Memoir in the Making: A May-December Romance (8 page)

“You remember that?”

Ainsley nodded.

“It’s not because of that. I’ve been called beautiful before, even by students.”

“Not drunk students you pick up on the side of the road.”

“Well, that’s certainly true.” Meredith chuckled and relaxed back in her chair. The question was on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t bring herself to ask it. If Ainsley remembered the kiss, then she would certainly remember that they were supposed to talk about it. Regretting her decision once again to shut her office door, Meredith waited out the time and the gumption Ainsley clearly had.

Ainsley let go of her backpack, putting it on the ground. The tension in the room was rising, and Meredith was doing nothing to stop it. Each second that passed added another pound of sexual tension on top of the rest. Ainsley was beautiful and in her office; Meredith couldn’t deny that fact.

Ainsley’s chestnut hair was smooth and sleek as it ran down her back from the messy bun at the base of her neck. Her eyes were the most compelling though. They held a wisdom a twenty-year-old should never possess, a wisdom acquired rather than given. Her cheeks had a blush to them, but Meredith was sure that was new rather than something always there. She longed to reach out and brush her fingertips over Ainsley’s tinted cheeks.

Each time Ainsley breathed, her chest rose up and her breasts pushed against the top of her t-shit. Meredith’s gaze drifted down when Ainsley took a particularly large breath, and she flushed when Ainsley caught her. Their gazes locked again, and the silence in the room was becoming unbearable. Meredith had to get out, had to have the weekend to herself with Sam and get Ainsley Jacobs out of her brain for just a few more days.

“I remember most of that night—well, most after being picked up on the side of the road.”

“Do you, now?” Meredith licked her lips and struggled to breathe. Ainsley was sitting right in front of her, in her office at the school of all places, and teasing her. Ainsley had to be teasing her—there was no other explanation for it, and Meredith was falling right into line.

“I do.”

“Do you remember not being able to tell me where you lived?”

Ainsley pursed her lips, and Meredith chuckled.

“I didn’t think so. I asked several times, drove around for more than an hour while trying to wake you up, and you still couldn’t let me know. But now that I do know, I can certainly bring you home next time.”

“Who said there was going to be a next time?”

Meredith shrugged and leaned back in her chair, needing to do something to work the tension out of her muscles and needing something to distract her from the ball of sexual energy across the tiny room from her.

“I told you if you ever needed me to pick you up again, I would gladly do so.”

“I don’t make a habit of getting drunk.”

“You don’t?”

“I do not,” Ainsley answered, her eyes narrowed. “And I would prefer to see you sober. Makes it a much more pleasant visit.”

Meredith shuddered. The way Ainsley said the word pleasant had tingles racing through her body and gathering in one distinct place.
God, I would give anything to get up and walk over right now,
Meredith thought. She wanted to kiss her when they were both fully aware of everything.

“It wasn’t unpleasant,” Meredith answered, her voice hitching on the last word.

“I remember.”

“Do you?”

“I do,” Ainsley said. “I remember you helping me inside. I remember talking to you—kissing you.”

Meredith swallowed. Ainsley’s voice slowed down, and Meredith detected a hint of a drawl when she said the last two words. Her heart was ready to pound its way out of her chest, and she was certain her cheeks were far more flushed than she wanted them to be. Everything in her body was giving her away to Ainsley and letting Ainsley know exactly what she was doing.

Taking a deep gasp of breath, Meredith nodded. “And I assume you remember what I said afterward.”

“That we would talk in the morning.”

“I didn’t think you remembered. You didn’t bring it up.”

“How was I supposed to bring it up? You’re my professor.”

Meredith nodded and closed her eyes, sighing. And that was just it. She was Ainsley’s professor, not some college student who got wrapped up in dreams of uncomplicated love. She wasn’t some young kid on the block anymore; she’d been around the block more than once and the last time…the last time she had promised was going to be her last.

“It doesn’t affect anything. You were drunk, Ainsley. I’m sorry if you think it does, but it doesn’t. I don’t want you to think it changes my opinion of you in anyway. I don’t know how to make you believe that.”

“I believe it on some level.”

Meredith narrowed her eyes. “And what level is that.”

