Back To U

chapter Four

Whole milk is superior for frozen desserts.





The length of a college weekend was proving to be deadly boring. Saturdays might be bearable. One day with nothing at all scheduled, she could probably manage. She’d done some reading in The Refined Palate: Savory Sauces, Third Edition and rewritten her notes for psych. Twice. She wasn’t in any danger of flunking that class. She wished she’d known years before that what was challenging at eighteen, experience made easier at thirty-nine. It seemed to be one of the few things that improved with age.

So Saturday had been do-able, but Sunday... She’d saved for six days to do two loads of laundry. Two tiny loads of laundry. If her clothes were either all dark or all light, she probably could have jammed everything into one load, but it was good that two loads took twice as long. While she waited for the spin cycle to complete, she’d shopped online for things she couldn’t buy. What fun was putting things in your shopping cart and then unloading them before check-out? She’d never been a big shopper, except for anything involving the house, Missy, Steve, and cooking, okay that was quite a bit, but who knew when she’d ever be able to shop again?

When she didn’t think she could stand another minute of the quiet, she picked up the phone, dialed, and heard her mother’s familiar, "Hello?"

"Hi, Mom."

"Oh, it’s my college girl."

"Funny."

"What do you mean, dear? Did you drop out again?"

Maybe that’s where she’d gotten her unwavering faith in herself. Her mom didn’t blink an eye assuming she’d shot herself in the foot again. "I’m just a little bored, that’s all."

"Well, a little boredom is good for the soul."

"Really?"

"I don’t know. It’s just something people say in polite conversations."

Gwen considered if she’d ever heard that boredom was good for the soul. There were lots of things reported to make humans better, usually painful things that were rarely worth the suffering of. "Who says that?"

"Well, I just did, aren’t you listening? Missy might be right."

"Missy?" Gwen felt her heart rate kick up. "Did you talk to Missy?"

"Of course. She called, let’s see… Wednesday. And then, yes, Friday."

"Twice?"

"Twice this week. What’s going on, Gwen?"

"Well, I just…" Her daughter hadn’t bothered to call her then betrayed her by calling her grandmother instead. And Gwen’s own mother had gone behind her back by, well, talking.

"She’s just fine, Gwennie. If anything was wrong you’d know about it."

"I would?"

"A young woman with a problem needs her mother just as much as a child does."

Gwen tried to digest that over her hurt. "So, her completely ignoring me is a good sign?"

"An excellent one."

But, that meant… god, she must be really screwed up. She’d been so bored and lonely she’d called her mother. "You didn’t tell her I was--"

"Of course not. And Steve won’t know either. Don’t worry. I drop by the house every day, check your messages, although there really aren’t any, and pick up the mail."

"Thanks. Hey, Mom, do you think Missy’s called Steve?"

"Oh, honey, fathers and daughters are simpler, that’s all."

Gwen considered that she’d never had the chance to figure that out, but it seemed true. It certainly was true that mothers and daughters weren’t simple. Just when she thought she had a handle on her own…

"Honey, it’s Bunco day, so I’m gonna run. Tina’s picking me up in an hour, and I still need to get on my game shirt."

Gwen remembered the Bunco club’s t-shirts were rhinestoned. She was pretty sure she’d been given one. It was probably shoved it into the back of a dresser drawer, mercifully never seeing the light of day. Even Ellen was in danger of not being able to pull off a shirt that shiny, and her mother could manage to make anything look tame by comparison. "Bye, Mom." She hung up and knew she couldn’t sit another minute in the tiny dorm room. On the lower floors lurked Mranda who could make hello sound snarky, but down the hall a giant television beckoned, and she’d packed one movie in her daughter's college-bound car.



If she’d owned her own TV, she would have hidden in her room for the viewing, but luckily she found the floor’s lounge deserted. It had taken her a couple of tries to work the huge television that Guy seemed born to operate, but when the sound poured out from beside and behind her, it was worth the effort, and it was Missy’s favorite. For several years the retelling of Cinderella with Whoopee Goldberg as the queen and Whitney Houston as the fairy godmother had riveted her girl. Gwen estimated she’d sat through it at least twice a month, and the rest of the time the music played in the background while she ironed or put together the school newsletter for the P.T.A.

