poetry.”
Poetry? Well, after all, it had been a Romantic Period class that had first brought Rae to him. If he remembered correctly, she’d always been partial to Lord Byron. Perhaps—
Popping her head back out the door, Miss Belle whispered conspiratorially, “Not for her, silly, for you. Poetry will help keep your mind off her unmentionables.” With a wink, she disappeared into the house.
If that was the case, he’d better start with the first canto of Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage , for it was going to be a very long night.
Chapter Three
Dear Dr. Connagher:
Months have gone by. The fall semester has started. Did you walk into class hoping to see my last-minute registration? Or were you relieved not to see me sitting there in that white mini-skirt you hated so much? Do you miss me barging into your weekly office hours, tongue-tied, naïve, and hoping you’ll shut and lock your door again?
Daddy is doing better every day, but we’ve accepted the fact that he’s never getting out of that wheelchair. When he was electrocuted, the surge of power shorted out parts of his brain.
As well as losing a hand and foot, he’s broken inside, where he can never be fixed.
I’m trying to get over you. I’m lonely, and it’s been so long since I saw you. Since I sat in your class listening to your incredibly sexy voice reading Shelley and Byron. Since I came to your office every week to soak you up like a greedy sponge.
I’m dating someone, Daddy’s assistant. I’ve known him for years. He’s safe, Conn. I need safety right now.
But why do I feel so guilty, as though I’m betraying you? You made me promise to always tell you the truth, no matter how terrible and frightening.
Well, here’s the whole, ugly truth. You shorted me out on your desk that day. I’m in an emotional wheelchair because of you, Conn, and I’m afraid I’m ruined for any kind of relationship ever again. I’m broken, deep inside, where I can never be fixed.
Except possibly by you.
Why am I still writing you? Honestly? Because I have no one else to talk to. What, do you think I could just walk up to Daddy and say, “The last day of school, my English professor bent me over his desk, spanked me, and gave me the best orgasm of my life. And then he gave me an A.”
That’s unfair, I know. You were so terribly careful to make sure my grade was determined by an unbiased third party who had no idea what happened in your office that day.
You never gave me the A.
You gave me a whole different test, didn’t you?
Truth? I’d let you do it again. Sometimes I want you to do it again so badly I can’t breathe, I can’t think, for needing you. And that scares me more than anything.
~ Rae
Stepping out on the back porch, Rae quietly shut the door behind her in case Daddy was sleeping. He loved to spend as much time outside as possible in the summer, soaking in the heat. Soon it’d be too cold for him outside, and he’d be imprisoned in the house, dying a little faster each day.
He turned his head, smiling crookedly, his mouth working hard to say a single word.
“Rae.”
Nobody outside of the family probably would have understood him. Smiling, she hugged him, inwardly crying at his slight body and paper-thin skin. He was so frail, so unlike the Daddy she’d known up until five years ago.
“Hello, Daddy.” She sat in the rocking chair beside him, holding his hand.
They sat quietly for awhile, just staring out over the rolling green hills. Fields crisscrossed the horizon like a patchwork quilt of green, yellow, and brown tilled dirt. The neighbor’s horses neighed, whickering back and forth, and somebody’s dog barked.
“I got a great job offer today.”
He patted her hand, making low questioning noises.
Even though she tried to project enthusiasm, she hadn’t fooled him. Fighting back tears, she tried to decide how much to tell him. Maybe if she’d told him her problems five years ago, she wouldn’t have made so many