Girlebooks Presents
An Altered Ending
By Megan Trennett
© Copyright 2012 Megan Trennett
All Rights Reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other, except for brief quotations in printed reviews—without prior permission of the publisher.
Smashwords Edition
Published by Girlebooks at Smashwords.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, business organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictiously. The author’s use of names of actual persons (living or dead), places, and characters is incidental to the purposes of the plot, and is not intended to change the fictional character of the work or to disparage any company or its products or services. The book has not been prepared, approved, or licensed by any persons or characters named in the text, their successors, or related corporate entitities.
Chapter 1
“I’m really glad you came, Ellen.” Simon Avery said with a smile, leaning back in his chair as he sat at a table outside Greta’s, a café we had frequented together when I was in University. He extended the invitation to meet him through an e-mail, making my heart skip a beat from seeing his name in my inbox for the first time in six years. It was time stamped seven o’four in the morning, precisely two minutes before I gave up on sleeping a little longer and rolled out of bed almost an hour earlier than I needed to.
Ellen,
It’s been a while, and I hope you’re doing well.
There is something that has come up, and I would like to discuss it with you, preferably in person. I’ll be waiting at the Greta’s Café on the corner of fourth and ninth, between nine and ten this morning, and again between five and six this evening. If you want to meet another day, I’ll be happy to arrange it.
I hope to see you soon.
Sincerely,
Professor S. M. Avery
I read the e-mail three times before I believed it was real, analyzing every word to determine if it was one he would have used. Once I was convinced the letter was authentic, I didn’t hesitate to meet with him.
He had been my absolute favourite teacher in my entire schooling process. For his class, eight in the morning was not an ungodly hour. Missing social functions for his lectures was never heartbreaking. When I started his class, I didn’t believe I could be a writer, but by the end of it I felt it was a possibility. He was just that good.
He is not hard on the eyes either (then or now); Words like handsome, distinguished, and suave all swirled around my head when I looked at him. He had dark blond hair that I would have to say was somewhere between curly and wavy. He wore it short and untamed, yet it still managed to look perfectly styled all the time. His jaw was strong, but he never appeared stern. His indigo eyes always reflected his mood.
“I’m glad I checked my e-mail.” I said as I adjusted my thick framed, navy glasses, brushing the tips of my light brown bangs away from my deep blue eyes as I sat down across from him. I studied him, his casual pose: leaned back in the chair with one denim clad leg crossed over the other. He wore a gray sports coat over his light blue dress shirt. I was glad I didn’t dress up, despite wanting to. “I normally don’t have time for such an early morning rendezvous.”
He smiled, and there wasn’t a single wrinkle on his face. The hands of the clock had yet to affect him, even though he was two years short of forty. “You aren’t the kind to sleep in, from what I can recall.” He leaned forward to take a sip of his dry cappuccino. “Can I get you something to drink; a green tea perhaps?” He was still smiling.
“Yeah,” I smirked, subconsciously tugging at the bottom of my navy blue sweater. He was making me feel like I was nineteen again and I had been selected to be a part of his small coffee house chat with real writers. ‘Professor Avery’ had asked what I liked to drink and paid for it. I couldn’t believe he still remembered all these years later. “That would be great.”
He waved his hand in the air, turning to the waitress that was serving this section. He did it like they do in the movies, with a quick wave of the fingers, his index finger remaining towards the sky. The girl with curly, black hair, and a uniform consisting of a white shirt and a black skirt, came over right away. “Hi, could we get a green tea with a little honey, please?” He asked her politely. She smiled and nodded before disappearing into the building on our right. “So,” he said after she left, turning back to me and folding his hands on his chest.
“So,” I said, brushing my hands on my black jeans, wishing I had worn something a little nicer. “What’s going on - Simon.” I found it awkward to say his first name aloud in front of other people. ‘Simon’ was reserved for those times away from the classroom, when we were alone and calling him Professor Avery insulted him.
“I have an opportunity for you.” He started off, pulling his chair in a little closer as our waitress came back with my tea. He reached into his back left pocket, removing his wallet and grabbing a bill, handing it to her as he waved away the change. When she left, he continued. “My publisher, Derrick, is looking for some new writers. He’d love to see anything that doesn’t involve vampires or zombies. He’s looking for something edgy, imaginative, and different. He wanted to know if I had any students that would fit the bill, someone who could give him a completed novel in a few months; nothing major - a manuscript in range from seventy to one hundred thousand words.”
I laughed, “Simon, I haven’t been one of your students for years.”
“Still,” He said as he took gulp of his drink leaning back with a satisfied sigh. He twiddled his thumbs, watching them. “You were the first person I thought of when he mentioned it. You were always so creative.” He met my eyes and smirked.
My jaw dropped, and I tried hard to close it before I looked like an idiot in front of someone I held in such high regard. I stumbled over the words that wanted to come out. “I... I don’t have a novel.”
He shrugged it off. “So write one.” He replied, his smirk turning into a full blown smile.
“I haven’t written in years, not since I left school.” I blushed. How embarrassing to admit to the man who put time and effort into getting me to write that I had stopped after leaving school.
Simon laughed. “Well, what have you been doing all this time then?” I knew by his tone that he didn’t mean it as a jab, but he sounded disappointed.
“I work in a library.” I answered, taking a sip and looking down at my black shoes. I refused look up, feeling like a disappointment.
Silence came over us, and I could hear cars pass by on the street, a car alarm going off in the distance. I turned my attention to the sidewalk, watching people walk by while I tried not to look at him.