She knew, through osmosis, every word of every song. She couldn’t hit the Whitney high notes, but then not even Whitney could after Bobbie left her alone at forty. But since women never learned, there was poor Cinderella singing her heart out, lookin’ for love in the market place. The prince, disguised as a regular guy, belted it out on the other side of every fruit and vegetable display. Would they ever meet? Over the crescendo of the duet, Gwen thought she heard the ding of the elevator doors followed by the distinct sound of an animal herd tramping down the hall. She grabbed for the remote but not quickly enough. They were right behind her.

She turned, more embarrassed than she would have been if she’d been caught watching Oprah. She was a grown woman watching a fairytale that was just shy of being animated, and there were three guys who were Belmar-football-accessorized in jerseys, hats, and travel mugs. Sunday was probably a big day for football. They stared at her like she’d landed on their planet from outer space. She waved. "Venus."

The largest of the bunch tipped his hat. "Mrs. Venus, I’m Jason. I was a lineman for the Central High School Cougars."

If she was supposed to identify herself based on the position she’d played in high school, she’d have to say Phillipsburg High good girl, which was sort of a non-position really. "I’m not actually Mrs. Venus."

"Ms. Venus." He pointed at the other two, who were his size if they were combined. "That’s Bryan, Cougar quarterback and Hayden."

She took a second to register the names. It wasn't like she'd met very many dorm residents. Mostly they ignored her like they would any other visiting mom. Jason looked like a giant farm boy, solid in probably every sense of the word, giant Jason. Former quarterback Bryan was almost too handsome and had a slick, charming smile that would serve him well in business school, business Bryan.

The third boy, Hayden, couldn't have been a football player even if he'd attended an all-girls high school. He had a tall, spindly build but real sincerity when he shook her hand, heartfelt Hayden.

"I kept the stats." Hayden looked reluctant to interrupt her movie. "We didn’t know anybody would be here. The floor’s pretty much uninhabited."

"It mostly is." She cringed as the Cinderella/Prince duet cranked up. They’d finally found each other amid the hanging poultry, but she pointed the remote and turned the TV off. "You go right ahead. I was just killing time."

Business Bryan, rounded the sectional and gave her a grin that would have made any teacher give the boy an A. "Now, it hurts me to hear you’re killin’ time on a beautiful game day."

"I’m not much of a football fan, sorry."

"You’ve never watched with real fans."

Giant Jason stretched out in one of the club chairs, most of the upholstery disappearing beneath him. "It’s a different game when you've got fans."

Gwen handed Bryan the remote and watched him then Hayden take their seats. They seemed to have designated places, and she was glad her spot on the end didn’t interfere with their routine. Like chefs in the kitchen, she supposed fans had their places. "Who’s playing?"

Jason put his hand to his chest and looked a little like some friendly bear with his paw up. "Belmar and Oregon State." He took a gulp from a travel mug that Gwen suspected didn’t hold anything hot.

She considered that she might have some universal responsibility for speaking out against underage drinking, but they were legal adults if not legal drinkers, and she was only a college student not the dorm’s P.T.A. president. "Is the game here?"

The channel surfing stopped, and they all stared at her.

"Oh, of course not. You’d all be at the game, wouldn’t you?"

"Damn straight," Jason answered.

"Language." Bryan smiled at her.

Hayden shook his head. "They’ll try their best, but the competitive spirit will, sooner or later, move them to profanity."





"Goddamn! Are they gonna sack Williams all season? What the hell were they doing? The left tackle didn’t hold the f*cking line!" She still couldn’t get over it. The quarterback needed some protection, and where were the damn blockers?

"Venus, you called that one." Jason high-fived her. "Dominico needs to get a set of balls by the next game or Belmar’s gonna lose another one."

Hayden held the remote, finger poised on the play button. "Tell me when you’re ready."

