She walks out of the library, and I wonder if she thinks her parting statement is a peace offering or reassuring in someway. To me, it comes off almost as if she’s surprised I’ve gotten that part right.
I’m standing there, seething and trying to organize my thoughts, when Jay reappears.
“Phoebe? Michaela asked me to bring this in.” He looks down at the box and presses his lips together before meeting my eyes.
“Don’t tell me.” I’m torn between laughing and groaning.
“She’s donating a tea set.”
The groan wins.
Chapter Twenty
Jay
I’ve always thoughtof myself as a good guy. Once again, being around Phoebe forces me to reevaluate. Because a good guy would have listened to Director Hopper present and admire how prepared, thorough, and professional she was. Instead, I half listened to Phoebe morph into a proper dictionary like she does around other people, and I respected that she delivered the information well. But mostly I sat there fixated on how much her red lipstick made me want to kiss her.
About the only thing that could distract me from her was the opportunity to talk to Professor Martinez, which I took every chance I got. I mentioned an interest in teaching at the university level, made it sound curious rather than needy, and brought up meeting for lunch sometime so I could pick his brain on breaking into academia. He wasn’t overly enthusiastic about it, but he seemed game enough and told me to email him.
It’s a toehold. No, not even a toehold. But he couldbecomethe toehold or point me toward one.
Final score: I advocated for myself but fixated on Phoebe’sfull red lips. Conclusion: I would not hire myself tomorrow for the role of good guy based on my actions today.
When I reach the cottage, dusk is falling, and the air is loud with crickets and locusts, especially back where the lawn ends and Grandad repopulated the back acres with native plants. I even have a visitor waiting next to the front door—a box turtle the size of a salad plate, almost, crowned with a domed shell. It’s probably pretty old to be so big.
“Hey, friend,” I say, stopping a few feet away to watch it. It sees me but doesn’t move. After a minute or so, it’s clear it doesn’t intend to entertain me with a turtle walk, so I skirt past it to the front door. The cottage is single-level with a plain concrete porch and no raised steps, but for as long as I can remember, there’s been a wooden bench by the door, and I have myself a sit. “Can I tell you my troubles, mister?”
Nothing about it suggests it’s interested, and I nod. “I get it.” I feel a pang of missing Grandad. I wish I could walk right back into his library, sit across from him at his desk, and ask him a bunch of questions. Like why he never told me about Phoebe before. And does he know the story between her and Catherine?
I didtryto be a good guy and intervene when Catherine Crawford raised concerns. I wish I knew the history between those two, but I got the sense that Catherine was being more critical of Phoebe specifically because it was Phoebe. It’s hard to say since she didn’t state her specific objections, but it obviously hadn’t helped anything to have her walk in and find Phoebe in my lap.
I don’t regret it, even though I know it embarrassed Phoebe. I didn’t mean for her to fall, but I’m not sorry she landed in my lap. More evidence against me. For the handful of seconds she was there, she felt exactly right. It was proof that for all her talk, she’s aware of the chemistry between us because it almost sparked, it was so intense.
“I’m not sure what to do about it, mister,” I tell the turtle. “If this were any other chick, I’d know. Smile, charm, talk her into a date, let it turn into a few more. We’d help each other fill our free time this summer, and when I finished my book, I’d give her a long kiss goodbye and look forward to seeing her at future board meetings.”
The turtle finally moves his head to stare at me.
“You’re asking why I don’t do that?”
He blinks.
“Fair question, and I have no easy answers.”
From the moment I caught her on the ladder, Phoebe has not been like any girl I’ve known. With other women, I’ve got game. I expect it to work because it always does. With Phoebe, I’m desperate for it to work, and I can never tell if it is. I work hard for every smile she gives me, and I want to high-five myself every time I say something that impresses her. Worst of all, I spend way too much time thinking of scenarios that end with us making out. I’ve developed an addiction to her.
It’s not like I don’t know what this is. I’ve been around when my friends have fallen for a woman. I’ve seen it happen instantly, where somehow my dude is half in love with a woman on sight, before they’ve even said hello. Even when it takes “longer,” I’ve seen more than one friend start with a social hello, but by the end of the evening, it’s obvious he’s interested, and that hook sinks in deeper the more time he spends with her.
“Do turtles fall in love?” I ask my visitor. “What about love at first sight? Or is it more straightforward for you guys?”
The turtle stretches his neck and opens his mouth.
I narrow my eyes. “Are youyawningat me?”
He snaps his mouth shut, then opens and snaps it again.
“Oh, not yawning?”
He lowers his head but keeps it turned my way.
