Rachel grabbed the red ribbon but left the stones behind in her haste to follow Dagne inside. She followed her all the way to the front door. “You’re coming Thanksgiving, right?” she called as Dagne ran across the porch and down the steps.
“Wouldn’t miss it!” Dagne shouted as she reached her car, and quickly dove inside to get out of the rain.
Rachel stood there, watched her pull out of the drive. And as Dagne started down the street, an old Geo Metro pulled into the drive. Oh, no—Myron. Rachel thought she was supposed to be spared misfortune.
She stepped inside, went to pick up the wineglasses.
“Yo!” Myron called from the front door as she washed the wineglasses. “Anyone home?”
“Back here!”
He came striding through the kitchen door, planted a big kiss on her cheek. “I was beginning to think you didn’t live here anymore,” he said, moving instantly to the fridge. “I’ve been by a half-dozen times and you aren’t home. So I guess you’re working hard, huh?”
Rachel glanced over her shoulder at him to see if he was kidding. Apparently, he wasn’t.
“Man, your cupboard is like, bare,” he said, shaking his head. “Can’t even get a decent sandwich out of here.”
“I’m having a little financial crisis, remember?”
“What about the temp thing?” he asked.
“I can’t really make enough to pay all the bills,” she said.
Myron turned and looked at her. “You really need to call up the old man, Rachel. You’re wasting away to skin and bones.”
Hello, what did he say? “I am?” Rachel asked, looking down.
Myron laughed. “You could fit another of you in those jeans, haven’t you noticed?”
She stepped back a little farther from the sink and looked down, then behind. They did seem a little baggier than usual. But according to her scale, she hadn’t lost more than a few pounds at most.
“Anyway,” Myron said, “your old man is not going to cut you off, no matter what he says. I bet if you call him up and tell him you’re starving, he’ll come through. He’s just trying to scare you into finishing school, that’s all. So how’s that going, by the way?”
“Pretty good,” she said, perking up, for school was, at last, going well. “I think I settled on a dissertation topic. I’m going to write up the prospectus over the holidays.”
“Hey, that’s great,” Myron said, and his smile was, Rachel knew, genuine. “You know, I’ve been doing some thinking about my situation,” he said.
Myron thinking about himself—no surprise there.
“I’m not sure teaching college-level courses is my thing.”
Whoa, that was a shock. Rachel stopped what she was doing and turned around to look at him again. Not high, not kidding . . . “What do you mean? You’ve been a college professor forever.”
“I know,” Myron said with a laugh, and shut the fridge door, sauntered over to the pantry. “I just feel like it’s time for a change. You remember that place my folks have on Hilton Head?”
How could she forget? It was the one decent place he’d ever taken her, and even then she’d had to pay for half of the trip.
“I was thinking of going down there and doing some surfing. Just spend some time getting my head on straight, maybe smoke a joint or two and sort of mull over what life is all about, you know what I’m saying?”
No, she didn’t know what he was saying. This could not be the same, tenure-starved man she’d known for the last few years. “Are you all right, Myron?” she asked. “This doesn’t sound like you at all. I thought academia was your life.”
He laughed again, pulled out some bread and peanut butter and proceeded to make a sandwich. “I guess you aren’t the only one who’s been changing, Rach.”
“Have I been changing?”
“Are you kidding? Look at you. Working, finding a dissertation topic, going to the gym . . . that’s not the Rachel I know.”
It wasn’t really the Rachel she knew, either.
The phone rang. “I need to get that,” she said, and ducked out of the kitchen, feeling his eyes on her back.
“Hallo, might I please speak with the gorgeous woman who refuses to believe that penguins make marvelous pets?” the distinctive British voice asked when she answered.
A warm flush went right through her. “Speaking,” she said, smiling softly, and pushed her hair behind her ear.
“What are you about, Rachel? I’ve missed your laughter today.”
“I’ve been holed up in the library.”
“How exciting for you. I hope it was at least productive.”
“It was. I’ve got enough to write a prospectus, I think.”
“Fantastic news!” Flynn said happily. “I’ve absolutely no idea what a prospectus is, but I’m chuffed to bits for you, love. Perhaps we might celebrate your blinding success—I’ll grab some takeaway Chinese and stop by, eh?”
She glanced over her shoulder. Myron was standing in the kitchen, eating his sandwich, staring at her. “I could just come there.”