Gwen pointed toward the TV but felt the Belmar travel mug tip, splashing the inside of her wrist. She licked it, missed once, then got it. She didn’t know what Red Bull was, but she couldn’t even taste the vodka in it. And the game had been so exciting. Belmar had nearly won and then they’d all watched Cinderella and still she wasn’t even tired. She ought to go to bed. It was a school night, but the boys were finally getting the hang of the lyrics. "Okay, this time Jason gets to sing the prince’s solo in the ballroom."

There was protesting from Bryan, but she needed to be firm or there’d be a fight. "Jason has a bigger range than you do, Bryan. But you are outstanding in the garden scene. I think I speak for us all when I say the duet with Hayden was really something."

"Alright… and hit it." She pointed at Hayden, and when the music started, she cued Jason. He might be a two-hundred pounder but that boy could sing like an angel.





She squinted at her watch but could barely see it. She wasn't sure if the lounge lights hadn’t kept up with the dark outside, or her eyelids hadn’t kept up with her eyeballs and she was under-blinking.

"You left Belmar twenty years ago…" Hayden’s voice sounded like a narrator on a public television program, a program about something bad like the break-up of Pangaea.

Pangaea? Where in the hell had that come from? She blinked a couple of times to try and clear her sight. "Pangaea was the first, you know, big land thing, right?"

Hayden nodded and Jason seemed to try and get her back on track. "And you left after Max left you and then you married Steve, who also left you?"

"Something like that." Jeeze that didn't sound like much fun for her.

"Steve did seem like the right one." Hayden was definitely tracking the conversation better than she was. They all were. "I think it’s a choice any number of women would make. Steve is the kind of guy I’d want my sister to marry."

"Max sounds like a cool guy, though." Bryan, with his charm, would side with an Alpha male. "What guy doesn’t want to get out there and travel and make something of himself before he ends up married?"

"Some guys never settle down." Hayden seemed ready to quote statistics but stopped himself.

Jason nodded. "He might be that guy still going after girls when he’s old and has hair coming out his ears."

Gwen pictured Max in the atrium. In shape. In control. She hated to admit it, but…"he looks great."

Jason shook his head. "But the pee picture. Not cool."

She sighed. Not cool and not deserved, well, at least not in recent history.

"Kinda funny…" Bryan started to go on like an impressed high school boy.

"Not cool." Jason wiggled his eyebrows.

"Payback then." Bryan high-fived Jason.

Gwen felt she’d missed something. They’d been talking about why she was there and then the photo and then, "what?"

"Payback." Bryan shrugged like it was a given. "Guy like that’s just pushin’ it. You let him, and he’s gonna think he’s some badass. You gotta be one up on him."

Jason flexed his enormous shoulders. "We could find him and--"

It was sweet to see a farm boy try for mafia tough. "No, I don’t think so. I think I should just ignore it. Ignore him and--"

Bryan jumped up. "Take the picture down. Just rip it right down."

Jason pointed at him. "Put something up, something that says game on."

"Game on!" All three guys said it together.

She tried to clear her head with a shake, but it just buzzed more. "I don’t think so. I’m not really a game on kind of gal. I mean I get the screw you message, but I’m not sure if that’s the--"

"That’s it, classic. Flip him the bird, Venus. Just the bird." Bryan demonstrated, and it had a smooth quality to it as if he’d had lots of practice.

Before she could talk them out of it, they gathered around her, and flipped open their cell phones, arguing over who would take the winning shot. Gwen didn’t want to disappoint them since they just taught her everything she knew about football and entertained her through what would have been a long, lonely Sunday.

Hayden motioned for her to move. "Use the couch as the backdrop and don’t get your face in the shot."

Jason, eyeing the scene with great seriousness, nodded in agreement. "We’re bein’ subtle here."

She felt the peer pressure and tried to stick her middle finger up while centering the couch cushion behind it. She wasn’t sure she had it right, but the place lit up like the paparazzi had arrived.

Hayden studied his phone. "Nah, it’s too generic."

"Generic?" Gwen looked at the display as he turned it toward her.

