The Wave by Kristen Crusoe (ebook reader online txt) 📗

hoops in her ears, she considered letting her hair down but decided not to. It remained in its cloistered bun. She chose a pair of low black flats, not wanting to add to her height; at five foot ten she found she often towered over her co-workers, even most of the men in the math and science departments. It was growing cooler in the evenings so she tossed a dove gray cashmere sweater across her shoulders.

‘I’m a showpiece. Best dress the part then,’ she said aloud to herself in the mirror, before turning and heading downstairs and out the door to meet Claudia.

* * *

He was the first thing she heard and the first person she noticed when they walked into the already crowded room. Standing a head above the cluster of people pressed around him, his voice boomed over the background sound of soft Brazilian jazz, cutlery, crystal, and bodies shuffling around a small space. A burst of laughter followed his words, whatever he had said amusing to the group. He brushed his prematurely silver hair back from his face and glanced around the room, his eyes finding hers. She was standing at the entranceway, waiting for Claudia to hand her coat to a young woman, a graduate student most likely, serving as hostess. Clair held his gaze, something stirring deep inside her belly. Heat moving up causing her face to flush, she was helpless to stop it. She turned abruptly to the hostess, reaching beyond Claudia, and almost throwing her sweater at the girl. Breathing in deeply, she took a moment to reclaim her equanimity. Good God, she thought, what was that? When she turned back around, he was there, at her side, glass of champagne in his hand. She could feel his breath on her neck. A head taller, he stood close enough to almost touch, his body heat tangible.

‘I know you, but I don’t,’ he said, leaning towards her so that she caught a light scent of citrus and patchouli.

Clair felt the room collapse into just him, standing close to her, his heat causing the tiny hairs on her arms to quiver. She focused on taking the glass of champagne, sipping, and swallowing.

She smiled, hating that she had to look up. It made her feel somehow infantile. She turned slightly to the side, scanning the room, her breath beginning to find a pattern again. One long exhale and she was ready to engage in the glib sort of conversation she remembered these faculty events requiring.

‘I’m Clair Mercer, Science and Math. And you are?’ She knew who he was, but she didn’t want to give that away.

‘Adam, Adam Gage, Theatrics.’

She liked his voice, low, deep, a fine baritone, she thought.

‘I know, yes, I have seen you on campus, usually surrounded by a group of students.’

‘Yes, well, goes with the territory. They all feel like this is their one big chance, to get a start, a leg up. It is only college but, for so many, it’s a chance.’

She expected him to be glib, sarcastic, demeaning even, but he wasn’t. He seemed to care about these students and their high hopes.

‘And what about you? Did you have your chance?’ she asked, looking sideways, not directly at him, but holding him in her space.

‘Now, that’s a story for another time. Can we have another time?’ he asked, his eyes, serious, contrasting with the smile on his face.

‘Yes,’ she said, wanting to end the back and forth. ‘I would like that.’

He didn’t leave her side the rest of the evening. And she remained with him, drinking more than she should, reeling under his attention. Adam Gage, head of the drama department, and with a reputation for attraction and seduction. Never with students, she had heard, but certainly with faculty, and with women from town who he directed in local theater productions. And now, here she was, caught up in his web, enticed, enthralled, and allowing it all to come to her. Claudia, a constant presence, circling and touching his arm in passing, made Clair wonder if perhaps she had been or was, one of these women. But she didn’t linger on the question. She surrendered to the attention and the feeling of sensuality it brought her.

After the party, he walked her home, the streets empty, dry leaves blowing along the sidewalk. The air was cold, brisk, smelling of fir. She huddled inside his long, dark wool coat, his arm around her, holding her tightly to his side. He reached up and untied her hair, saying, ‘Let it loose, feel the wind in your hair, in your veins.’

She turned to look at him, and he stopped walking, pulled her into his body, kissed her lips, cold and sweet. She kissed him back. When they arrived at her door, he entered, without a word and without hesitation, they began undressing in the hall, moving slowly and awkwardly toward the stairs, up the stairs, into the bedroom, onto the bed and into rapture. She didn’t know what had happened, she didn’t care. She felt herself opening, flowing, and feeling moved from deep within, unbounded and complete.

In the morning, he placed his palm against her bare belly. ‘I hope there’s nothing in here,’ he said, with a slight smile.

She met his gaze, amazed he was still there, in her bed. And now this. Unthought of.

Then she did think. Blinking away the brightness of the possibility, her mind leaping to a reality never before considered, she said, ‘I’ll have it of course, if there is.’

Chapter 3

Clair Present

Clair looked at Jet, the memory of that morning fresh as a wound. ‘And I did,’ she said quietly, hands clasping together as in prayer.

‘That’s enough for today, Clair, you did well,’ Jet said, standing and laying a hand on Clair’s shoulder. ‘I think we made a good start.’

Start on what? Clair wondered. My recovery? Conviction? Imprisonment after this hospitalization? Just what is starting? And for there to be a start, what has ended? She sat still, jumbled thoughts