Before I could finish my question, the back door closed one last time, and a man came in carrying a briefcase in one hand and a jacket tucked under one arm. I thought he was a student, but then he set his bag next to the podium and dug for some papers, looking up to scan the room.
“Hey, guys,” he said. “I’m Professor Hansen, but you can call me Paul. Ready to get started?”
Chapter 3
Renee
The sky was darkeningwhen my last class ended, and I walked to my campus housing in the cold. My fingers were numb and tingling, even though our house was less than two blocks from the largest lecture hall on campus. It was only autumn, but in Denver, fall was cold. Like, freezing.
The front porch lights to our beautiful three-bedroom on-campus house were on when I got home, and I knew that at least one of my roommates was already there. I lived with two other girls; my good friend Jami, a woman I met through online classes last year and befriended at once, and a second woman, Carly. Carly is new to both Jami and me, but she seemed okay. A little wild, maybe, but okay. As I hung my pack near the door and kicked off my shoes, the delicious smell of homemade soup wafted from the kitchen.
“I hope you saved some for me,” I called with a grin, making my way to the kitchen.
“Girl, duh,” Jami said, pushing her reading glasses up onto the bridge of her nose as I came in. She was in school attire, a button-down white shirt, and jeggings. Her chestnut hair was pulled up on top of her head in a businesslike manner, and the shaved pencil she kept on her was tucked carefully behind one ear. She was adorable, my friend, a woman wise beyond her years. She was the reason I ditched online school and moved to campus housing. “Dig in.”
“You’re amazing.” I grabbed a bowl from the cupboard, and Jami spooned in some chicken noodle soup, handing it back to me with a slice of homemade bread. “Where do you even find the time for this, especially today?” I asked, sitting down at the table. “Wasn’t your first day busy? How was your Social Welfare Policy class?”
“Yeah, it was okay, but I got my homework done early,” Jami said with a shrug. My best friend was majoring in social work, a career that would undoubtedly fulfill her in all the ways she needed. That was just the person she was.
I laughed, peppering my soup. Jami was an overachiever. Everything was always done, early or on time, and it was always fantastic work. An honors student, probably valedictorian. “You would.”
“Hey now.” Jami plopped at the table beside me, reaching for an open bottle of wine. She poured herself some, then me. We clinked, and I took a long drink. “I like school, okay? Homework is, well, fun for me.”
“I guess that’s what makes you so fabulous.” I took a bite of my soup, savoring the perfectly spiced concoction. It warmed my throat, then my stomach. I closed my eyes, tired suddenly. I still had a ton of homework to do, but I couldn’t even think too hard about it.
“How was your clinical rotation?” Jami asked as we ate. “Did you get any traumas?”
“A drunk driver hit a mom and her kid,” I told her with a sigh. “He killed his daughter and put the little boy in intensive care.”
“Jesus,” Jami said with a shake of her head. “I don't know how you do it.”
Because someone did it for me,I wanted to say, but I bit my tongue before the words could slip out. Like I told Daniel’s mother... you couldn’t change the past. It didn’t matter, not really.
As I reached for the butter to spread it on my bread, the front door opened again, and someone giggled, stumbling in. I looked at Jami, who rolled her eyes.
“Carly,” we said together. Our third roommate, Carly Madison, comes into the kitchen, dropping her coat on the ground behind her and kicking her shoes off over the living-room carpet. She was giggling, drunk, probably.
