The Light Between Us

The Light Between Us

a novel

by Beth Morey

Chapter 1

"Fine," she said to the computer screen. "Fine. You win. I hope you enjoy all those words of mine you just devoured."

Ruth glared at the laptop, wanting to growl at the infuriating thing. She'd just spent her scant thirty minute lunch break typing through fear and resistance to add to her growing romance novel -- only to have the computer eat all her progress.

She glanced at the clock on the corner of the screen and sighed. Just a few more minutes and then the bell would ring and a tumble of first graders fresh from recess would stream into the classroom, tracking mud and flinging sweaty jackets every which way no matter how often she asked them to put their things in their cubbyholes, please.

Ruth stood to gather up the leavings of her lunch, closing the computer document containing her novel. She loved her students, and loved getting to see them grow and change over the course of the school year. But she wasn't so sure she loved the teaching itself. She'd only gotten into education because she hadn't known what to do after she'd graduated from college, and the elementary ed program at Boston College was the only grad school degree program she could find that was still taking applications. And going back to live in her parents' home and once again be the whipping post for the pain of their soured marriage? Not an option.

And she'd actually thought that she'd love teaching. But while she didn't hate it . . . it wasn't her. It wasn't what lit her heart on fire. Writing did that.

But, as her father loved to point out, writing stories wasn't practical. It didn't pay the bills, didn't pay for hardly anything, really, except for the very talented or very lucky. "And you are neither," he'd said the day she'd announced that she had decided to earn a bachelor's degree in creative writing.

Ruth's stomach clenched at the memory of those words she'd never been quite able to shake, even after two more years of undergrad, a whirlwind single year of graduate school, and then three years teaching at this elementary school in Cambridge, one of her favorite parts of Boston. She still didn't know how she'd manage to snag this job; the competition had been impressive and copious.

But somehow she'd found herself here, and three years in she was realizing that as practical as "here" might be, it was slowly but surely draining her away. And there was no way out in sight. No wonder so many of the older teachers she'd met were so bitter; they'd been sucked dry, perhaps, just like she was.

Ruth tossed her lunch's remains into the trash, took a gulp from her water bottle, and stood for a moment in silence of the classroom. She massaged her fingers against the base of her skull, closing her eyes, wishing for the umpteenth time for a man that could do that for her every once in a while. Maybe that was why she was writing a romance novel, a genre that she'd always scoffed at as an undergrad. A guy to toy with her wild brunette curls, to rub her feet at the end of a long day, and to fondle her --

No
. She snapped her eyes open. No need to fantasize about something seemed likely to never happen, according to her completely awful dating batting average. Although that was hardly an appropriate analogy, Ruth thought as she flipped open her lesson planner to remind herself what was on tap for the afternoon. You couldn't have a batting average if you'd hardly been up at bat.  There just weren't any guys that made the risk seem worth it.

Ruth gazed around the room at the rather tired looking paper hearts and pink and red paper chains that were leftover from the previous week's welcome-back-to-school class party. All the children had exchanged little notes of friendship with each other, which they'd opened with such delight. They made her think of the Valentine’s Day parties she'd celebrated with her classmates as a child.  It had seemed so simple a thing, then, so easy to believe that love was in her future, that loneliness was no one's destiny. And yet here she was, a woman in the prime of her life who'd barely been touched in any sort of a romantic way, stuck in a job that she tried desperately to love and couldn't.
 

The bell that summoned the students in from recess shattered the silence of the room. Ruth sighed, then rolled her eyes. It seemed like all she did was sigh these days. With one last glare at the computer that had stolen the fruit of the little passionate labor she was allowed, she went to usher her first graders back to the classroom.

* * *

Derek pushed into the blonde writhing and moaning beneath him one last time and his orgasm broke at last, a mixture of pleasure and relief.  He remained inside of her for a moment, both of them breathing hard, the woman still moaning, and then he rolled off her with a sigh.  Since when had sex gotten so hard?  And not the good kind of hard, either.  It had never seemed to take so much work before. 

The blonde rolled to face him, trailing her fingers lightly over the smooth, honey colored skin of his chest.  He tried not to cringe at the touch.

“
That was so good, baby,” she murmured, voice husky.

He grunted in acknowledgment, gritting his teeth against the fingers still running over the defined abs he was so proud of.  And proud with good reason – he'd been a chubby kid, was mocked endlessly for his girth, and came from a family of obesity.  The odds had been against him, and yet here he was, with the body of a male model, able to attract any woman he desired to his bed.

Like this one, the blonde.  He was a lawyer at a high profile firm in downtown Boston, and had just stepped out to grab a quick lunch..  This woman, probably five years younger than his own nearly three decades and the buttoned up type, had practically begged him to steal away for a quick romp in the back of his SUV with its deeply tinted windows.  He usually rode the T to work, but today he'd decided to drive, and it looked like he'd picked the right day to do it.

It was his thing.  He'd spent his teen years losing the weight, and then his early twenties perfecting his pick-up vibe.  The key was to act like he didn't want it.  That drove the ladies crazy, he had discovered.  It'd become a game to him, the former fat kid, to see how many women he could bed.  It felt like vindication.

