Learning Curve Page 7

  “It’s not like that.” She stood up and dumped the shards of ceramic in the trash while Mary continued washing dishes.

  “It’s not? How is it different this time?” Mary listed possible alternatives to a one-night stand like she was checking off a grocery list. “You want a relationship? You want to date her?”

  “Come on, dating is for kids. I haven’t been on a date since…well, since you.”

  Mary’s face went pink, and her voice softened. “Carrie isn’t like the hundreds of women you’ve been with in the past ten years. For a start, she’s not going to let you hurt her.”

  “You think I want to hurt her?” Ash was stung by the idea. Hurting Carrie was the last thing she intended.

  “No, and that’s why I’m asking you to stop and think before you act this time.” Mary put her arm around Ash’s shoulder. “You know I love you. I just want you to be careful with Carrie. She deserves that, and so do you.”

  “I’m not sure I know how to do things like that,” Ash confessed.

  “Like what?” Mary asked.

  Ash shrugged.

  Mary tossed the sponge at her unexpectedly, splashing water across her shirt.

  “Hey,” Ash laughed, tossing it back at her.

  Mary quickly grabbed the spray handle on the sink and pointed it at Ash as though prepared to squirt her at any second. “Stop avoiding me, or you’ll get drenched,” she warned. “What is it that you’re so afraid of?”

  Ash felt her cheeks getting even warmer. “The whole handholding, trips to the movies, or dinner, or whatever two people supposedly do before they get to doing what it is they really want to do with each other. I’m not good at it.”

  Mary put down her water weapon. “It’s been a while, but I remember a time when you did all those things, and I think deep down you do, too.”

  All Ash could do was nod. She wondered for the first time in years if she was even capable of having a real relationship. She liked sex, and she was good at it. She’d grown so accustomed to focusing on the physical that she no longer even thought about any other level of connection. She had friends, and she had sex, and the two hadn’t gone together for a long time. Even if she wanted them to, she wasn’t sure if she could make that happen.

  “I should get going,” she said. “I have to teach the League of Women Voters how to change a flat tire tomorrow.”

  Mary laughed. “Well, far be it from me to get in the way of the League of Women Voters. Just be careful.”

  “They’re a bunch of old ladies with car jacks. I think I’ll be okay.”

  “That wasn’t what I was talking about.”

  “No.” Ash smiled. “I didn’t think it was.”

  She kissed Annie on the forehead and Mary on the cheek before grabbing her coat and stepping out into the increasingly cold autumn evening.

  Chapter Six

  “Yes, like that. Crank it up enough to take some of the pressure off the rim,” Ash told the group of retired women that made up the local chapter of the League of Women Voters. “Be careful not to jack it up all the way off the ground yet. You don’t want the tire spinning while you’re taking off the lug nuts.”

  The women watched intently as she helped one of their members turn the lever on the jack that was supporting her 1995 Buick LeSabre.

  “Okay, now we need to remove the lug nuts, so who’s got the lug wrench?” Several of the women looked at the tools in their hands. “It looks like a plus sign.” Ash crossed her forearms to show the shape of the tool.

  “I’ve got it!” Betty Ryan, a petite woman who looked to be about sixty, waved the wrench.

  “Great, bring it up here.” Ash put her arm around Betty’s shoulder. “Are you ready to tackle these lug nuts?”

  “You better believe it. Just let me at ’em.”

  Ash laughed. “Now put the wrench on one of them and turn it to the left.”

  “Lefty, loosey,” Betty intoned.

  She was able to remove three of the lug nuts on her own before running into trouble on the fourth. Ash got behind her, so they were grasping the wrench in unison. With their combined strength the lug nut spun right off.

  “There you go,” Ash said. “It just needed a bit of prodding.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Clarke, but next time, before you get so fresh with me, I do think you should at least buy me a drink.” Betty chuckled, sending the rest of the women into titters.

  Ash was somewhat taken aback by the reference to her sexual orientation, but couldn’t help but chuckle when Betty wiggled her eyebrows in an exaggerated come-hither look. “Betty, my dear, I would buy you a drink anytime.”