“Well, this could be your opportunity to start again.” I looked over, seeing him lean on the table. “You have a brilliant mind, Ellen. I think… No, I know you could do this.”
I did miss writing, but I thought of it more as my hobby than my possible profession. Even in university, I tried submitting my work, hoping I would become published while I was still under his watchful eye, but I received nothing but rejection letters, or worse, no letter at all.
I ended up in his class by chance after winning a scholarship I didn’t necessarily want. My guidance counsellor was so moved and impressed by my essay that she pushed it past the community college scholarship and went right for that of the local University. When I found out I won, I didn’t know what to do. I was planning on being a receptionist or a librarian, but after I listened to my mother’s advice I decided that I would go into the writing and literature programs. It was free education, and I enjoyed scribbling poems and little stories now and then. What I hadn’t counted on was being sucked into Simon’s class so much that I actually believed I could be a writer.
I tried really hard to impress him, and to become the writer he believed I could be, but once I stepped off the campus a graduate, things became complicated. I applied to the city library, got a job as a clerk, and barely wrote again.
“I’m,” I started, unable to look at him while I spoke. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to come up with an idea.” I took in a deep breath. “Maybe you should ask Liam, he would love the chance to be published, or maybe one of your other former students.”
I looked at Simon, seeing the amused grin on his face. Back in the position I found him in when I arrived, he looked unfazed by my confessions. “You’ll come up with one,” He said quietly. “I have to get back to the campus; I have a class in forty-five minutes.” He abruptly stood up, straightening up and tugging on the bottom of his jacket. He stared at me, standing tall above me. “Think about it, Ellen. Really think about it, please, and let me know what you want to do either way.”
I watched Simon walk away, turning and waving goodbye before he turned the corner and disappeared in the direction of the university.
I took a deep breath of the early spring air. It was a mild day in April; the leaves a vivid green around me, thick trunked trees lining the sidewalks and popping up in the spaces between buildings. That was the beauty of this city, it was full of greenery.
I heard birds chirping nearby and I contemplated the offer as I listened to their morning song and sipped my tea. I really didn’t feel I had anything worth writing. My long dormant story box was empty and filled with cobwebs. He really should have asked Liam Habib, a guy I met in Simon’s class.
Liam considered himself a true artist. He liked to walk around in mismatched clothes, with matted black hair jutting out in every direction from beneath some sort of hat. It would seem he couldn’t grow facial hair, despite the dark caramel color of his skin. He carried a bright coloured notebook with him at all times, always with unlined pages which he claimed allowed him to let his thoughts flow more freely. It rested in his book bag, tattered from years of lugging, beside his favourite fountain pen. He was currently experimenting with the earlobe-stretching fad that started up in recent years. Liam was one of my closest friends, at times beating out both Claire whom I had known my entire life, and Angela, the roommate I’ve had since my first year of University as the top honour of ‘closest’ mate.
I reached for my purse, which I had placed on the back of my chair, and dug out my cell phone. I downed the last of my tea before I finished dialling his number.
He picked up after one ring. “Yellow.” This was Liam's standard greeting. Again, he thought himself a true artist.
“Guess who I just had coffee with?” I asked, walking away from the café in the opposite direction from which Simon had left.
“Who?” He asked, sounding excited. I could hear the faint sounds of African tribal music in the background.
“Experimenting with sound again, are we?” I asked him, avoiding the question as a cute gray dog passed by me, excitedly chasing a fly while its owner tried to restrain it.
“Yeah, well, I have to get away from all the cultural stuff sometimes. It doesn’t always get the inspirational juices flowing, you know? Now, you’re avoiding the question.” He retorted quickly.
I shook my head as I grunted a ‘nuh-uh’ in the phone. “No, I told you, you have to guess.” I bit my lip, trying to suppress a smile.
“Okay, fine, umm….” He considered his answer for only a second before replying with a sarcastic, “Leonardo DiCaprio.” He blurted out. I knew Liam would say that, he always did. He hated guessing games, and loved saying Leo’s name. It sounded artsy. I rolled my eyes.
“Professor Avery.” I admitted, smiling a little too wide.
There was silence on the other end. Even the music stopped for my confession. Then came the, “Say what?”
“Professor Avery asked me to have coffee with him.” I replied, saying the words carefully, turning and making my way onto the busiest street of the city. There was almost always bumper-to-bumper traffic here, and pedestrians constantly filled the sidewalks. The trees along this strip of road were thinner and further apart but the city council made up for it by planting bushes between the roads and the sidewalks and making a bylaw that all buildings needed a small garden box in front.
When he spoke again, obviously a little shocked by my confession, Liam laughed. “I thought the affair ended on graduation day.” He was joking, but the words caused my heart to jump in my throat and a tiny bit of resentment creep into my system.
As much as Simon was my favourite, I was his. We were friends as much as we were student and teacher. He’d call on me in class frequently for free-fall writing ideas, see one another outside of school, and say ‘hi’ as we passed each other in the halls with smirks that made it seem we were in on a secret that no one else knew. All that, combined with the coffee house talks and the many times people watched me go into his office, started a rumour that I was involved with him: The Book Worm with the Professor. My mother had lectured me when she heard about it, reminding me that he was somewhere between her age and mine. No one brought up the ‘affair’ again after I graduated, though I’m pretty sure the scandal and excitement of it died out mid second year when I had started dating a science major named Kirk.
