A lot of things were starting to make sense now. Michelle’s shocked reaction that first day when Audrey told her what classes she’d be teaching. The way Greta had asked why Audrey was teaching Michelle’s class at the cocktail party. Michelle’s admission yesterday that she’d wanted to teach a different class.
Oh, Michelle . . .
A few minutes later, Michelle appeared in her doorway in black slacks and a ruby-red blouse, looking so goddamn gorgeous Audrey wanted to sink her hands into Michelle’s neat updo and muss it up while she kissed her senseless. And then she wanted to cry over what she’d just learned.
“Ready?” Michelle asked.
“Yes.” They walked downstairs and out into the quad, where the trees had begun to shed their leaves, blanketing the sidewalk with a mixture of red and brown. “You wanted to teach Women in Art. You pitched it year after year, and Stuart kept turning you down.”
Michelle cast a wary look at Audrey. “Who told you that?”
“Is it true?” Audrey heard the desperation in her voice.
“It doesn’t matter,” Michelle said, which was an answer in itself.
“Yes, it does.”
“You can never just let it go, can you?” Michelle sounded angry, but Audrey was beginning to suspect it was all part of her armor. “Fine. Yes, it’s true. Happy?”
“No.” Audrey felt the hot press of tears behind her eyes. She’d had no idea she had taken the class Michelle wanted to teach, the class Michelle had been asking to teach foryears. It was the last thing Audrey would have ever wanted. “No, I’m not happy. I’m angry and horrified and ... and sad. I feel like I just kicked you in the teeth, and I hate it!”
Michelle’s nostrils flared. “Don’t be dramatic. It’s just a class.”
“Come on, Michelle. It’s not just a class.” Audrey put a hand on her shoulder, intending to stop her so they could have a real conversation about this before they reached the student center, but as soon as her fingers made contact with Michelle’s blouse and she felt the warm skin beneath, she realized it was the first time she’d ever touched her.
Michelle inhaled sharply, glancing at Audrey’s hand before she met Audrey’s gaze. Her eyes were even more intense than usual, and for a moment, everything between them felt charged. Audrey gulped, snatching her hand back even as she yearned to wrap her arms around Michelle. The need to touch her again was almost overwhelming.
Audrey wrapped her arms around herself instead. “It’s me, remember? I know how passionate you are about women in art, so I can imagine how badly you wanted to teach this class, and I ... I can’t believe he gave it to me when it should have been yours.”
Michelle turned abruptly and started walking down the path toward the student center, turning her back to Audrey.
“Michelle ... dammit!” Audrey hustled after her. “This is unfair, and it sucks, and I’m trying to tell you how sorry I am.”
“I don’t want your apology,” Michelle snapped. Her walls were so high right now, they felt like a force field pushing Audrey away. “And I don’t want to talk about your damn class. Why do you always push on these things? Just let it go ... please.”
There was something almost vulnerable in that last word, and Audrey tried to put herself in Michelle’s shoes. She’d told Audrey she was reserved. She’d obviously been hurt to learn that Audrey had gotten the class. Michellealwaysgot prickly and defensive when Audrey tried to have difficult conversations with her, and while it felt important to Audrey that they talk about this, obviously Michelle didn’t agree.
“Okay. I’m dropping it,” Audrey said. “I was just really upset to find out because I hope you know I’d rather see you teaching Women in Art. You deserve this class.”
“No, I don’t.” Michelle stopped abruptly, staring right at Audrey with a look that made Audrey’s heart seem to lose its rhythm. “I observed your class, remember? You were fantastic. Compelling. I couldn’t take my eyes off you up there.” She turned and started walking again. “Now let’s go help these kids plan a queer-friendly Halloween.”
Michelle was a woman possessed. All week, she’d spent every free moment on her back porch with her laptop, research scattered in a semicircle around her as she typed out page after page. At first, she had tried to discount Audrey’s idea. Writing a work of fiction starring Eliza St. Claire as the main character?
That wasn’t the kind of writing Michelle did. Sure, it was her favorite type of book to read, the type that really brought history to life by telling the story like a novel. Of course, being a historian, half the time she ended up wanting to throw the book she was reading across the room when the historical inaccuracies became too much for her.
But with this book, herownbook, she could ensure every detail was correct ...
Somehow, knowing this was a personal project, not something that would count toward her academic-publishing goals, only spurred her on. This project belonged only to Michelle, and she simply couldn’t stop writing. By Saturday night, she’d completed and polished three chapters, which seemed like a suitable sample if she dared show it to anyone. And there was only one person she wanted to show, one person who knew she was writing a book, who had encouraged her to take this leap and turn it into historical fiction.
But did she dare?
Michelle sipped her whisky as the revelation hit her square in the solar plexus. She didn’t want to teach at NU anymore. Whereas she had once begun her mornings eager to get to the campus, day by day, year by year, that enthusiasm had been chipped away until now she felt like she was dragging herself through each day, chained by the security of having tenure.
Maybe Stuart giving the Women in Art class to Audrey had been her breaking point, or maybe that had been Audrey herself, bursting into the building like a ray of sunshine that left Michelle blinking in her shadow, wondering how long she’d been sitting in the dark.
Whatever the cause, her eyes were open now, and she could see the writing on the wall. It was time for a change. Not right away. Michelle had never been an impulsive woman, but yesterday, she’d stumbled across a posting for what sounded like a perfect position for her at Oxford. It was a long shot, and it would mean giving up the job security she enjoyed at Northshire, but if she got the job, she could go home.
Perhaps she should apply. Maybe she should even put feelers out for other university positions in the UK. As the warmth of whisky settled in her stomach, she resolved that shewould. She’d apply for as many positions as possible, and if one of them panned out ... she would have to give it careful consideration, of course, but perhaps returningto the UK would help reinvigorate her career. Plus, she’d be near Kate and her family.