At least, it used to.  He'd long since lost track of his conquests, and now they felt more like routine than risque.  Like he was going through the motions.

“
You want another round?” the blonde said, looking up at him through her sweaty bangs, a single eyebrow piqued. 

Derek grabbed her hand, the one that was massaging his chest, making his skin crawl although he had no idea why . . . he usually loved this sort of thing.  “Sorry, Lucy” he said.  “I've got to get back to work.”

The woman snatched her hand away.  “Lucy?  What the hell!  My name is
Leanne
.”  She sat bolt upright and started reassembling her clothes as fast as she could.

He sighed, staring up at the plush gray ceiling of the SUV's interior.  “Sorry,” he said with a shrug, and almost meant it.

“
Perv,” she snapped as she exited the vehicle, eyes flashing not looking quite as buttoned up as she had when he'd met her at the cafe.  She slammed the door hard, making the SUV rock.  Derek heard her stiletto heels biting the pavement as she stalked back to who knew what kind of life.  He didn't even know what she did for a living.

Derek sighed again, sitting up and rubbing his face with his hands.  What had happened?  Where had the magic gone?  Sure, he could still get the girl, but he used to be able to learn the major details of her life before getting her in bed – and then remember them after.  That's part of what made him so good, that he could come across as boyfriend material without actually being it. 

And more than that, this used to be fun.

He grabbed his shirt and pulled it over his head, glancing at his watch.  Time to get back to the office.  He'd have to figure out what was going on with his duende after an afternoon of research and client meetings. 

* * *

“
Are you coming?”

Ruth looked up from her grading to see Padme, one of the school's third grade teachers and her good friend, sticking her head in through the classroom's door frame.  The hall stretched quiet behind her, the classrooms all empty except for a few lingering teachers cleaning up before heading home for the weekend.

“
Coming where?” Ruth asked, frowning.

Padme laughed, rolling her eyes.  “You are such a homebody.  Out for drinks and dancing with me and the girls tonight, silly.”

Ruth sighed.  “Oh right.  I forgot.  My kids are just . . . well, let's just say I'm glad it's the weekend.”

“
Tell me about it,” said Padme.  “So, are you going to come out with us?  It'll be me and Maddie and Cecilia, as usual . . . and you?”

“
I don't know, I'm exhausted . . .”

Padme swung into the classroom and came and sat on Ruth's desk, creasing the papers she'd been grading.  “No.  No excuses.  Last time we went out you promised you'd come the next time.  Well, this is the next time.  You're coming.”

“
Padme . . .”

“
You always are talking about how you're lonely,” her friend said, cocking an eyebrow at her.

“
I do not always – “

“
How else are you going to meet somebody if you're always sitting at home in your pajamas cuddling up with your cat?”

Ruth scowled.  “I like my cat.”

“
And I like him, too,” said Padme, “but Rufus is just no match for a man.  Especially when you're, um, horny.  And you have
got
to be horny, since you haven't gone on a date in eons.”

“
Padme!” Ruth protested, glancing toward the door.  “We're at
work
.” 

“
Well, I know I'm horny, and I only broke up with Henry a month ago.  I am
dying
.”

Ruth buried her head in her hands, hating the blush she felt running up her neck, racing toward her cheeks.  “Oh my gosh.  If I say I'll go, will you shut up?”

Padme grinned.  “I'll shut up if you promise.”

Looking up and swatting at her friend, Ruth pouted and replied, “Fine.  I promise.  Now will you go and stop wrinkling all my kids' papers?”

Padme slipped off the edge of the desk and headed out of the classroom, her thick curtain of straight black hair sashaying along with her.  “See you at Czar's at seven,” she tossed over her shoulder, leaving the golden scent of her musky perfume hanging in the air.

Ruth had met her when they were in grade school together in Waltham, and Padme had always been the sassy one.  When they hit puberty, she became the sexy one, while Ruth was always – well, queen of Friday nights home in her pajamas with Rufus. 
Which I quite enjoy, thank you very much
, she thought as she finished up with the last of the grading.

But Padme was right about one thing – Ruth was lonely.  And while she didn't think she'd meet the man of her dreams at a bar, she wouldn't mind a snuggling up with a male other than her cat.  Or maybe doing more than snuggling . . .

She shivered, then blinked as if remembering where she was.  Work.  School.  Grading.  Not the place for sexy fantasies. 

Well, usually.  Ruth glanced at her computer, the computer where she painstakingly added new words to her romance novel in whatever few minutes of her life were left after lesson planning and grading and parent teacher conferences and team meetings and tutoring sessions and PTA volunteering.  Sometimes she indulged in a little sensual writing at work, even though she still felt vaguely wrong about it, in the name of her dreams.  In the name of staying sane. 

Ruth shoved her chair back from the desk, throwing her marking pen down and cracking her knuckles.  Done, at least for now. 

She looked up at the wall clock that glowered from above the door.  There was just enough time to get home, grab some dinner and a shower, and go meet the girls at Czar's.  Even though donning her pajamas sounded a whole lot more alluring at the moment.