“Oh ha-ha, Liam; jerk. There was no affair.” It didn’t matter to me if he knew the truth; I still snapped at him for bringing it up. “He wanted to offer me a chance at getting stuff published.”
“What the fuck?” It took a lot for Liam to outright curse. “How?”
“A friend - someone in the business.” I said as I walked up three stairs on my right that led to the library. I sat down on the fourth, unable to go inside while chatting on my cell phone, and unwilling to let Liam go right away. “I told him he should be asking you.” I leaned into the shade of a tall tree in the library garden.
“Nah, I’ve already got an editor looking at one of my books. Really, there isn’t any sense in trying to go another route while I’m so close to publication greatness.” Liam always had an editor looking at his stuff, just like he always had a buyer interested in his paintings. Liam was also scrawny, the poster boy starving artist. “Maybe you should go for it.” I grunted at his suggestion. “Come on, if you did, what would you publish?”
“I have nothing to publish.” I tugged at my chin length strands of hair, feeling the fear of disappointing someone creeping in. “I haven’t written in years, and what I did in school was too short for what he wants. His friend is looking for a novelist, not a person with a collection of cruddy short stories.” I sighed heavily.
“Well,” Liam started. “Start writing, I guess. I mean, come on, what’s the worst that could happen? You don’t get published? You could earn just enough to have as a starter savings. I mean, really, librarians don’t get paid that much.”
“I’m not a librarian, I’m a clerk.” I corrected him. “And I have to head inside and start work.” I stood up as I spoke. “Would you like me to tell your girlfriend you say hi?”
“Nah, I’ll see Claire later. Ciao.” He said goodbye and hung up before I had a chance to say anything else. I hit the end button on my cell and put it back in my purse. I didn’t want to go in yet. I found the slow-moving cars interesting, or at least distracting in the way being around books all day may not be.
I couldn’t delay it, though. Time was not on my side. I stood up, turned, and climbed the rest of the small set of stairs and entered the building.
Instantly, the mixture of paper dust, slightly stale air, and a slight hint of musk hit my nose. I breathed in, loving the smell despite what it was made up of. It was deafeningly quiet, as it always is in a library; you could hear every cough, every cleared throat, and every turned page.
I walked towards the front desk, moving around it to head for the staff lounge in the back. Claire and Stephanie, one of the other clerks we worked with, were both behind the desk. “Morning,” I whispered loudly and waved as I passed them by.
Claire was huge: An amateur body builder, she stood six inches taller than my five feet four inches, and weighed at least fifty pounds more than my one hundred thirty five. She had short hair that she bleached blonde and spiked in every direction, yet, despite all this, she still appeared feminine. She wore skirts to work almost every day, and her make-up was always natural. She didn’t tan, like most body builders did, choosing to remain a pasty white. This made her dark eyebrows and her dark brown eyes her strongest feature.
Stephanie was a tiny girl, rail thin and sweet. She wore glasses with frames much thinner than mine, and freckles on her thin cheeks that you could see clearly from a short distance. Her hair was shoulder length, red, and unfathomably straight. Stephanie liked wearing pink, always pastel, and usually a dress. Other than these obvious things, and the fact that she married her high school sweetheart, no one really knew all that much about Stephanie.
As I walked down the corridor, I could hear Claire coming down the hall with a firm step and I tried not to smile.
“What’s going on?” Claire asked, her voice getting louder as we left the main part of the library. “Why are you so smiley?”
“I’m not,” I replied in a loud whisper before I pushed open the staff room door and went inside. She followed behind me, allowing the door to click shut before she spoke in her normal tone.
“You are - Very smiley. What’s going on?” She asked again, placing herself in front of the door and crossing her arms.
“I was just told by Simon Avery that…” I started to say, but Claire cut me off.
“Whoa, wait.” She held up her hands. “Professor Avery. The creative writing teacher you had a huge thing for?”
I blushed. Claire and Angela were the only people I had ever admitted my crush on Simon to. I sighed heavily. “Okay, yes, that Simon Avery. Anyway, the point is he thinks he could get me published. He told me he thinks I should write a novel, and if I do, he’ll give it to his publisher.”
Claire’s eyes grew misty. “Oh my god, Elle.” She hugged me. “Your Mom will be so happy.” She swung me side to side.
“I know.” I said softly. Thinking about my mother always made me neutralize from any happy state, “Though I don’t know if I want to tell her.”
Claire just nodded in understanding. “Hey,” She perked up again. “Are you going to come with me to the gym tonight?”
I nodded and moved. I glanced at the picture of my mother and me right after my graduation, placed directly beneath one with Liam, Claire, Angela and me, and another with Simon and myself. Memories flooded my mind for a brief moment as I studied my mother’s frozen smile. “Right after I see her.”
“I can drop you off, save you some busing time.” Claire offered up. “You think you’ll be your usual hour?”
“Yeah,” I nodded. “Then we’ll hit the gym.”
I could see her reflection in the mirror of my locker grinning at me as if she just told a joke at my expense. I shoved my purse inside, closing and locking my locker. “What?” I asked as I turned to face her.
“I was just thinking of trying to get you to bench press thirty pounds.” She mused and we both laughed.
Chapter 2
Hospices are horrible, awful places. You can smell the death through the air fresheners the nurses install to try and mask it. People are so frail and miserable, and you feel exceptionally bad for those who had been abandoned there by their families. The nurses dress in bright coloured scrubs and try to be cheerful, but there is always one or two of them who are sad; someone dies every day in a hospice.