Ainsley stood up, setting her backpack on the chair before walking over to Meredith. Her hips swayed with each step, and Meredith’s gaze was brought back to Ainsley’s breasts when she leaned over the chair, her lips particularly close to Meredith’s ear.

“I don’t think you’ll grade me differently.”

“Then why—”

“Because it’s fun to watch.”

Ainsley backed off. She picked up her bag and made for the door.

Meredith fumbled for words, her body working in overdrive. Ainsley had been so forward—no one had ever been that forward with her before. She took a heave of a breath before she shook her head.

“Ainsley, I did ask you to meet with me for a reason.”

“Oh?”

“I want you to rework your piece a bit, enter a contest.”

“What contest?”

Meredith turned in her desk and grabbed a piece of paper off it, handing it over to Ainsley. She waited for a brief moment as Ainsley scanned the piece and then looked up at her.

“I think you have a good chance of winning it.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really?”

Ainsley smiled, bright and beautiful. Meredith grinned back, warmth spreading throughout her limbs as Ainsley turned and left the room without another word. If anything, her afternoon had certainly been far more interesting than she had anticipated. Meredith turned back to her desk, ready to do one more lesson plan before she shut down her office for the weekend.

Chapter Seven

Meredith finished baking most of the chicken potpie at home. All she needed to do was heat it up at Sam’s and it would be ready for them to eat. She’d made one for each of them even though she didn’t know if Jeremy would be able to dine with them or not. She pulled them out of the oven just as they were finished cooking and set them each on a cookie sheet to be able to transport them more easily.

The wine on her counter was already drunk, and she didn’t want to refill her glass before driving over to Sam’s apartment, even though he didn’t live that far from her. He’d moved there when Jeremy became unable to work any longer. He’d wanted to be closer to the school so if necessary he could pop home quickly if Jeremy needed him, and he’d wanted to live entirely on one floor to make it easier for Jeremy to move around.

Meredith set her empty wine glass in the sink before turning on the water and rinsing it out. She cleaned it and set it on the rack to dry. Walking to the door, Meredith grabbed her jacket and gloves, tying the tie around her waist after buttoning it up. It hung just above her knees, but the deep red color on it was beautiful and matched wonderfully with her hair. She went back to the kitchen and grabbed the potpies, heading out to her car.

After she had everything locked up, she got into her car and drove to Sam’s. She didn’t know why, but the rock in the pit of her stomach grew bigger with each block she turned. Sam had been her best friend for more years than she cared to count, and subsequently, Jeremy was also a close friend. They’d done most everything together until he’d gotten sick.

Taking a deep breath, Meredith gripped the steering wheel hard and continued to drive the half mile to Sam’s and Jeremy’s. It didn’t take her long, and once she pulled into the gated lot, she parked in front of their apartment. Sam’s car was looking run down, which she noticed when she passed by. It wasn’t clean like it normally was, and there were scratches along the side from someone hitting his vehicle in the parking lot at the school. Normally he would have had them fixed within a week, but it had been close to a year. Shaking her head, Meredith grabbed the potpies from the back seat of her car and made her way to Sam’s door.

By holding the cookie sheet with their dinner on board, she couldn’t knock. Meredith kicked out her foot, rapping it gently against the bottom of the door. Sam finally came to answer it, and when the door opened, she was hit with the sickening smell of hospital and musk. She held her breath and fixed the biggest smile she could on her face.

“Hey, Sam.”

“Meredith!” He put his hands out and gripped her arms, bringing his face closer and planting a kiss on each cheek. She truly did smile then. Sam led her into the apartment and took the cookie sheet from her once they were in the kitchen, which was about ten steps from the front door. Meredith turned on the oven and set their dinner back inside to keep it warm while they chatted up a storm.

Sam already had a bottle of wine open and breathing. He poured two glasses and held his out for her to clink them together. Meredith obliged and then waited to see if Sam would say anything.

“To friendship and to misery.”

“That’s morose,” she answered and took a drink.

“It’s about how I feel right now.”

