Incandescent (9 page)

Anna noted the shadows under her bloodshot
eyes and the pale cheeks.

“I have a question about assigning the
students a project and I wondered if I could talk to you about it,”
Anna said.

She sat at Phoebe’s nod and waited. The
woman’s dry lips curled into a feeble smile and she cleared her
throat. She lifted a glass of water with shaking hands.

“Are you alright? Is this a bad time? I can
come back,” Anna said, starting to rise.

Phoebe shook her head and started coughing.
She lifted a tissue to her mouth. “There won’t be a better time,”
she said in a rueful tone.

Anna sank back into the chair and stared at
Phoebe, her mouth agape.

“I have stage four breast cancer, my dear,”
Phoebe said. “Yesterday was a bad day at chemo.”

Tears pricked Anna’s eyes. Her new friend was
dying? Anna had never met anyone who made her feel the way Dr.
Allen did. She was a kindred spirit, a laughing and loving person
filled with brilliance and kindness. She couldn’t die!

Phoebe leaned forward, clasping her fingers
before her to control the trembling. “Tell me about the project.
How can I help you?”

Anna shook her head. “No, it’s not important.
Is there anything I can do for you?”

Phoebe laughed gently. “Believe me, it’s
important or you wouldn’t be here. All you can do for me is let me
do my job. Let me be as normal as possible for as long as I can.
Now, what would you like to do?”

So Anna explained to her supervisor her idea
for assigning a major project instead of having a final exam. “I
believe the students can learn more by working on an authentic
project. The students will create a marketing and advertising plan
for a local non-profit organization, one of their choosing.”

Anna explained how she worked in the
advertising field and many of the small town’s organizations
couldn’t afford her services, despite needing them to stay
competitive and raise funds.

“They will work with the groups, getting to
know the people and their goals. Next, they’ll translate each
group’s mission into a graphic design project,” she said. “They’ll
create business cards, brochures, posters, and a web site. I’ll
teach them how to use the department’s digital cameras to take
product photos and head shots, and we’ll use the video cameras to
create short infomercials. In fact, the complete semester will be
an interactive learning opportunity, which results in their
completing the course, and produces a usable product for a
charity.”

By the end of Anna’s impassioned speech,
Phoebe Allen was smiling, dimples showing in her plump cheeks. She
clapped. “Bravo! It’s a wonderful plan. You have my permission to
‘freelance’ the students. I realize this is a deviation from the
syllabus Renalda provided, but as long as the students learn how to
use the appropriate software and perform the tasks required of
them, it doesn’t matter how they accomplish this. Too often,
instructors rely upon busywork and students will complete the
course without any real-world knowledge. I think your idea is
grand. Proceed.”

Exhausted, Phoebe sat back in her large
office chair and regarded Anna. After several seconds, she spoke.
“I know my illness distresses you,” she said, waving a hand in
dismissal. “I’ve been battling this disease for more than ten
years. I’m not giving up; however, I’m so tired. I’ve accomplished
much in my career as a humble poet here at Marshall. More than my
published books or literary prizes, I treasure the students we’ve
helped become well-educated adults. I count you as one of our own,
although we never shared a class, did we?”

Anna shook her head. She spent the majority
of her time at Marshall in the art department working on her major,
after taking the required general education courses.

“Marshall College has been my life,” Phoebe
continued, nostalgia shadowing her eyes. “I’ve outlived my husband
and we never had children. I’m an old woman …” she paused and
chuckled as Anna protested.

“Okay, not that old. Let me tell you, I feel
as old as Methuselah today. It does my heart good to see you, so
fresh-faced and lovely and young. I envy you and the wonderful life
you have ahead. So, go on now,” Phoebe said, with a shooing motion.
“Go work on your new syllabus and send me an email when you’ve
finished it. Then, go out tonight. Go dancing. Be happy. For me and
for Lacey,” she added.

Chapter Sixteen

Phoebe’s words haunted her, so when Gretchen
and Mark invited her to join them at the open mic night at East of
Eaton, Anna agreed. After a shower, she stood in front of her
closet and rummaged through her clothes. Gretchen rested her chin
on Anna’s shoulder and sniffed.