I made my way past the front desk where one of them greeted me by first name. I waved to her, but she ducked her head back down and I hadn’t recognized the voice.
I didn’t need directions to my destination; I had been here almost every single day for the last three months. I passed by patients’ rooms, said a polite hello to their children or spouse as we came to know each other only as someone else in an unfortunate situation.
I came to the door, thankful it was wide open, and walked in.
She was beautiful, even with ashen skin and sunken gray, once blue, eyes. There was no hair left on her head, and she had very thin eyebrows. She always wore a scarf on her head that matched her shirt. Today’s color was pink. She was tiny and frail, the chemo taking way too much out of her right down the last failed treatment. But at least she had morphine in her, I could tell because she was livelier when she wasn’t in pain. My mother looked over at me with a smile.
“Ellie, why are you here?” she was only half annoyed that I showed up like I had every other night. “Didn’t I tell you last night I was fairly certain I was going to be alive another couple of days?”
“Funny, mom.” I said, walking over to her bed and sitting down on the edge of it. I pulled a bottle of apple juice out of my bag and set it on the tray table over her bed. She leaned over to the night stand and grabbed a couple of plastic cups. It made me happy when the simple action didn’t seem to exhaust her; all of this misery over a stupid mole on her inner thigh, a testament to how unfair life is.
“How was the library today? Dusty?” She asked. I unscrewed the cap on the juice, chuckling as I poured. “Any good rumours?”
I paused with Simon crossing my mind. I snorted, “Not yet.” I said as I set the bottle down and looked up at my mother.
I could tell she was instantly suspicious but didn’t push. I was a little thankful that she didn’t. “How’re Liam and Claire?” She always jumped to them first, curious if anything had gone awry in paradise.
“They’re okay. I think Liam will be a little mad at me for a while, but he can screw off. Claire is going to try to make me a beast.” I tried to avoid the topic but there was something about being around your only living relative (other than an aunt I would have rather not been around) that made me spill everything while I still had the chance.
Mom looked at me, watching me as she slowly sipped her apple juice. She was exaggerating the movement, which I knew would be difficult. “Why,” She said slowly, “will Liam be mad at you for a while?”
“Because, I think I’m going to be published before the year is out.” I blurted it out but I wouldn’t look Mom in the eye until it was completely spoken.
She beamed, “Oh, honey, that’s wonderful. But when have you had time to write anything? You spend all your free time in hospitals with me.”
This would be a hurtle that I would have to climb over instead of jump. And I would have to climb over it one foot at a time. “I haven’t written anything yet. But I think I might. I don’t know. I haven’t really decided. I don’t want to make Liam upset with me.”
Mom was not impressed by my answer. “Ellen, how many times do I have to tell you to do what you want to do, not what you think will make people happy?”
“I know.” I said solemnly. For my sake, my mom dropped the last part she used to say: time is precious and life is short. “Claire wants me to go on a blind date in the next couple of days.” I offered a change in conversation. Mom perked up.
“Oh? That will be nice. You’re going to actually go this time, right? I’m not going to just croak. I know when I’ll croak, and it won’t be this week.” She paused. “Or the next.”
I sighed and rolled my eyes. “Yes mom, I will go. His name is Jared. That’s all I know, so don’t start asking for details.”
“How does Claire know him?” She asked, folding her hands on her lap like an old lady. Leave it to her to figure out the one thing I would have forgotten to tell her and get around my request.
“He’s a trainer at the gym.” I shrugged.
“The one you two go to? How is it a blind date then?” Mom threw her arms up in the air and dropped them on to the bed.
I laughed, an honest heartfelt laugh, at Mom’s dramatization. “Because I don’t know him, and he has only seen me. Remember, Claire goes there far more often than I do. She practically knows the trainers’ entire life stories. Besides, if I went to the gym to meet a man, I wouldn’t work out so hard.”
My mother studied me for a second. “Something’s different.” She accused.
“Nothing’s changed.” I said simply. “So, tell me, has Aunt Olivia called today?” I asked, wanting to steer the topic away from me.
Mom waved her hand at the question, “Only three or four times. You know, your cousin Lisa is in her second trimester? She barely fits into the desks at school now. I keep telling Olivia that that’s what she gets for trusting that her daughter was not messing around with boys at fifteen.”
“You trusted that I wasn’t.” I retorted with a snort.
“I did, but you didn’t really, truly show an interest in boys until college, which is what I liked. I didn’t care if you got pregnant then, but after your dad died I worried I was going to fail you as a parent.”
It made us both solemn to think of dad. He passed away in a car accident when I was eight. He hit a patch of black ice and swerved uncontrollably towards an eighteen-wheeler coming down the other side of the highway. “You never failed me, mom.” I responded simply, knowing it was true.
“Ha,” she laughed. “Yeah, right.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“If I paid a little more attention after you moved out, I would have realized you were having an inappropriate relationship with a professor.” I rolled my eyes at her, knowing she was joking. “How is Professor Avery these days? Do you talk to him much?”
There it was: Mom asking a question that I was hoping would never be brought up. I was hoping I could have avoided it altogether. “Just today, actually. He’s the one who can help me get published.”
“Ah,” She said, smiling wide. “And the puzzle pieces come together. No wonder you’re worried that Liam will be mad. Does he know?”
“Yes, he does.” I replied quickly. “Mom, really, can we not talk about Simon? It’s not important. I just have to write something and hand it over to him so he can pass it along.”