“Oh?” Meredith sipped from her wine again and looked around the tiny two-bedroom apartment. There were pieces of medical equipment everywhere. Everything looked chaotic and messy. Sam was a neat freak; even his office at the school was meticulously organized one hundred percent of the time. Everything in Sam’s life was in a sad state. Meredith drank some more wine to distract herself, but she couldn’t resist asking the one question on her mind.

“How bad is he?”

“He’s not good,” Sam answered, glancing back at where the bedrooms were. “Hospice doctors say a few weeks at most. He’s still eating, but not every day and sometimes he just refuses.”

Tears sprung into Sam’s eyes, and by consequence, into Meredith’s eyes. She set down her glass of wine and moved to Sam, wrapping her arms around his middle and pressing her face to his chest. She held onto him, breathing in his cologne deeply. She held onto him for minutes. Eventually Sam wrapped his arms around her, rubbing his hands up and down her back and nuzzling his nose into her hair. Meredith said nothing—there was nothing she could say. Her best friend’s life partner was dying, and there was no doubt in her mind Sam would be a mess afterward. They were soul mates—something Meredith had seen since meeting them.

“It’s so hard,” Sam whispered.

“I know, baby. I know.”

He was crying. It took her a bit to realize it, but when he sniffled in her ear, she knew he was crying and desperately wished she had come over more in the summer and come over sooner in the school year. She had left Sam on his own to deal with one of the hardest things he would have to work through. Meredith clenched her hands into fists, taking the back of his shirt firmly. She patted his back and moved away, brushing away the tears from her own eyes.

Sam did the same and then picked up his wine again, downing the rest of the glass. Meredith sipped at her own before moving to set up the dining room table for two. Sam sat down on the couch and stared off into space while she worked, and she felt utter sorrow for him.

Dinner was a quiet meal with stilted conversation. Meredith and Sam wanted to avoid the topic in the other room, and so they talked about anything but. They ate quickly, and Meredith cleaned up while Sam checked in on Jeremy and woke him up. She was just finishing dishes when Sam came back out and took her by the hand.

He led her through the kitchen and down the tiny hallway to the back bedroom. Meredith followed, her bare feet on the carpet from the shoes she had kicked off earlier, and she refused to look up and see where they were going. She knew what was going to happen. She was going to see Jeremy in bed, barely alive save for medical intervention, and she was going to break.

Hitching a breath, they entered the bedroom, the door squeaking slightly as it was opened. She closed her eyes and then opened them. Jeremy lay prone in the bed just like she had imagined, but he looked so different. His face was gaunt and pale, nothing more than the bones of his features and skin hanging off them. She bit her tongue to stop the tears from flooding forth and stayed next to Sam’s side with his hand in hers. Jeremy’s brown hair was dull and lifeless, chopped short away from his face instead of styled and messy on purpose. His eyes were the worst. They stuck out like sore thumbs on his face, and his pale blue eyes looked almost clear.

He looked like death. Death with a manicure. She smiled at the thought as she moved closer and took his hand in hers. She rubbed his cold fingers gingerly in her hand, warming them and smiling at him. Jeremy’s cracked and drying lips turned in her direction before he spoke.

“Hey, girly.”

“Hey,” she said, grinning.

“Long time no see.”

“Yeah, got busy this summer.”

“More books?”

“Three in one summer. It kept me very busy trying to keep up with it all.” She rubbed his arm, using the touch to center herself. Sam sat in a chair next to the head of the tiny twin bed and settled a hand on Jeremy’s shoulder.

“Three good ones?”

“The sales are doing well enough.”

“Good,” he said and coughed slightly. His breath wheezed each time he struggled to take one in.

She wished she could reach over, touch his chest, and ease the air from his body. She wished she could help. “Maybe Sam will go buy his copy and read them to you,” she added. “I’m sure he could make certain scenes in there real interesting to read out loud.”

Jeremy chuckled and then coughed. Sam reached over and held out a glass of water with a straw in it so he could sip. Once Jeremy had calmed down enough, he lay back against the pillows. “I bet he could.”

“Good.” Meredith rubbed his hand again, not sure what to say. One of her best friends was dying, and the truth of the situation had smacked her hard in the face. She hadn’t known Jeremy was this bad, hadn’t known weeks would be his outcome. “Well, I’ve got to get running. Early morning tomorrow. I miss seeing you,” she said.