“Your clothes stink.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m going shopping this
weekend. Want to go to Peachys with me?”

“Are you kidding? I’m there at the gift shop
forty hours a week pretending to be a meek-and-mild Miss. Why do I
want to go there on my day off?” Gretchen asked, plopping on the
bed.

Anna snorted. “Because it’s the only place
around here?” she replied.

A local monstrosity, Peachys first opened its
doors as a feed store in the late 1800s. It evolved and grew as
each generation of Peachys started new businesses, attaching one to
the other until the quaint store became a conglomeration of
mismatched buildings. Some were wood shacks, while others were
sturdy brick and stone.

Operated by Peachy family members and their
spouses, the odd shopping center contained a grocery store, a
beauty salon, a bakery, a chiropractor’s office, a gym, the fine
gift shop where Gretchen worked, a feed and hardware center and a
used-furniture store. Its gas station was operated by the town’s
best mechanic and lone tow-truck driver, Cindy Peachy.

Not everyone appreciated the Peachy family
legacy. Local architect Jack Frey was on a mission to remove the
eyesore, despite the fact his parents owned a shop at Peachys. It
had taken a lot of arm twisting, but he finally had his family
aligned with his plan to create a unified, modern shopping mall.
For the past two years, he steamrolled plans through the building
inspector’s office to consolidate the stores. Renovation would
begin in the fall.

“I’ll pass,” Gretchen said, rolling off the
bed. “Wait a minute,” she said, leaving the room. She returned with
a short, sleeveless green dress. “Put this on.”

Anna lifted the dress, holding it in front of
her by the hanger. “This is too skimpy.”

Gretchen pulled it off the hanger and thrust
it into Anna’s hands. “Don’t argue. If you ever want to use that
negligee, you better start listening to me.”

Anna paused and stared at the dress. She
hadn’t thought about the negligee since her birthday party. A
guilty flush stained her cheeks as she imagined Aaron sliding his
hands under the red lace.

Gretchen narrowed her eyes, her fists resting
on her hips. “I see where your little mind is going, and it
includes a certain tall-dark-and-handsome cop.”

Anna blanched, wishing she hadn’t confided in
her friend. Remembering her steamy encounter with Aaron Tahir and
his abrupt withdrawal embarrassed her. In addition, she felt like a
traitor. Gretchen still didn’t know the fire marshal considered her
a suspect. On one hand, Anna felt an undeniable attraction; on the
other hand, she detested him for doubting Gretchen’s innocence.

“He’s not a cop. He’s a fire marshal. And no,
I wasn’t thinking about him,” she lied.

“Right,” Gretchen drawled. “Anyway, tonight
is about having fun. Now get dressed and let’s go. Mark is playing
acoustic guitar at East of Eaton.”

“Sounds like it’s getting serious,” Anna said
as she dropped the dress over her head and shimmied, letting the
silky folds drape her slender frame. The bodice was tight and
strained across her breasts. Gretchen circled her, studying her
appearance.

“Eh, we’ll see about Mark. Now, tuck your
boobs in. Push them up. No, higher,” she commanded, as Anna
rearranged her cleavage.

Gretchen plucked at the material until the
seams molded Anna’s contours. “Wish I had your rack.”

“It’s not special,” Anna protested.

“Sure it is. You’re not a member of the Itty
Bitty Titty Committee like me,” Gretchen groused, looking at her
own small chest. “Standing next to me, you’re enormous.”

The doorbell rang and the women glanced at
each other.

Anna cocked her head. “Is that Mark? Aren’t
we meeting him at the bookstore?”

Gretchen leaned out the bedroom doorway,
trying to see the shadow on the front porch. “We are. I don’t know
who this is.”

She strode to the door and opened it. Aaron
Tahir stood on the front porch, a clipboard in one hand. He wore
his customary tight, blue T-shirt and a pair of black cargo pants.
Instead of boots, he wore running shoes. His black curly hair was
mussed, his cheeks shadowed with stubble.

“Anna, it’s for you.” Gretchen eyed him, up
and down. “Never mind. I’ll keep him,” she quipped.