“Fine,” Mom raised her hands in defense. She glanced at the clock. “It’s pretty much time for Claire to get you. Go on, I’m still going to be here for a while. Go get hot for the gym trainer.” She smiled as she shooed me away.
I smiled. “Fine,” I stood and reached for her, hugging her gently. “Love you, Mom.”
“Love you too, Ellie.” She said back and kissed my cheek.
I stood upright and grabbed my purse as Claudia, one of Mom’s favourite nurses came in. “Oh, hi Ellen.” She smiled brightly. “Helene, they’re having a game of Monopoly in Larry’s room if you want me to get a chair and bring you over.”
“Tell them I’m the dog on your way by.” Mom confirmed as I headed for the door. “Have a good night, Ellie.”
I waved again and left the hospice quickly, Claire’s idling car waiting outside for me.
“Please tell me you told your mother you weren’t going to be by Thursday.” Claire asked me as she ran with ease on the treadmill beside me. I was panting, sweating, and completely self-conscious about being beside this rock hard goddess.
“I did,” I panted, glancing at the fuzzy looking Claire on my right. I couldn’t see that far ahead of me, maybe three feet. The giant window which faced onto the street bathed in night showed people, or blobs in my case, walking by. “She informed me countlessly that she wasn’t going to fall over and die while I was out.”
Claire laughed. She didn’t like coming in with me to see my mother, the hospice environment not jiving with her emotional stability, but she had always loved her, called her ‘mom’ and treated her like one. She once commented that the illness gave Mom a new level of humour, that the cynicism that came out a lot of the time was entertaining, especially when it was at my expense.
“You know she’s right, Elle.” Claire said as the high beat techno song over the loud speaker changed to yet another high beat techno song. “Oh, Dwight’s working tonight.” She chuckled. “Are you looking forward to Thursday at least? I really think you’ll like Jared.”
I had to catch my breath in order to answer. “Sort of, I guess. I suppose I hadn’t had a date since Leon left. And that was, what, a year ago?”
She nodded. “When your mother passes away, do you think he’d go the funeral? I mean, he was around for most of it. Five years, wasn’t it?”
“Four, and a half.” I corrected her, slowing down the machine so I could ease up on my run. “And he was messing around with Angela’s friend for a while, so I don’t know if that counts. Not to mention he left right before Mom’s last surgery. If he showed up I’d be tempted to shove him in the grave with her so she can torture him for eternity.” I never liked talking about Mom’s inevitable death, but in some ways it did make things a little easier. It kept me focused on the fact that life would go on without her.
“Did you tell her about the publishing thing?” Claire reached over and slowed my speed a little more.
“I did.” I responded with greater ease. Claire stopped her machine altogether. “She thinks it great.”
“Did you tell her who was offering it?” Claire’s tone was accusing. I stopped my machine now that I was able to breathe and talk.
“Yes.”
“And?” She moved over to the bench press. She got into position on the bench, reaching up and grabbing the bar. I took my place behind the bar rest and waited to spot her. It was only for show, Claire kept count in her head and sometimes went past the reps she wanted to do anyway.
“I told her it was Simon.” I shrugged.
She raised the bar off the rest and began her first rep. “Did you tell Liam?”
I couldn’t lie to her about this one, and I did feel bad for actually spilling it to him first. It meant that he would have had time to dwell on it, so he wouldn’t be in a pleasant mood when she got home. “Yes,” I replied flatly.
“Fantastic.” She replied sarcastically as she continued on with her reps.
“Sorry.” I apologized sincerely. Liam was a handful when he was in any sort of mood.
“Don’t be. Just tell me how Mom reacted when you told her Simon was behind the good news.” She smirked, unable to laugh outright with the weights in her hands.
“She said she understood why I didn’t want to upset Liam,” I shrugged. “But she didn’t say much more on the subject.” I considered Mom’s remarks. “Do you really think that Liam will be all that upset about it?”
“What, about Avery?” Claire questioned. At this point I was pretty sure she was past her rep total. It should be time for heftier weights I would imagine. “Liam still thinks the guy’s a pig. He still thinks there was more going on behind closed doors than what you let on. But at the same time he believes you’re smart and wise enough not to.” She paused, resting the bar over her head and sat up slowly, “to have slept with the guy.”
I nodded, seeing the point she brought up. Liam refused to talk to me about his distaste for Simon, and I never understood it myself, because he enjoyed the classes and made great marks. He was top of the class, actually, yet the second we stepped foot outside of the classroom Liam became cold towards him. I was a little surprised at the calmness he retained while I told him who I had had coffee with this morning.
Claire stood up and I followed her into the locker room. “Showering here or just towelling off?” She asked as we walked past the door frame and over to the giant orange lockers.
“Towelling off,” I said quickly. I stopped using public showers when I left school and had no intentions of going back to them, but Claire still asked regardless. I opened my locker and grabbed my ratty old towel which now served its new purpose as sweat rag.
“Fair enough; I’ll give you a ride home.” She said as she grabbed her perfect new towel that she had bought from the gym the same day I signed up. “I’m also going to call you to bitch you out if Liam is in a bad mood.”
I laughed, “I’m okay with that.” What else could I say? He’s your problem now? These were my people, and if Claire said something to me that upset me, Liam would growl at her.
We exited to the parking lot, got in the car, and took off to my apartment building, which was in the older part of town where the buildings were reminiscent of old Christmas paintings. The apartment I shared with Angela was perfect, a loft above the antique looking shops, and we lived above an optometrist’s office which meant we never heard the noises of customers when we were home. Though with the extensive sound proofing, it’s highly unlikely we would have heard anything anyway.