"Hayden’s minoring in art." Bryan rolled his eyes and gave a little wave. "Hello!"

"Jason, take off your headband." Hayden took it and shook it out to reveal the Belmar logo. He draped it over Gwen’s head, and she tried to ignore the sweaty boy smell. He pulled it down until only her mouth was out. "Now put your lips right next to your hand, make the appropriate gesture, and say..."

Gwen puckered up.

"Game on!"





Gwen's Journal - September 5th, 1989 – Monday



College is so great. I knew school would be, but I also thought I’d be working so hard that there wouldn’t be much else. The weird thing is you don’t go to school as much as you do in high school. Most of my classes are only Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings. On Tuesday and Thursday I’m done at 1:00, and even with work-study in the cafeteria a couple of hours, I’m still done way before I ever got done in high school and that’s not even counting the Dairy Haven until 9:00.

And the guys. Some of them are different than anyone I knew before. Well, one of them is.



Gwen's Life - The evening before…



"Hope you’re hungry." Max pulled out of the dorm parking lot and turned toward town.

She nodded, didn’t even try to smile. Her mouth was dry from nerves, and she worried that her lips would stick to her teeth. It didn’t help that she didn't have a clue where they were going. She had enough trouble picking clothes out, but it was impossible when dinner could be pizza or something nice. She’d even been prepared to walk. She hadn’t known Max had a car, a really nice Toyota Corolla his parents probably handed down to him. Her mom once tried to give her some hand-me-down bras, but they’d all been too big. Some people were so lucky.

"The food will be good, but, heads up, dessert will suck."

"Oh, okay." She thought they’d keep heading toward town, but Max turned into the residential area near campus where the streets were all named for things like trees or maybe just plants in general. Driving down Eucalyptus, Max stopped in front of a beautiful brick house big enough to be a fraternity. It even had a sign on the front lawn, an old brass plaque.

Max got out and pocketed the car keys, so she followed, walking beside him to the front door where orangey red flowers bloomed in an oversized urn. It was all so well-tended, she was sure she'd once lived in its ugly twin. There'd been a dilapidated rental when she was twelve or thirteen and her mom had lost a job from fraternizing with the boss. She’d had to look up the meaning of the word, and it took half way down the entry before she understood exactly why Ellen was unemployed. That house had all the front windows blocked by ragged shrubs, like someone had possessed an ounce of enthusiasm to plant them but didn’t stick around long enough to do the tending.

Reaching for the brass door handle, Max turned to her and smiled, so dazzling, so unexpected. She said yes in her head and worried she’d said it out loud, all breathy and intense like she meant it.

He put his hand on the small of her back, and she involuntarily leaned in. She did mean it. Opening the door for her, they stepped across the threshold, and she knew immediately that the place smelled way too good to be a frat house. It had to be…

"Max."

Gwen saw her at the end of the hall, her blonde hair short and frosted so discretely it looked like the sun lit up the dark hallway. This was no woman with a bottle of sun-in from the drugstore who took a couple of hours in a lounge chair out back when she needed to spruce up her roots. That would be her mother. This elegant woman would be Max’s.

"You’ve brought a friend."

Even her voice had class. Gwen sighed. Max was so lucky. No wonder he’d brought her here. She’d drag strangers home too if this was her family.

"This is Gwen. Gwen, my mother, Margaret Holter."

"Mrs. Holter." Gwen thought her eyes looked surprised, but her voice was so neutral, it was hard to tell if it was a good thing or a bad thing to be the uninvited dinner guest.

Margaret raised a groomed eyebrow up a notch at Max. "No last name, Max? Surely dorm life with those boys hasn’t removed all your manners."

Gwen rushed in. She may be the daughter of that woman Ellen and only at Belmar by the grace of a scholarship, but she was a woman with a last name even if Max didn’t have a clue what it was. "Ciarrochi."

Margaret smiled. "I love Italy."

Gwen hooked her thumb toward the door. "I’m from Phillipsburg. But my dad was Italian."