  Betty blushed. “Oh, you scoundrel.” She shook the lug wrench at her.

  Palms up in mock surrender, Ash said, “All right, you win. Now put that thing where it should be.”

  After the demonstration was finished, the women all headed into Betty’s house. Ash intended to stay only long enough to wash her hands, but as she was getting ready to slip away, Betty caught her by the arm.

  “Oh no, you don’t. You’re not getting away that easily. You haven’t even had our punch and brownies.”

  “I really don’t want to impose.”

  “Nonsense. You sit down, and I’ll get you a drink.”

  Before Ash could argue, she was next to Betty on the couch with a drink in her hand. She took a sip of what looked like fruit punch. The red liquid hit first her tongue and then her throat, burning the entire way down. As the acrid fumes rose through her nose, tears stung her eyes and she stood up, coughing and sputtering. “Jesus! What’s in there?” she croaked.

  “Hey, hey, watch your damn language.” Betty tsked before turning to the other ladies. “Looks like we’ve got a lightweight on our hands, girls.”

  Ash sniffed tentatively at the drink. “I was expecting Kool-Aid.”

  The women laughed.

  “No, honey, this isn’t a day care, and that isn’t Kool-Aid,” Betty said. “That, my dear, is Sill’s famous artillery punch. It’s a divine combination of Benedictine, brandy, red wine, dark rum, and whiskey, with some fruit juices thrown in for good measure.”

  “You drink this stuff in the middle of the day?” Ash examined the glass in her hand, amazed that any of her students could walk in a straight line after a glass of this so-called punch.

  “It’s always five o’clock somewhere,” Betty answered casually.

  “Any more surprises for me, Betty? Are the brownies filled with hash?”

  “Oh, my good heavens no. Not with all the blood work I get at checkups these days. I’d never get away with it.”

  Ash couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic or not. “Really, Betty, what’s this about your daughter?”

  “Well, I’m glad you asked,” Betty said, pulling a picture out of her purse and handing it to Ash. “That’s my daughter, Cheryl.”

  “She’s lovely,” Ash answered, not really understanding why she was looking at the picture of the altogether nondescript, thirtysomething Cheryl.

  “I thought you’d notice. She’ll be in town over Thanksgiving weekend, and I know she’d love to meet you.”

  The warning bells began to go off in Ash’s head. “Betty, are you suggesting I take your daughter out on a date?”

  “Exactly.” Betty beamed. “She goes to graduate school in Boston, but I’d really like her to come back home, find a nice girl, and settle down.”

  “This is a first.”

  “Why?”

  “Usually mothers want nothing more than the big bad butch to stay far away from their daughters.” Ash laughed.

  “Oh pshaw, child. I started college in 1961. I’m the original feminist, and don’t you forget it. You women today think you’re so liberal with your sexual politics, but you weren’t even thought of when I was marching along with women like Betty Friedan.”

  “I’m sorry, Betty. I obviously misread you.”

  “Well, my kids are all grown up now, and I think Cheryl would only consider
moving back if she met someone here she could identify with.” Betty’s tone had gone soft again.

  “I would love to help you.” Ash smiled, thinking about Betty getting so fired up over feminism. “But really, I don’t think it would work out.”

  “Why not? You’re single, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, but I guess you could say I have my eye on someone.”

  “What are you waiting for?” Betty slapped her knee. “A hot piece of work like you. I’m sure this woman would love a shot at you.”

  Ash couldn’t help but find the conversation a little odd, but Betty’s bluntness was endearing. “I’ll try to keep that in mind when I see her tomorrow.”

  “You do that.” Betty paused for a moment before asking, “Do you have any friends you could introduce Cheryl to?”

  “I’m not sure your daughter would appreciate you butting into her love life, but I’ll keep her in mind if I run into anyone.”

  “Ah, it’s a mother’s job to butt in. I’ll never give up on getting her back home and back in the church.”