Claire let me out just in front of the building, and I reached over and gave her a half hug before hopping out of the car and making my way around the back of the building where the stairs to my place were. I turned the locks on both the door and deadbolt before making my way inside.
It was well lit with a giant picture window immediately across from the door way covered with sheer white curtains that allowed both the sun and city night light to creep in without the neighbours getting a good view of the inside. Light wood laminate flooring went throughout the entire loft including the two bedrooms. The living room was open to include the kitchen, with only the oak island with the black marble counter top dividing the two spaces. We had stainless steel appliances that we hardly ever used but were still nice to have.
Our bedrooms were across from each other at the end of the hall. Mine was on the left, the same side as our giant bathroom which doubled as our laundry room.
Our beautiful apartment was filled with discarded furniture from my old house. When she decided to go into hospice care, my Mom sold the house and any furniture I didn’t want. I took my queen bed, which was a top priority, as well as a new leather sofa that made me think of college days and a particular someone I spent my time with. I also took a coffee table set that was dark wood and contrasted the floors, my old bedroom set, a desk for my room, and my mother’s giant flat screen, wall mount television.
For a pharmacist and a librarian clerk we did pretty well; we made enough money together to pay the rent, our individual cell phone bills, internet and utilities and still have money left over that we could each be a little frivolous, though I chose not to be.
I walked into the living room, and found Angela sitting on the couch watching a movie. Her shoes were on the floor in front of the couch, her dark panty hose in a bundle beside them. She was still wearing her skirt and blouse, a rarity, as she would normally have changed into pajamas by now.
“Did you go to the gym with Claire?” She questioned as she snacked on a bag of potato chips. She had a freakishly fast metabolism. Angela ate all kinds of fatty foods and never had to worry about a thing. I was a little envious of that, because even with my vegetarian diet I had to be careful of everything I consumed. The first two years my mom was sick I found myself eating out of stress, and soon found that I no longer fit in any of my regular clothes. That was the first time I signed up for a gym membership.
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m hitting the shower and then turning in for the night, I think.” I said, stepping closer to the couch.
Angela shrugged. “Okay, enjoy.” She then spun her head quickly in my direction. “Hey, do you mind if Alec comes by Thursday night for a bit?” Alec was her fifty year old boyfriend, in the middle of his second divorce, whom she met at the drug store.
“I’m going on that date Thursday night anyway.” I answered with a shrug.
“Oh yeah, I forgot. Anyways, goodnight, Elle.” She returned her focus to her movie. I glanced at the television before heading down the hall, and saw she was watching Romeo and Juliet, her favourite movie. I made my way into the bathroom to shower.
I thought more about my options when it came to publishing a novel. I did want to write again, and had started and stopped many times over the last six years, but I lacked the motivation. Now I had some, and the more I thought about doing it, the more I enjoyed it. It was like I was pushing the idea in my head as I lathered my hair, rinsed away the objections as I removed the soap from my tresses. By the time I was finished washing the gym and the day off my skin and towel dried, I knew all I had to do was think of an idea.
When I crept back into my bedroom and changed into my flannel pajamas I went to my computer and recalled a folder I hadn’t opened in years: Stories from Simon’s class.
I selected a few that contained a character I had based loosely on Simon, but refined more as I got to know him. I opened these and printed them on my laserjet printer, stapled them together, curled into the center of my dark purple sheets, and read every word I had written until I couldn’t keep my eyes open.
When I awoke the next morning my bed was covered in sheets, my glasses still on my face, and the seed of the novel I would start to write firmly planted in my head.
Chapter 3
I put little effort into my job the following day. I scanned library cards and books coming in and out, and managed to sort them into the appropriate return bins, but nothing beyond what was required. Being a Wednesday it was slow, so I brought my laptop to work and kept it open discreetly beneath the front counter. I wasn’t the only person who has done this; quite often Claire or Stephanie would bring theirs as well. The librarians didn’t care as long as everything got sorted out and properly filed.
With the idea that I woke up with clear and vivid in my head I typed furiously on the keyboard, sparing absolutely no details on everything I saw in my imagination; editing was for hacking back the parts that don’t really matter.
Claire would walk by and peek over my shoulder to see if she could read anything, but I was typing too quickly and kept my word processor window open at half size.
“What’s it about?” She asked in a loud whisper about half way through the day. She was carrying a huge stack of thick, hardcover books in one hand with no difficulty, causing a group of high school football players to stare wide eyed at her.
“I’m not one hundred percent sure yet.” I half lied. I knew the basic structure: my tortured soul from college, (a character I named Landon after hearing a girl at the bus stop call her son’s name), had grown up from his younger days of fighting mythical wars as a soldier. I made him a strong, wise captain of the guard. I didn’t know much else except that he would still be in love with the same princess he loved years before. He had been my favourite character to write about, and I was fairly sure that Simon thought he would be my bestselling novel, but Landon never made it past graduation day.
“I don’t believe you.” Claire set the books down and brushed her hands together to remove the paper dust particles. “But I am taking you out to lunch. Come on, Steph is here, we can head out now.”
I finished typing my sentence, saved my file, and shut the lid to my laptop. I stood up, smoothing down the denim skirt I had had since my university days and turned on my ballet flats. “I just have to grab my sweater from out back.” I gestured down the hall to the staff room. I didn’t wait for a response from Claire; she took over the counter and looked after a young girl as I disappeared.