Anna looked out the door and saw the
saturnine man glower at Gretchen. Then, his eyes met hers and he
conducted the same up-and-down perusal. He lingered at her breasts,
his eyes widening at the taut green fabric. Anna’s nipples tingled
and she swore they hardened under his perusal. She crossed her
arms.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

He lifted his chin. “What you wanted me to
do. Looking harder.”

Gretchen’s amused gaze flitted between the
two. “Well, looks like you guys have some catching up to do. I’m
going to slip on over to the bookstore. I’ll see you there, Anna.”
She rolled her eyes as Anna ignored her. “Okay, well don’t forget
to lock up. I’ll go now. Don’t pay any attention to me. Okay,
you’re not.”

Gretchen draped her handbag over her shoulder
and slipped around the silent couple, smoldering at each other in
the dark. She started singing Prince’s song “Little Red Corvette”
but exchanged the word “nightie” for “Corvette,” hoping the
subliminal message would sink in.

Aaron broke the spell. “I’m here to interview
Gretchen,” he added.

Anna glared at him. “Really? She just left.
Remember? You were standing right here.”

Aaron whipped his head from side to side. He
watched Gretchen fade in the distance, her hips swishing as she
walked to the bookstore. When he turned back around, he saw Anna
come onto the porch and close the front door behind her. She
slipped her key into the lock, then turned towards Aaron. “Excuse
me, please,” she said, moving around him and down the front
stairs.

“Stop,” he commanded, reaching for her arm.
His fingers burned as they grazed her skin. Anna swirled, annoyance
in every move. Her green skirt flared and Aaron’s eyes went to her
bare legs.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” she said, lifting
her chin in defiance. “Who do you think you are?”

He dropped his clipboard onto the porch and
followed her, his hands raised, palm outward. “I want to talk to
you,” he said, his voice placating, trying to soothe her.

Anna snorted. “I’m not stupid,” she said.
“Don’t touch me.”

But that’s what she wanted him to do. Her
head pounded and her breath quickened. Her cheeks flushed. The buzz
in her ears drowned the sounds of the night and her field of vision
narrowed. For a moment, she thought the air crackled with
electricity.

She felt heat radiate from his body. It
seeped over her, bringing with it the spicy, smoky smell she’d come
to recognize as his alone. She closed her eyes and swayed towards
him, her lips parting, anticipating his kiss.

He stood still, obeying her spoken wish while
fighting the magnetic force pulling his lips towards hers. He
stopped inches away.

Anna opened her eyes and blinked, breaking
the spell. She took a step back and adjusted the strap of her
handbag, repositioning it on her shoulder. She shook her head, as
if answering a silent voice. She turned and followed the path
Gretchen had taken minutes before. Aaron stayed in place, watching
as she moved further away, the clicking sound of her high heels
receding.

Chapter Seventeen

Anna opened the large oak door and entered
the East of Eaton Bookstore. She heard twanging guitars as several
men on the stage tuned their instruments, tightening and loosening
strings.

She spied Gretchen at a round table close to
the stage and closed the gap between them. The aroma of coffee and
chocolate wafted in the air, mingling with fresh baked pastries and
bread. Gretchen already had an iced coffee in front of her and was
fiddling with her cell phone, adjusting the flash so she could take
photos of Mark.

Anna blew an angry breath and tossed her
handbag onto an empty chair.

“Oh, hey there. I didn’t expect to see you.”
Gretchen swiveled around, curious. “Where’s the Human Torch?”

“I don’t know and I don’t care,” Anna
said.

Gretchen snickered. “Uh huh, tell me another.
That man is hot and you know it.”

Anna’s mouth pursed in a pout. “Like I said,
I don’t care.”

“What’s got your panties in a bunch?”
Gretchen asked. “I thought you liked him.”

“No, not really,” Anna said, frowning when
Gretchen snorted. “Look, I don’t want to talk about him. I don’t
want to think about him. Alright? Let’s have a good time and watch
Mark do his thing.”

She turned to acknowledge the teen-aged
waiter at her elbow. “Yes, I’ll have lemonade, please. Do you have
any food besides dessert?” Anna asked, reading the small menu on
the table. She added a roast beef sandwich to her order. “And a bag
of chips, too.”

She turned to Gretchen. “Aren’t you going to
have anything to eat?”