  “The church?” Ash asked skeptically. “What church?”

  “The Catholic church, dear.”

  “Betty, you’re full of contradictions. You spend ten minutes telling me you’re as liberal as they come, but you’re also a practicing Catholic?”

  “The two aren’t contradictions, just people’s stereotypes of them. You of all people should know better than to buy into stereotypes.”

  “Touché, but I was raised in the Catholic church. Based on the teachings of my family’s priest, the stereotypes of the Catholic church ring pretty true, at least in the realm of homophobia.”

  “Well, despite what that priest may think, he is not God, and therefore he does not get to dictate my faith,” Betty said.

  “Oh? I didn’t know you could make your own rules in the Catholic church.”

  “I didn’t make the rules about loving God and loving my neighbor. I just know that my life would have been much worse without some kind of heavenly grace.”

  “Well, that I can understand,” Ash said, glad for the chance to wrap the discussion up amicably.

  She left the house with Betty’s phone number in her wallet and plans to meet her for lunch next week. The League of Women Voters had been an unusual but pleasant surprise, to say the least. She couldn’t help but notice that her strange weekend seemed to have seeped into her week as well.

  Ash took a detour on the way home in order to pass by the university. It was dusk as she drove slowly down the narrow streets lined on either side by picturesque, ivy-clad brick buildings. Students congested the sidewalks, walking from place to place with books in hand. Ash had been on campus only a few times and didn’t know her way around, but she liked the feel of the place, so she took several trips around the main section with her windows rolled down, taking in the feel of the crisp autumn air and the sight of the trees with their leaves just beginning to show hints of red and orange. On her third time down the shaded lane she noticed a sign outside one of buildings. Stetson Hall.

  Ash caught herself smiling at the thought of Carrie walking down the stairs in front of the large glass doors to meet her. For a minute she could almost understand what Sharon had been talking about on Sunday, and that scared her. She slowed the Mustang, looking at the windows lit up from inside, wondering if Carrie was behind one of them. She suddenly had the urge to go find 216J and see if she was there, but then what would she do? This was new territory for her and she didn’t know if she cared for the feelings she was having.

  When the person behind her tapped his horn, she started out of her daydreams. The urge to loop back around for another look almost overtook her, but she decided it was better not to know if Carrie was still in her office. She’d see her tomorrow and, if their past encounters were any indication of things to come, that was likely to be more than she could handle.

  *

  Carrie put down the stack of student papers she’d been perusing. She didn’t really grade them per se, she just used them as an opportunity to see how the students were handling the course material. She knew she could make life easy on herself by giving multiple-choice quizzes like many of her colleagues, but she never saw the use in having students memorize mundane facts or vocabulary. She wanted to see how their minds functioned, and whether they were able to relate to the material on a meaningful level. Reading the text wasn’t enough. Carrie wanted them to grapple with the subject, and they couldn’t do that if they were just preparing for a fill-in-the-blank assignment. Still, that meant she spent most of her evenings reading personal reflections on Feminism 101 instead of doing something more fun or enlightening.

  She glanced at the clock and realized she’d been sitting at the cramped desk in her home office for several hours. No wonder the muscles in her neck and shoulders felt all knotted up. It was late and she had a morning class, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep with all the tension in her back, so she headed across the hallway to run a bath. The water was warm, the way she liked it, and the tub was deep and long enough for her to sink into it completely. The bathroom was a big reason why she had bought this house in the first place. It had recently been remodeled with oak cabinets, dark tiled floors, and new plumbing that provided plenty of water pressure for the bath and shower. This room had become her sanctuary.

  Carrie felt herself relax as soon as she stepped into the tub and slid beneath the water. She knew she should probably go over her information for a conference call with the dean of Arts and Sciences tomorrow, but she couldn’t bear to look at the depressing statistics again. She didn’t need an accountant to tell her that the women’s studies enrollment was up forty-eight percent in the past four years, and new faculty appointments were down by twelve. She also knew that no matter how convincing the numbers were, her new budget was likely to be significantly smaller than she recommended. Dean Phillips was never going to pull money away from a male-dominated department like geology or physics.