There were a couple of librarians in there quietly eating lunch. I always found it amusing that even in this sound proof room they still never spoke, and when they did it was always in a whisper. Did they go home and keep everything at minimum volume? Was anything louder than a whisper deafening for these women? I smirked at my internal pondering as I removed my cardigan from its brass hook. I felt in my pocket before leaving the lunchroom and made sure that the twenty-dollar bill I stashed in my pocket was still there before leaving.
Claire was already in the lobby staring aimlessly at a World War II display in the glass case as she waited for me. She didn’t say anything when I walked up to her, simply turning and making her way to the door. I followed her, hands in my cardigan pocket, the fingers on my right hand gripping the twenty.
The sunlight hit my eyes hard, and I raised my left hand up to shield them from the glare. I looked up at Claire who was doing the same thing with her left hand. “Where we going?” I asked when I couldn’t take the silence any longer.
“I figured we could try that new sandwich shop just down the road from here. I heard they make a fantastic vegan chicken sandwich. You game?”
“Absolutely.” I replied. Fake chicken seemed pretty appealing at the moment even though it was not my favorite faux meat. “Who did you hear that from?” I asked curiously. Claire was a vegan where I simply didn’t eat meat. I didn’t have her level of commitment as I was still a sucker for eggs and couldn’t get used to soymilk. Other than one another, we hadn’t really come across anyone else who truly shared our taste in food.
“Liam, actually. He’ll be joining us today, if you don’t mind.” She stated because she already knew I wouldn’t, so I didn’t bother responding either. We stopped at the crosswalk and waited for traffic before we made our way to the other side of the busy street. “So, are you ever going to tell us what you’re writing?”
“Not yet,” I answered quickly as she led the way to the shop’s entrance. I could see Liam inside at a table, scribbling or doodling in his notebook while he waited for us. His head was bobbing along to some sort of music. “I want to get a few chapters in before I let people really know what it’s about.”
I studied the menu with Claire after she waved like mad to get Liam’s attention. The restaurant had a separate menu for all the vegan food, which is where I let my eyes wander over the choices. After reading over the menu a couple of times, I decided to take Liam and Claire’s suggestion and choose the chicken sandwich. We ordered and grabbed our food when the clerk called it, then made our way to the table Liam had been sitting at and began to eat.
“Guess what Ellen’s been doing all day?” Claire said between bites, filling a silence that the three of us rarely shared.
“What?” He asked.
“Writing.” Claire sounded like a proud mother.
“That’s nice.” Liam said sarcastically.
I tried to make out his reaction, why he was avoiding my eyes. “Liam?”
“Yeah?” He said with a mouthful of Montreal steak meat. He picked up his pen and started doodling again.
“What’s up with you?” I asked carefully.
He didn’t respond, but what Claire said next gave me a clue as to what was going on inside his head. “She’s going out with Jared tomorrow night.”
Liam’s head shot up and he smiled, meeting my eyes for the first time since we arrived at the sandwich shop. “Great,” he said with approval. “Jared is awesome. I think you’ll really like him.”
“Wait, how do you know this guy?” I was looking back and forth between the two of them. How did half of my intimate group of friends, the ones that I held on to as my life fell apart, know who my blind date was and I didn’t?
“Claire’s brought him by our place a couple of times.” Liam took another mouth full of food, barely swallowing before he added, “Great Pictionary player.”
“You guys play Pictionary? How often?” Had I really lost touch with the current events around me? I didn’t even know they still made Pictionary.
“Only when we’re drunk.” Claire rested a hand on my shoulder for reassurance. It didn’t help, and I still felt like I had slipped away. How often did they get drunk? How often did they party without me?
“I don’t go out much, do I?” This question was more for me than for them. I really started to wonder when the last time I went out and had fun was. I mean, really had fun? I knew it was long before I thought it was better that I stayed with Mom at home. I thought it was better to take care of her myself, because we couldn’t afford a nurse. It was definitely before Mom’s new gynaecologist noticed the mole, and that happened the week I finished University.
No, the last time I had real fun was a party just before graduation, and I use the term ‘party’ loosely. There was Liam, Claire, Angela, their significant others, myself, and Simon. It wasn’t a disaster to take the professor that Liam and I shared to a social event, but it didn’t go over perfectly either. Liam didn’t speak to me until we got our marks and learned that I did not get top mark in Creative Writing like he was assuming I would.
“No, Elle, you really don’t.” Liam said sympathetically, reaching across the table and resting the hand holding his pen on my wrist. “And you won’t if you take up writing.”
“Don’t discourage her,” Claire snapped at him, slapping the hand holding his sandwich. “She was flying today. Just,” Claire stopped, finding it easier to mimic with exaggeration the speed in which I typed.
Liam laughed and rolled his eyes. “Alright, fine, as long as you’re writing for you.”
“Who else would I be doing it for?” I asked with a sharp tone. I knew what he was hinting at. Clearly he had time to think about my offer from Simon, and he clearly saw more into it than he had yesterday. He didn’t answer me and didn’t look up until Claire changed the subject.
The afternoon went by in a flash. I had told Stephanie I would watch the desk and she could go out on the floor, giving me the chance to finish writing. I was impressed that by the end of the day I had managed to hit ten thousand words.
When three o’clock came, my work day was finished and I was exhilarated. It felt good to stretch my creative muscle. I packed my laptop up in its bag, stuffing the in cord, and looking around the desk to make sure I had everything. Since I still had my cardigan on from earlier, I didn’t have to go into the back for anything else. With everything ready to go, I smiled to myself and I headed straight for the doors.
