Miss Impractical Pants (7 page)

“Because I have a quick wit and keep you on your toes.” She followed behind him, answering his mumblings. “I remind you of your British roots. That’s why.”

Plopping onto the plump leather sofa, he belted a laugh that echoed from the high arched doorway. “That you do,
lass, that
you do. Have I grown so predictable that you can read me thoughts now?”

“Well, yes.” Katie’s smirk pulled into a grin. “And you grumble when you’re upset.”

He gestured for her to take a seat. “Surely, you didn’t come over just to inquire after me social life. What’s on your mind, pet?”

She settled into a high-backed leather chair and took in the aroma of antiques and furniture oil. The mahogany-colored leather furniture (whether real antiques or made to look old, Katie didn’t know) was surrounded by dark-stained floor-to-ceiling bookcases filled with old leather-bound hardbacks. The rich, old-world feel made this her favorite room in the whole world. She heaved a weighty sigh.

“Feelin’ a bit cagey, little miss?”

“Well…yes, but how—”

“How did I know? I see the look in your eyes. I’ve had it before in me own eyes. You’re as restless as a pride of lion cubs. We both know you can’t be sittin’ still too much longer.”

“But the reality is—”

“Reality is what the dim-witted hide behind because they’re too afraid to make their own destiny. I’ve never known you to be that type.”

He was the one person who truly understood her. She tried to fight the tears clouding her eyes, but she knew crying would be unavoidable. Crying was always unavoidable. Every emotion she possessed seemed to be hardwired to her tear ducts. She wiped a few rebellious tears with the back of her hand and hurried to rub the moisture onto her pant leg.

“Oh, don’t cry, pet. We’ll get it sussed out.”

“I wasn’t crying.”

“Were you not now? I can see the splotches on your trousers where you weren’t cryin’.”

Her hand went to her jeans and felt the dampness left from her tears.

“Now where’s the Old Katie I know? What brought on all this melancholy? Do you think I’ve not noticed how miserable you’ve become these past few weeks? You’ve done a reverse metamorphose from a vibrant, whimsical butterfly into a dreary old moth.”

She picked the edge of her pinky nail into the threads of the chair. “I don’t know…I was just thinking about my Amazing Plan and how I haven’t done anything with it yet.”

“Ah yes, your Amazing Plan.”
He steepled his fingers to his forehead as if in deep concentration.
“Maybe what you need is a Pre-Amazing Plan, just until your original has a chance to kick in.”

She only needed a moment to consider his suggestion. “You’re right, that’s exactly what I need!” She felt better already.

“And I’ll bet a good old-fashioned romance wouldn’t hurt in turning that frown around.”

“Oh no you don’t.
I’m not looking for a man, I’m looking for inspiration.”

His eyes sparkled as he rubbed his hands together. “If it’s ‘inspiration’ you’re after, I could introduce you to me godson, Andrew, who’s about your own age. He was raised by his granddad—one of the best men I ever knew, God
rest
his soul. Andrew lives with me sister when he’s not faffing about in London. Poor lad seems to have lost his way since his granddad’s passing. You might do him some good. And, of course, you could do a lot worse than a Yorkshire man.”

“Is that where you’re from—Yorkshire? You’re from England? I always thought you were Scottish.”

The proud man puffed out his chest.
“Scottish!
Indeed! Sometimes, lass, I think your head is stuffed with fluff.”

She knitted her eyebrows and held up her hand to interrupt his rant. “You know what, Mr.
Scott,
I think you’re on to something.

“About me godson?”

“No, about going to England.”

“I didn’t say anything about going to England.”

“Sure you did, and I think it’s a great idea.”

“But I…” He shook his head in defeat, and she thought saw a bit of sadness settle into his baggy eyes. “England, you say? When would you be going?”

“Umm…I’m not sure yet.”

“What part of England would you be visitin’, lass?”

“Well…I…uh….”

“And tell me, for how long do you plan on bein’ gone?” 

“It’s hard to say. My plans are still a bit vague at the present.” She straightened her shoulders and shot him a challenging glare.

He gave her a placating smile. “Now, don’t worry, love. Seein’ as how you don’t know when you’re goin’, there will be plenty of time to figure out what you’ll be doin’ when you get there.” 

“Okay, so I don’t have all the particulars. This was your idea, remember?” She had to fight the tug of a smile at the corners of her lips.

He held his hands up in surrender.
“Fair enough. ’Tis an excitin’ Almost Plan.
I’ll be glad to lend a hand. And if you happen to find your Mr. Right along the way, you wouldn’t object now, would you?”

“What is it with you and romance tonight? And why does everyone think I need a man to make my life complete?” She balled her fists tightly inside the crack between the chair and its cushion.

