Package Deal (36 page)

“
Let’s
worry about that
when the time comes
. For now, I’m going hom
e
. I hav
e
som
e
work to do.” H
e
l
e
an
e
d
ov
e
r and kiss
e
d
th
e
top of h
e
r h
e
ad.

“You can do b
e
tt
e
r than that.
”
Amanda
lift
e
d
h
e
r fac
e
to m
ee
t his.

H
e
kiss
e
d
h
e
r on th
e
lips.“
Call m
e
if you
need
anything—
anytime.”
His voice came out as a husky whisper.
“
T
onight or tomorrow.”
He couldn’t imagine loving her more than he did right then.

Chapter 10

Carlton rubbed his palm against the greasy smudges on the inside of the car window. The woods surrounding him looked unfamiliar.
“How did I get here?”

He opened the window, eager for fresh air. The cool breeze seemed to clear his head. The road seemed deserted. No cars passed by while he looked around, trying to get his bearings. His head po
und
ed, and his tongue felt tacky
,
too large for his mouth.

H
ung over, h
e opened the door and stepped into a mud puddle so deep, the water seeped over the top of his shoe and soaked his sock. He
swore and
climbed back into the car. He dimly recalled leaving Amanda’s house after Cecelia fled.

Carl
ton
sat in his car
on the
deserted road
. From the lack of homes or traffic, he figured he had to be
ou
t of
town
.
Cecelia.
Was that
yesterday or earlier
in the
week
?
He
looked at
the local paper
lying on the seat next to him
trying to remember when he’d picked
it up. He must have read
it. It was open to an inside page.
A
grainy picture showed a little girl and the nearby article described a terrible pedestrian accident. Even though the picture wasn’t the best, he could tell it was Cecelia, his sweet Cecelia.

She
had been hit by a car. That’s w
hat the paper said. What it did
n’t say was that he’d been
with her, at her house, or that she’d fled from him
. Maybe that was the screeching he’d
heard
as he’d
left the neighborhood
. She must have been badly hurt. The paper said she was in the hospital
.
But when had
i
t happened?
He couldn’t seem to get clear what day it was, how long he’d been out here
on this partly-paved road with the mudholes
on either side of the car
.

The scratches on his wrist puzzled him and his foot
ached inside his shoe
,
the one
with the water-soaked sock
.
She had screamed—or was that the other kid?
D
id I make her scream?
That
oth
e
r girl
’s
scr
e
ams had forc
e
d
him to r
e
ach for h
e
r throat to stop h
e
r. Wh
e
n h
e
r
e
m
e
mb
e
r
e
d
that, his hands start
e
d
to shak
e
.
Had he
tried to stop
Cecelia
from screaming
?
But he didn’t have his scarf with him.
H
e
didn’t want to hurt
her
. H
e
just
want
e
d
to g
e
t
close to her
—h
e
just want
e
d
to
…

H
e
pr
e
ss
e
d
his hands against
his temples
to
stop
the
pounding
, to stop the memories
.
He looked around again, trying to remember where he was, and how to get back into town.
His stomach growled. How long had it been since he had eaten?
He started the car and
drove slowly
down the road
until he found a familiar
intersection
. After stopping at a nearby convenience store for a sandwich and a beer
,
he
headed for
home,
and crawl
e
d
into b
e
d
.
Late that evening t
he kitten he had been feeding for the past few weeks jumped on the
mattress
and lay down next to him. He slipped his hand over the small animal’s back and stroked her
fur
until she began
to purr
.
The sound soothed him and he closed his eyes.
He woke h
ours
later
to
th
e
insistent ringing of
his
phon
e
.

“Prof
e
ssor Winslow?”

“Y
e
s?
”
Carl
ton
look
e
d
at th
e
clock.
Almost
eight
.
He squinted at the calendar. If it was Tuesday or Wednesday, he
had a class
in an hour
. “Who’
s this?”

“Marc
Dunbar.
Remember me
? W
e
met at th
e d
ean’s house a few months ago
—when I
met the
new faculty members?
I’d lik
e
to
see
you this aft
e
rnoon.”

“I don’t know if I’ll hav
e
tim
e
. I
’ve got
class
e
s to
teach
.”

“
I can m
ee
t you for coff
ee
aft
e
r th
e
last on
e
.”

Then he remembered.
That pushy
journalist
.
“Can’t
w
e
do this lat
e
r?I know I was suppos
e
d
to call you about th
e
int
e
rvi
e
w, but
that was
months ago. Why do you still—
”

“
It’s important
that we talk
.
Now.
”

“
About what
?
I don’t—
”

“L
e
t’s m
ee
t and I’ll t
e
ll you th
e
n. I hav
e
class today, too. I’ll m
ee
t you at th
e
union
,
aft
e
r your
three
o
’
clock
is ov
e
r
.”

Carlton
stumbled into
th
e
show
e
r and mad
e
it to his first class with minut
e
s to spar
e
. H
e
fumbl
e
d
his way through
his lecture
, did th
e
sam
e
with th
e
s
e
cond on
e
, and f
e
lt good only about
his
last class
,
on
Walt Whitman
.
H
e
was picking up his not
e
s, scribbl
e
d
b
e
tw
ee
n class
e
s
and
ov
e
r lunch, wh
e
n
Dunbar
ambl
e
d
to th
e
front of th
e
l
e
ctur
e
hall.

“
Hi,
Carl
ton
. I’m Marc
. Th
e
union’s
full of students this time of day.
Let’s
hit that
Starbucks
ov
e
r th
e
hill from campus.
It’ll be quieter there.
”

Carl
ton
nodd
e
d
. “Sounds good to m
e
. I’v
e
had my fill of stud
e
nts today.”

Dunbar studied
him before he replied,
“I know what you m
e
an.”

Th
e
y walk
e
d
down th
e
hill
,
ord
e
r
e
d
th
e
ir drinks and sat outsid
e
, th
e
shad
e
of an umbr
e
lla prot
e
cting th
e
m from th
e
late
aft
e
rnoon sun.

“So, what do you think of Buckl
e
y
?”
Dunbar
seemed to smirk
.
“
N
ow that you’r
e
almost don
e
with
your first year here
.
”

“
Could’ve been better
, but it’s ok
ay
.”
He reached for his coffee
.

“
What about
your diss
e
rtation? I h
e
ard you w
e
r
e
working on that.”

Why is he looking at me like that?
Carlton
nodded.
“
The final draft.
Just about complete.
I hope
to mail it
in
next
w
ee
k
.”

“Good for you.
It must feel good to have it done.”

He nodded
again
.

“
What do you know about Rob
e
rt Francis?”

“Who?”
He
squinted
at
the journalist
, whose
cold
blue eyes remained focused on his face
.

“H
e
’s a stud
e
nt in Amanda’s
—
you know,
your office mate
—
in her
aft
e
rnoon
freshman English
s
e
ction. H
e
says h
e
l
e
ft his pap
e
r in your offic
e
th
e
oth
e
r day.”

Carlton tried to
avoid
the man’s eyes
.
“Don’t know th
e
kid. If h
e
’s on
e
of Amanda’s, why ar
e
you asking m
e
?”