Margaret motioned toward the end of the hallway as if they were supposed to follow her but a few steps down it, she stopped, and Gwen realized the past tense had done it. One of the worst parts about not having a dad was having to explain yourself over and over. "He passed away when I was little." At least he’d died of natural causes. In case that was the next question. Gwen had that going for her. She could at least say it was a heart attack although her mother still couldn’t without crying. Maybe Ellen had loved for real once, before she’d half fallen in love with a dozen men and flirted with a million more.

But Margaret didn’t ask any more questions, just nicely excused herself to get, no doubt, another plate for dinner. She acted as if she’d known Gwen was coming all along, which made her a very smooth hostess. She'd like to be one of those someday.

When Max led her into the dining room, she saw it was set for three, just as she suspected. They both ignored that, and she admired the room with its dark paneling about waist high and an honest to god chandelier above the most polished table she’d ever seen. She wondered what she was doing there and felt some relief when Max held out a chair for her. It was something to do and later there’d be food to keep her busy.

She began to relax as she watched him take the seat across from her, and then the dean walked in. Belmar’s dean. The guy who’d stood next to President Hoffman at the welcome address. And he had on a tie, a tie for dinner. In fact, if he popped on a navy blazer, he’d look exactly like he had on the podium.

"Dad, this is Gwen Ciarrochi."

She was glad she’d at least worn her green corduroys and not her Levi’s. She extended her hand. "Dean Holter." She had packed the one black skirt, blazer, and pair of pumps she’d needed for speech and debate. That outfit would have been better than the cords for the parents but completely wrong for Max. Nothing said I was dateless for prom like a business suit and white bow blouse. And she’d had a date for prom. The salutatorian, Will Arnold, thank you very much.

Max nodded to his dad. "Gwen’s an elementary ed. major."

Her eyebrows rose. He may not have told her that dinner would be with his parents, or warned her his dad was Dean Holter, but he’d remembered something from the night they’d met.

Max’s dad shook her hand and smiled kinda warmly she thought, for a Dean. "Call me James."

Dean James? Oh, that wasn’t going to go well. She’d blurt out James Dean before the salad was eaten. Margaret came in and efficiently put another place setting on a white linen placemat that Gwen hoped she wouldn’t spill on. Then Gwen watched her and Max’s dad sit down on each end of the dark wood table. She wasn’t sure which spot was the head of the table since she’d eaten most of her dinners in front of a TV. But she did like the view from her seat, looking across at Max. He was almost pretty, and she wondered how she’d hold up next to him.

Max leaned towards her while his father uncorked the wine and his mother rubbed a napkin over her glass rim. "Rebel without a cause."

She tried not to smile.

"Lots of causes. Rebellion is verboten."

German. Max had, no doubt, traveled there. The whole family would've gone after the vacation to his mother’s favorite, Italy. They would have been wining and dining where her father’s family, unknown and unidentified, probably filled the lowest ranks of the Sicilian mafia.

Dean James pulled the cork out with a soft pop. "Maggie, hand me that coaster will you?"

Margaret didn’t look like a Maggie to Gwen, and judging by the thin line of her mouth, she didn’t like either the nickname or handing people coasters or maybe Dean James.

Well, things might not be perfect at Max’s house, but they were unquestionably beautiful. She had to stop herself from tracing around the silver rim of the creamy white dinner plate in pure admiration. Instead she studied Max across the table where he waited in neutral territory. Maybe ignoring his parents was the reason he'd brought her. She felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. Maybe he hadn’t really asked her out at all.





He considered while he ate that he’d never been one to use girls. Once, at thirteen, a really hot girl in his study hall had run naked in his head. Maybe more than once. But he’d been thirteen, and Sheila was pretty developed, and it was only homemade brain porn not the real girl. Running and running, her melon-sized… well, he was an adult and done with adolescence.

He focused on Gwen who was answering an elementary ed. question from his father. He tried not to, but Sheila had jogged his memory, and he covertly checked out Gwen’s body, what he could see above the table. Hard to know with the sweater, but they looked pretty big and just as high. He needed to stop doing that, especially after not even warning her but springing James and Margaret. Not cool. Not cool at all. At least he had her last name now, and it was a good one. Gwen Ciarrochi.

She smiled, but it couldn’t be easy to do with Margaret giving her a look with one eyebrow higher than the other. And Gwen looked really pretty, really something when she smiled. He might not have ever called her since she was a serious kind of girl, but there at the table with her head tilting a little back and forth between his parents, who weren't talking to each other, but seemed to with her in the conversation, he felt glad and guilty that he’d sent her to do his job. The way she did it, it looked more like an entertaining tennis match, and it seemed do-able and ok and not bad at all.

He’d been right to bring her but still needed to make it up to her. Something good, like one of those things girls really liked. Once, he'd given some flowers on Valentine’s Day before he had a car and could just take a girl to a movie like a man.

He hadn’t worked at it that much in high school, but his friend, Joel, at five-six had moves. He'd had to. By the time they graduated, Joel had gotten half the girls they knew by making females his full-time job. He had a stash of gold heart necklaces he gave during big girl holidays like Christmas, Valentine’s Day, birthdays, one month anniversaries of things like kisses or whatever. Joel hadn’t dated any of them long enough to have to give them a second heart, so the system worked. But Max couldn’t give Gwen jewelry. That would be first date creepy. What would Joel do?

The phone rang, and his father left the table for it. Typical. His mom looked pissed, also typical, and headed to the kitchen for coffee, leaving them alone with dessert. There was a smooth scoop of white in the silver parfait dish with a line of chocolate spun over the top. It looked perfect, but Gwen didn't know. He looked up at her, and it was already too late. She’d taken a bite.

The spoon stayed in her mouth with her lips closed around it, her hand still on the handle.

He leaned across the table. "It’s frozen soybean milk."

Her eyebrows came together, and he watched her throat move. She could be swallowing or getting ready to barf. Either would move it along, and no one would blame her.

"My father has a dairy allergy, so we get soy ice cream and carob topping."

Gwen slipped the spoon out of her mouth and set it beside the bowl, quickly picking it back up and sticking it in the ice cream. The girl had her game face on, got to admire that. He reached across and put his hand over hers. He let her keep the empty spoon but took the dish. Tipping back in his chair, he dumped the soy into the nearest plant. While no person with taste buds could enjoy fake ice cream, the plant didn't seem to mind. It was as green as the others. Growing up, he tried to not just make one plant suffer, but suffering sometimes fell on the nearest target.

He turned to Gwen, her mouth making a little O of surprise, so good-girl shocked and sweet that he leaned all the way across the table and kissed her before he even thought about it. Her lips were warm and cool at the same time and moved so softly against his he wanted to crawl across the table for more. He heard the kitchen door and sat back, watching Gwen study him. Gwen’s O had relaxed from the kiss, and it looked softer and more open now. She was surprised, maybe, like he felt. Maybe she was something more.

His mom set down the coffee carafe and silver tray with the creamer and sugar, and they made a bell-like tap together that brought him to his feet. He reached his hand across the table for Gwen. "We’re gonna go."

He came around the table for her, and his mom stopped arranging the teaspoons at an angle from the creamer and managed an "oh" before he dragged Gwen by her, planting a quick kiss on her cheek on the way past. He gave Gwen a beat to say thank you over her shoulder, and they were out. They’d cleared the front door, and he was aiming for the car before she asked, "What’s happening?"

Standing on the front lawn where he’d played ball and later counted the days until he could leave, he looked at the girl he was definitely going to kiss again, but beyond that… "I don’t know."

He led her across the lawn to the car and opened the passenger door, waiting for her to slide in. But she didn’t. She just looked at him like she knew a million things he didn’t and was still just as confused as he was. Then she put her hand in the center of his chest. He felt, or imagined he did, the heat of her skin and knew she'd push him away, but she bunched up his shirt in her hand and pressed him up against the rear passenger door. She kissed him so hard he felt the window against his back. Her mouth was hot and inviting, and he didn’t care if they broke the window. But before he could get his arms around her, she pulled back, leaving him against the car with an erection he couldn’t begin to hide.

The sweet girl smile came back to her face, and she said, just like she’d said thank you, Mrs. Holter, for dinner, "I love college."





Back to U…



The alarm shocked her awake, the sound piercing like a knife to her head. Swinging her legs over the side, she held onto her temples because it was more like many knives stabbing into many heads. Who knew a football/Cinderella party would do that much damage? She shuffled to the desk, reached down, and unplugged the clock. She wasn’t taking any chances fumbling for the switch. It was the size of a grain of rice.

Wrestling her robe on, she grabbed her shower caddy and towel and headed for the communal bathroom. But when she opened the door, she heard a thunk at her feet and saw the picture. She picked it up, even though the bending cost her an extra pounding in her forehead.

The boys had gone to the trouble of framing it. Her finger was raised with the texture of couch behind her looking like a somewhat professional backdrop. And her lips… beneath the gansta bandana, they were puckered for a kiss, all red and full. Whoever’s phone had captured it had a pretty good eye. She backed up and set the picture inside her bag. After all that work, the least she could do was hang it.





What had seemed an interesting idea filtered through Red Bull, vodka, and too much Cinderella, seemed crazy as she stood in Max’s hallway, showered and aspirined. He could come out of his office at any minute. She could literally end up standing in a pool of her own urine. She took a deep breath because even though her husband left her, and her daughter was completely ignoring her, nobody, not any single person in the world, could say she wasn’t a team player.

She ripped the pee photo off the wall, glad the small nail remained. She hadn’t thought that through. She pulled the finger photo out of her bag and slid it around for what felt like whole minutes before the nail hit the hole. Then she bolted down the hall and turned toward the shelter of the kitchen. He’d never find her there.

She let out a breath of relief when the doors closed behind her and she saw Deb wave her over. There were a pair of students there, cooking students by the looks of their chef’s coats, but they weren’t in her class.

"Rick, Kelly, this is Gwen. She’s joining us in second year advanced."

Gwen’s stomach contracted, and she felt like she might need to calm herself down under one of the stainless tables. She’d gone from being ahead to falling behind in an instant, but if Deb knew how she felt she didn’t show it, just marched right ahead in typical Deb mode. "They’re transfer students, recruited from other programs so we’d have a couple of graduates our first year." Deb pointed to the peg where her coat and hat hung and headed off toward the coolers.

Gwen knew she didn’t have the energy to defy Deb and get under the table. Wasn’t that the definition of a dilemma? If she defied Deb, she’d have to just stand there and that would be doing what Deb wanted. If she crawled under the table, she’d be defying Deb, and with a hang-over and an attempt at a photo protest behind her, she was incapable of any more action. She took her jacket off the peg and shrugged into it. All she’d wanted was to go back, as best she could, to the place where she’d taken a wrong turn and correct just a bit of it, a couple of credits, a degree she’d never gotten. But instead of feeling like she was making progress, she was suddenly swimming over her head, cooking out of her league.

Deb rounded the corner with a strange-eyed fish in one hand and a bag of lemons in the other. She put them down on the table and scooted them over to make room for the bucket of herbs and potatoes Ty carried. The funny moment of recognition on his part must have been on her face as well. They both laughed and then he came to stand beside her as Deb started class. "Now I want you all to feel this eyeball. It’ll be on the weekly quiz, so wake up. Fresh fish has a convex eye. Shouldn’t be cloudy at all or shrunken."

Gwen reached out and ran her finger over its marble of an eye. Standing beside three students who were really becoming chefs and battling a lingering hang-over made her more than a little sick, but, god help her, she loved being in the kitchen. Despite it all, she breathed in the clean sea smell of fish and wanted to get her hands on the thick lemons. She’d never picked a lemon up that she hadn’t scraped her thumbnail along the pebbly skin and smelled that luscious citrus.

"Gills should be nice and red. No mucus."

Okay, a lecture involving the word mucus might actually do her in, but still there was no place else she’d rather be. Not even her own kitchen it surprised her to realize.