He looked at her as if she were daft. “Because, lass, nobody can be complete without ever having known true love.”

“Miss Sutherland, I need to speak with you!” Professor Bell’s voice boomed across the room as the students were packing up to leave.

Katie felt like a puppy that had been caught by the scruff of its neck. She gazed up at the towering professor, with his dark arms folded loosely across his broad chest as he stared down the wide bridge of his nose at her. He could win first prize at the Samuel L. Jackson look-alike contest.

“Miss Sutherland.” He came to loom over her desk before she could pack up her laptop and escape. “I hope that you took note of my subtle reminder about internships.”

His insistence that she make a decision about her internship was tiring. For just a moment, she considered changing her major—again. She’d flitted in and out of at least a dozen courses of study since high school: literature, art history, communications, marketing…. Unintentionally, she’d earned a minor in French, but abandoned the program when the lectures turned to phenomenology and existentialism. She’d already ditched one philosophy degree; she didn’t want to pursue another—in a foreign language.

“Yes, Professor, your subtle reminder has been noted.” Despite his constant pressure, she actually enjoyed her tourism major and had no real intention of abandoning it—especially since she was so close to finishing. “You’ve been hounding me on the subject every week for the past two months.”

He sighed. “Katie, you need to come up with some ideas and start working on them. Internships are not easy to put together,
especially if you plan on leaving the state. Do you have any clue at all what you want to do?”

She shook her head on a long exhale. “I don’t know” was what she meant to say, but instead, “I’m going to England” trickled from her lips. The idea was so
perfect,
she was surprised she hadn’t thought of it on purpose.

Then the strangest thing happened. Professor Bell smiled. “Good girl. Have your proposal on my desk next week.” 

Katie nodded, trying to match his smile. All she had to do now was find a job—in England.

***

“It’s all settled,” Katie announced, plonking herself down in Mr. Scott’s leather chair.

“What’s settled, pet?” Mr. Scott didn’t bother looking up from his crossword puzzle
.

“My going to England—it’s all set.”

Now he looked up. There was something in his eyes she’d never seen before. Something that killed the euphoria she was feeling. She took a moment to consider how much she would miss him, and she could tell her expression was matching his.

“Is it now?
So quickly?
It’s only been three days!” He shook his head like an Etch-a-Sketch, erasing the sadness. “You waste no time, restless child. Tell me, how’s it all been set about?”

“I’m going to do my internship there.”

He looked perplexed. “Sorry? Did you say your internment?”

“My what?” she gasped. “I’m dying to go to England, but I’m not literally going to die to get there! Jeez! I’m going to do my
in-tern-ship.
You know, for school, for my work experience—to graduate.”

“I see. I don’t believe we use that word in England. But then it’s been so long since I did me studies….” His words trailed off and for a few moments he seemed to be someplace else. She wondered where he went when he did that, what memories he was drudging up, but she never asked. Mr. Scott was always warm and open with her, but never about his past. That was a door that had always remained locked tight.

His thoughts returned as quickly as they had wandered. “And tell me, lass, where’ll you be workin’ in England?”

She felt confused by the marked amusement in his tone. “I’m not quite sure yet.”

“
Ah,
and where will you be livin’?”

“Um, well….” She caught the teasing gleam in his eye, and it dawned on her they’d had this conversation before.
“Fine.
Maybe it’s not
all
set, if we’re going to argue semantics, but at least I have a direction now.” Then she added, “Now, you old coot, stop teasing me and help me come up with the next step.”

He laughed. “‘Old coot,’ am I? I suppose I am that. Now, come over here, pet, and let us put pen to paper and suss you out a plan.” Patting the space next to him, he motioned her over to the plump leather sofa.

Katie nestled deeper into her pillow as George Michael sang in her ear. Normally she wouldn’t mind having him so up close and personal, but she didn’t appreciate his song choice. “Wake Me
Up Before
You Go-Go”—or “Jitterbug” (still, in over two decades, she had no idea which one was the real title)—was one of her favorite songs, but way too upbeat for this early in the morning.

After a few seconds of cognizance, she realized it wasn’t the real George Michael singing in her ear, but the ringtone of her cell phone. She wondered if her phone had the ability to differentiate ringtones by the time of day. She’d never know—the instructions went out with the box the very first day she got it.

“Hello,” she croaked, looking at her clock.

“Hello pet!” Mr. Scott chirped. “Did I wake you, love?”

“No, of course not.
I’m always awake at 5:13 on Sunday mornings.”

“Bless me heart, quick as whip even whilst asleep.”

“Not whilst asleep, because I’m actually awake now. Mr. Scott, what’s going on? You do know that
nobody
wakes up this early on the weekends, don’t you?