  It was maddening to see her department and her students shortchanged year after year, and she fought as hard as she could to get them a proper allotment of resources, but there was only so much she could do. She was up for tenure next year and the dean never failed to remind her that her job was anything but secure, and insubordination was not a good way to win over the tenure committee. Carrie couldn’t meet her goals while constantly worrying if she’d have a job the following year, so she bit her tongue and played the game, at least most of the time.

  Just thinking about the politics was enough to cause the tension to creep back into her body. She ran her hand across her shoulders and down her chest, massaging the muscles as she went. Think about something more pleasant or you’ll never be able to relax. For some reason a vision of Ash filled her mind. They’d been so close in the attic, Carrie had almost given in to her impulses. Something about Ash made her react in ways she never had before. It was like her body was acting on its own accord. She had always been levelheaded and restrained, but for some reason all of that seemed to disappear when Ash got too close.

  Her other relationships had been logical, not that there were many. In college she’d dated another women’s studies major. They shared an intense passion for the new ideas they were being exposed to. Then in grad school she’d lived with a philosophy student. They had spent several years together working through the rigors of academic initiation. The conversation was easy and stimulating, but the physical aspects had been more awkward and therefore less of a priority. While neither relationship was particularly exciting, both had been satisfying, and Carrie had always prided herself on not losing her mind or rearranging her priorities simply because she found someone attractive. She had goals and she always put her career first.

  Yet something about Ash was different. Carrie was surprised to sense a vulnerability to her, just below the surface. When she let her guard down she could be sweet and sensitive. The cocky public image she presented in a crowd seemed to vanish when th
ey were alone, and Carrie thought she was seeing a completely different person. When Ash had leaned so close in Mary’s attic, with that look of raw passion in her eyes, Carrie had completely forgotten about her reputation, her academic credibility, and her career goals. All she knew was the feel of Ash’s breath on her skin and the heat radiating from her own body. It had taken all of her resolve to turn away, and not a moment too soon. If she’d let their lips touch, she had no idea if she would have been able to regain her composure. She got goose bumps even now when she thought about what might have happened.

  She climbed out of the tub and dried off, firmly reminding herself that she didn’t need to dwell on what-ifs. She was less than a year away from tenure, and no distraction was worth risking her future for. Still, she couldn’t help but sneak a glance in the mirror before wrapping herself in a robe. She was lean, and while not as fit as she would like, her body was firm. She had never considered herself attractive; in fact, she rarely thought about herself in physical terms at all. But she had to admit she was holding up pretty well for a woman in her early thirties.

  She blushed suddenly and closed the robe, embarrassed that she was sizing herself up in the mirror like a silly schoolgirl. It didn’t matter what she looked like. She wasn’t going to get involved with anyone, much less someone with a reputation like Ashton Clarke’s. They had absolutely nothing in common, nothing to build a stable relationship on. Not that Ash was one to build stable relationships. Even Mary didn’t deny that her best friend was a one-night stand waiting to happen. Physical reactions aside, Ash was a dangerous diversion, one Carrie couldn’t afford. No matter how the woman made her feel, she needed to put her physical responses in perspective and stay focused. She hadn’t worked this hard to place her future at risk.

  Chapter Seven

  “Two-sixteen J, two-sixteen J,” Ash mumbled to herself as she walked up the stairs inside Stetson Hall.

  She had forced herself to drive around the block for half an hour so she wouldn’t be too early. She didn’t want anyone guessing that she’d been waiting desperately for this moment ever since Carrie left on Sunday. She tried to amble casually down the long hall as she scanned the numbers on each door. The walls were covered in flyers advertising everything from tutoring groups to parties, and students crowded the corridors, either milling about or hurrying to classes. She felt out of place. She obviously wasn’t a student, with her tool belt slung over her shoulder rather than the backpacks or briefcases sported by most of the people in the building.