Vision in White
Page 38

IT WASN’T OUT OF HER WAY, EXACTLY, TO DRIVE BY THE ACADEMY en route to the next client. In any case she had a little time to kill before her appointment. In any any case, she hadn’t returned Carter’s call, which was rude, so what was the harm in doing a quick drop by?
He’d be in class, she supposed. She’d take a quick peek—check that out, then leave him a note at the front office. She’d think of something amusing and breezy, thereby putting the ball they kept batting around back in his court.
Had it been this quiet in the corridors back in the days she’d gone here? Had the air been this echoey, shooting her footsteps off like gunfire?
The stairs she climbed were the same she’d climbed a dozen years before. A lifetime before. So long before she couldn’t quite picture herself as she’d been, only a vague image, like a print that had been softened to a blur.
It seemed she walked with a ghost of herself, one full of potential and possibility.
One who was fearless.
Where had that girl gone?
Mac walked to the classroom door, peeked in the porthole window. The pensive mood vanished.
He wore the tweed jacket again, with a shirt, tie, and V-necked sweater under it. Thank God he wasn’t wearing his glasses or she’d have been a gooey puddle of lust on the floor.
He leaned back against his desk, a half smile on his face and his attention centered on a student who—if the expression on her face and her gestures were any indication—spoke passionately.
She watched him nod, speak, then shift his attention—all of it—to another student.
He’s in love, she realized. In love with the moment, and all the moments that made up what happened in that room. He was so completely there. Did they know it? she wondered. Did those kids understand they had all of him?
Did they know, could they know—the young and fearless—what a miraculous thing it was to have all of anyone?
She jolted when the bell rang, pressed a hand to her heart when it thumped in surprise. Chairs scraped, bodies sprang into motion. Mac barely skipped out of the way before the door slammed open.
“Read act three for tomorrow, and be prepared to discuss. That goes for you, too, Grant.”
“Aw, come on, Dr. Maguire.”
She stayed out of the way of the stampede, but managed to angle herself to see three students stop at his desk. He didn’t rush them away, then—God help her—he put his glasses on to check a paper one of them handed him.
Mackensie, she thought as her hormones twanged, you are toast.
“You made some good points today, Marcie. Let’s see if we can expand on them tomorrow when we discuss the third act. I’ll be . . .”
Mac watched him glance over as she moved into the doorway. Watched him blink, then take off his glasses to bring her into focus. “I’ll be interested in your take.”
“Thanks, Dr. Maguire. See you tomorrow.”
As the classroom emptied, as the corridors filled with noise, Carter set his glasses down. “Mackensie.”
“I was in the neighborhood, and it occurred to me I didn’t return your call,” she said, walking to his desk.
“This is better.”
“Certainly more interesting for me. You’re all professorial looking.”
He glanced down as she gave the knot of his tie a little wiggle. “Oh. Monday morning faculty meeting.”
“You, too? Hope yours went better than mine.”
“Sorry?”
“Nothing. Water over the bridge.”
“Under, generally. Well, barring flood.”
“Right. I enjoyed seeing you in your natural habitat.”
“Would you like to go for coffee? That was the last class of the day. We could—”
“Hey, Carter, I was going to grab a . . .” A short man with horn-rims and a fat shoulder-bag briefcase wandered in. He stopped, gave Mac a baffled look. “Oh, sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“Um, Mackensie Elliot, one of my colleagues, Bob Tarkinson.”
“Nice to meet you,” Mac said as Bob’s eyes went wide behind the lenses. “Do you teach English?”
“English? No, no, I’m in the Math Department.”
“I liked math. Geometry especially. I like figuring the angles.”
“Mackensie’s a photographer,” Carter explained, then remembered Bob already knew that. And maybe just a little too much more.
“Right. Photography, angles. Good. Soooo, you and Carter are—”
“Talking about having coffee,” Carter said quickly. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Bob.”
“Well, I could . . . Oh, right, right.” With only the first half ton of bricks landing on him, Bob clued in. “Tomorrow. Nice meeting you, Mackensie.”
“Bye, Bob.” Mac turned back to Carter.
Bob took the opportunity to shoot Carter a wide grin and two enthusiastic thumbs-up on his way out.
“So, ah, coffee.”
“I’d like that, but I’m on my way to a client. When I’m done I have to go home and do my homework. I’m cramming for a test.”
“Oh. What?”
“Big job, major client. Super-duper presentation required. We’ve got a week to put something together that clinches it. But if you’re done for the day, maybe you could walk me out to my car.”
“Of course.”
She waited while he got his coat. “I almost wish I had some books for you to carry. It would circle around to the nostalgia I get when I come in here. Although I don’t recall ever having a guy carry my books.”
“You never asked me.”
“Oh, if we knew then what we know now. You looked good in there, Dr. Maguire. And I don’t mean in your professor suit. Teaching looks good on you.”
“Oh. Well. Really I was just leading a discussion. Letting them do the work. That was more along the lines of conducting.”
“Carter, say thank you.”
“Thank you.”
They stepped outside, down the entrance steps to turn for the walk to visitors’ parking. “Never too cold to hang out when you’re a teenager,” Mac observed.
Kids milled the lawn, sat on the stone steps, loitered in the parking lot.
“I had my first serious kiss right over there.” She gestured toward the side of the building. “John C. Prowder laid one on me right after a pep rally. I had to round up Parker and Emma between fifth and sixth periods and recount the entire event in the girls’ room.”