She blinked and he smiled into her soul with those gray-green eyes. She felt something go soft in the center of her being.

“I need you to be safe, Manda. That’s very, very important to me. Personally, not just professionally.”

A knock sounded at the door. In less than a second, Joel had let go of her hand and stood up behind his chair.  “I cannot believe this guy,” he muttered.

Without waiting for an acknowledgement, someone opened the door. “Harold. Right on time,” Joel said heartily, although it was obvious to Manda Harold was seven minutes early and had no business barging in. “Come right on in.”

Harold was Director of Buildings and Grounds, Manda was pretty sure. She stood up with—she hoped—grace and dignity and said sweetly, “Thanks for your time, Mr. Cushman.” She made a show of wrapping up the last croissant in her big paper napkin and walked to the door. “I appreciate your advice, and I’ll keep you posted about the grad school applications.” Manda beamed an angelic smile at Harold.

Joel rolled his eyes at her performance and said, equally loudly, “Good deal, Mandy. On your way out, ask my secretary Catherine to have these dishes cleared, right away.”

Manda gritted her teeth at the “Mandy” crack, but she thought that last statement was deliberately un-PC, aimed to put her in her place in Harold’s eyes.

“Absolutely, Mr. Cushman,” she said crisply. Manda couldn’t wait to hear what Harold had to tell the rumor mill about the scene he had just witnessed.

Manda was greeted with a different collection of rumors when she returned to campus with her groceries at lunchtime. From the moment she entered the campus apartments, conversations paused and changed to whispers accompanied by furtive glances. She smiled calmly and kept moving; she picked up phrases like “Gold-digger,” “Slut,” “Deserves to be expelled,” and “I’ll do anything for Professor Kristof.” She fumbled with the key to her apartment and was about to give up when her roommate opened the door.

“It’s you. Forgot you live here. What’s your name again?”

“Manda.” Manda saw that Stacey was still coming down from last night’s high. Her hair was flattened on one side, as if she’d just gotten up, and she wore a skimpy tank top and sweats that revealed an elaborate tattoo on her belly. “Cool snake, Stace,” she said.

“Thanks for getting food. I’m starved!”

Manda closed her eyes. Her budget did not cover feeding two people.

She set down her two grocery bags and started putting away salad fixings, olive oil, and chicken breasts.

Stacey pawed through the second bag. “Don’t you eat anything good?”

“Nope, just healthy stuff. Do you like olives?” She held out her one treat, a container of hot, spicy olives.

Stacey popped two in her mouth, chewed, swallowed, and ran for the bathroom.

Manda heard her retching. She stood still for a moment and thought about it.
God, I hope you’ve got a better idea than I do right now
. Joel would probably ask her what would get her to her goal of graduating in eight weeks, sober and sane.

She turned on the radio, dialed a light rock station, fixed a salad, and ate it standing by the window in the living room. Then she washed and put away the dishes, grabbed her things, and headed back to work at the Manse. After this, she vowed, she would fix a salad in the morning and take it to work with her. She would simply avoid contact with her snake-belly roommate.

Manda got into a groove the next two weeks: classes in the morning, lunch and work at the Manse, an AA meeting after work. Then home to fix a meal, library to study, and home again to crawl into bed. The one place she did not encounter rumors and name-calling was at her “Happy Hour” AA meeting. She started recognizing faces and learning names. The regulars called her Manda; she could even smile at the good old boys who called her “Mandy.”

“Come for burgers with us,” a thirty-something woman invited the last Thursday of March.

Manda started to excuse herself but knew she didn’t have to study every night of the week. She could probably ace her exams without any more effort, and her projects were ahead of schedule. “Thanks,” she agreed. “You’re Carol, aren’t you?”