I crossed the street, heading to catch a bus that would take me the opposite direction of home. Despite what I said in the diner, there was one person I wanted to share my writing with. I wanted to tell him I had an idea, a plot, a character, and it was working for me. I wanted to tell Simon.
I knew Liam would hate me for it; without a shadow of a doubt, he would not approve of my hopping a bus to the University to pay a visit to someone he wanted desperately for me to leave in the past. Liam would want to be the first to know exactly what creative genius I had and what brought the creative thoughts to mind. Yet I quickened my pace to catch the bus that was pulling up to the bus stop as I neared it, filed on, and took a seat by the window. I spent the fifteen minute bus ride to my destination listening to soulful vocals on my iPod, trying not to feel either overly nervous or overly excited.
Tingles of anticipation crept across my skin as I approached the campus. I got off at the University’s bus terminal, walking almost too quickly up the stairs at the back of the building. I was hoping it would be okay for guests to enter this way, but it didn’t appear anyone was around to stop me otherwise.
I wasn’t sure if I could recall exactly where Simon’s office was, let alone know if he had the same one. If it hadn’t been for Simon saying he had a class to get to yesterday, I wouldn’t have known for sure if he still taught here.
I followed the overhead signs that directed me to the front desk though my memories of the school’s layout came back to me with every step. I approached the front desk, feeling my posture straighten instinctively as I did. When I was in school, especially my first year, I thought it made me seem older and more mature, or at the very least more refined.
“Can I help you?” The perky woman on the other side of the reception desk asked me. She reminded me of a blond Stephanie.
“Yes, I’m here to see Simon Avery.” I said as elegantly as I could without sounding uptight or snooty. “Is he in his office?”
She bit her lip and looked sternly at a computer screen, typing quickly on her keyboard, then ran her finger along the monitor, a thing that I would have slapped her fingers for if it were my own. “No, Doctor Avery is actually running a late lecture in room three.” She looked up. “Did you want me to send along the message that you’re here? His class ends in about seven minutes.”
“No, that’s okay.” I replied. “I’ll just meet him at the door, I know my way.” I nodded to her and didn’t wait to hear if she objected. I walked down the all too familiar halls and made my way to the lecture room that would no doubt flood my senses with long suppressed memories. When I approached the door I could hear his voice booming from the other side and a roar of laughter from the class.
I put my hand on the door, biting my lip and closing my eyes as I remembered what it was like to watch him teach all those years ago. I took a deep breath and quietly pushed the door open.
I peered down to the stage below, past the heads of so many aspiring writers; looking at their faces, I judged them to be third or fourth year students.
Simon had his back turned in my direction as he walked along of the first rows. I moved off to the side, where I thought I would be just out of view. I leaned against the velvet draped walls and listened to him teach.
“…years can pass,” he was saying, “Before you write a single word. You may leave this room in, what is it now, one, maybe two months from graduation, and never write another word again. You could be publishers or editors if Dr. Sawyer’s new style of teaching grammar didn’t ruin you all too much.” He smiled as the class laughed. “Yet I assure you, all of you at some point will feel the need to pick up the pen once more, so to speak. I mean, let’s face it; most of you type away the stories now. But you will want to write again, be it out of creative need, or the opportunity presenting itself to start again.” He scanned the back rows, probably to make sure that everyone was paying close attention, and to see who he would pick on for not knowing what he just said, all in good humour of course. Yet he froze and his smile grew larger. “Isn’t that right, Miss Mitchell?” I knew he was talking to me, even though he was facing somewhere near the middle. He was scanning farther ahead than where his head was turned, and he spotted me hiding in the back. “Alright, that’s enough of me talking for the day. Thank you all, have a great evening, remember that it’s Wednesday and you shouldn’t be partying too hard.”
I watched as people started to grab their things and leave. I hung around the back until everyone was gone, noticing Simon was making his way towards me from the back of the crowd. “I like that your teaching style hasn’t changed.” I commented when he was only a few feet away.
“Oh come on, don’t make me feel old.” He said simply with a shrug of his shoulders.
“Shush, you aren’t old.” I smirked as he stood directly beside me.
“I’m almost forty.” He reminded me.
“Forty is the new thirty.” I waved the remark away. “And if I remember correctly, you had a fantastic thirtieth.” We laughed together.
“Amazing, I believe, was the word I used to describe it. Teaching the next day with a hangover wasn’t exactly fun, as I’m sure learning with one was also horrible.” He grinned deviously.
I blushed, slightly. “I only went to your class because I figured if I didn’t show up, you would probably be mad.” I couldn’t meet his eyes as I remembered his thirtieth birthday. We celebrated together, a pair of friends having a good time, and perhaps a little too much beer. On a weekday we closed the bar, something two responsible adults should have known not to do. All in all, however, we had a good time. Actually, we had a great time.
“What’s up, Ellen?” He asked as the memory darted across my mind. I finally met his eyes.
“I wrote today.” I stated simply. His interest wasn’t what I would call piqued, I seemed to already have it in full, but it was heightened. “In fact I wrote about ten thousand words if you can imagine.”
“Really?” he smiled. “Are you trying to tell me something?”
I looked away again. “I might be telling you that I’ll try my best to take you up on your offer.” I brushed my bangs away from my eyes before turning to look back.
Simon was beaming with what could only be pride. “Really? You are?” I nodded. “Ellen,” he was lost for words in a brief moment. “That is absolutely fantastic.”