A Girl by Any Other Name Page 14

  “How ’bout a keytar? You know the keyboard with the strap so you can play next to me. That would be cool, right?”

  She turned, staring at him, walking backward. “Are you going to get a time machine too? Because I believe those went out in the Eighties. See you next week, Gus.”

  I scrambled not to lose her in the crowd. She slipped into a coffee shop at the point where the market ended and businesses began. I followed her inside. I’d just found out Sophie Becker sang, played the piano and, judging from the splatter paint at the hem of her shorts, I assumed she painted as well. This was too coincidental for comfort.

  I allowed myself one more minute of gawking at her beautiful backside as I stepped behind her in line. She smelled good, like vanilla and roses. That shiny brown hair with touches of gold was just calling to be touched, or caressed…or pulled.

  Fuck—I was hard. I took a deep breath and drew mental images of Mona Simms in her swimsuit at the community pool. It was enough.

  “Hello, Miss Becker,” I greeted finally.

  Her shoulders stiffened at the sound of my voice. She turned and gave me a nervous smile. “Hello, Mr Tanner. Strange meeting you here.”

  “Please, call me Cal.”

  I heard her give her simple order of black coffee. “Please allow me,” I replied, paying for her drink and ordering the same for myself.

  “You don’t have to do that,” she objected, but I waved her away.

  “You can repay me with your company,” I said, gesturing to a comfortable area with two overstuffed velvet chairs.

  “I was just going to go home with it.” She looked uncomfortable.

  “I would like to have a word with you. I promise it won’t take long.” Yeah—just the rest of my life, please.

  She looked around, but gave me a slight nod, walking over to a vacant small table with two overstuffed velvet chairs.

  I set down our drinks on the table. “Is this the place you complained about in your unsent letter?”

  She gave a slight laugh. “No, I stopped going to that place.” Her head circled around the room as she avoided my gaze. “Isn’t this against the rules?”

  “What rules are those, Miss Becker?”

  “You’re a professor and I’m a student. I thought the college would frown on personal associations.”

  “As I’ve stated, I’m not a professor, and you can relax. I want to discuss your grades. I happened to see you here and thought it was the perfect opportunity. There is nothing inappropriate or underhanded about that.”

  “Do you give all your students this kind of personal attention?”

  “Just the ones who aren’t working to their potential. