“I’d rather not get into it, Sophie.”
She sighed. She’d been determined to take Hunter’s advice and truly get to know Grant before rushing to trust him, but recently her questions had smacked up against a brick wall. Deciding to be direct, she spoke in a clipped tone. “I was hoping the evasiveness you showed at dinner last night would be gone by today.”
“Well, it’s not like I know everything about you either,” he snapped.
Arching one eyebrow, she called his bluff. “What do you want to know? You can ask me anything.”
He exhaled loudly. “Look, I’m not trying to be evasive, it’s just … I have to go somewhere tonight, and I don’t want to go, but I feel like I have to go. And there will be some people there that I’m not looking forward to seeing again.”
“So then take me with you,” she offered, entwining her fingers with his. “At least you’ll have one friendly face on your side.”
“No, I don’t want you to go,” he said forcefully, pulling his hand free. Seeing her wounded look, he backpedaled, “Sophie, you remember those bad people I told you about? They’ll be there. It won’t be safe for you.”
She felt a flash of fear. “Then you shouldn’t go, either, if it’s not safe. Don’t go, Grant, please.”
Looking into her eyes, he was touched by her protectiveness.
She noticed him hesitate and continued, “You won’t be in violation of your parole if you go there, will you?”
“No.” Actually, he hadn’t thought about his parolee status. “It … should be fine. I have to go, Sophie. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Grant leaned in for a chaste peck on the lips, then hustled off the ship. Sophie was left staring at his quickly departing figure, wondering what the hell he was hiding.
*
“Hey, I’m home!” Sophie called to the empty hallway, pocketing her key as she entered the apartment.
She heard a muffled “In the bedroom!” and followed the sound of Kirsten’s voice to find her kneeling, partially swallowed by the closet. Bare feet and legs stuck out from under a skirt, then Kirsten emerged from the dark depths, holding two different sandals.
“Okay.” Kirsten smiled, hauling her tall body to a standing position, then precariously bending at the waist while balancing on one foot to slide on each sandal. “Which shoe looks better?”
Sophie eyed her stylish black shirt and denim skirt, tilting her head to one side as she evaluated a black wedge on Kirsten’s left foot and a turquoise open-toed shoe on her right. “Definitely the black.”
Kirsten exhaled nervously. “I thought so too. I’m so glad you’re out, um, that you’re back, to help me avoid fashion disasters.”
“What are you getting all dressed up for?”
Bashfully Kirsten admitted, “I have a blind date.”
“Eeeee! With who?” Sophie squealed. “Tell me!”
“My supervisor knows this guy from the suburbs, and she’s setting me up with him.”
“That’s wonderful! What do you know about him?”
“Well, he’s supposedly like six-five, and I like tall guys. And he’s a fertilizer technician.”
Sophie scrunched up her eyebrows. “What’s that?”
Kirsten giggled. “I have no idea, but I guess I’ll find out!” She looked at her watch and her eyes widened. “Oh, I gotta go or I’ll be late.” She quickly dumped her wallet, keys, and lipstick into a handbag. “I was feeling like a loser since you go out like every night with Grant, so I figured I’d give this dating thing a try myself. Wait a minute—why aren’t you out with Grant now?”
“Because he blew me off,” Sophie replied indignantly.
“What?” Kirsten halted. “Am I going to have to kick McSailor’s ass?”
Now Sophie giggled. That was a funny visual.
“Relax, Laila Ali. I don’t know. He’s so hot and cold—I can’t figure him out.” She met Kirsten’s blue eyes. “But let’s talk about it later. This is your night. You gotta go meet your hot date!”
“Eek!” Kirsten shrieked. “If he’s one-fifth as cute as McSailor, I might be in business.” She waltzed out of the bedroom and was almost at the front door when she paused. “Oh!” she cried, turning back to Sophie. “I almost forgot—Anita called you.”
“Anita?”
“Yes, Anita. Anita Green, your advisor? Hellooo, don’t you remember her?”
“Of course I remember her. Why would she call?”
“I don’t know, but she gave me her number, and she wants you to call her. Tonight. I left a note for you on the counter. Ciao, roomie!”
Sophie quickly picked up the note and was entirely absorbed in reading her roommate’s scrawled handwriting: something about Anita leaving town soon and wanting Sophie to call her immediately.
Anita, her graduate advisor—the woman who had once heaped compliments on her, telling her she was astute, sharp, caring, a great writer, a real team player, a budding psychologist with a bright future. Sophie’s cheeks bloomed pink with embarrassment. Why would Anita want anything to do with her now? She was a felon who had lost her license, bringing shame to her family and the entire psychology department at DePaul.
Pacing in the empty apartment, Sophie considered whether to make the call. She hadn’t talked to Anita since she’d been arrested, and she couldn’t imagine what they would discuss. So, what was prison like? Exactly how demeaning was it to be on the other side of the bars after we interviewed so many prisoners for our study?
Feeling a shiver of dread, Sophie set her jaw and crossed to the phone, quickly dialing the number Kirsten had left for her. She might as well get this over with.
“Hello?”
Sophie could not help but smile upon hearing the pleasing lilt of her advisor’s voice. She could just picture Anita answering the phone, her beautiful, long red hair curling over her shoulders and her deep-set blue eyes blinking earnestly, taking in everything around her with a cerebral intensity.
“Anita?” She heard her voice tremble. “It’s Sophie.”
“Oh, Sophie, it’s so good to hear your voice. How are you?”
“I’m okay.” It seemed surreal to be conversing again with the woman who had been such an integral part of her life for four years of graduate school, back when she’d been on the professional fast track, back when life made sense. “How are you?”
“Well, I wish I’d heard from you sooner, because I’m about to head out of town. I got a grant! I’m going to Spain tomorrow to consult on their prison system. They’re setting up psychological services for their women’s prisons, and they really liked our manuscript published in Forensic Psychology. They want me to stay there for six months to help them get started!”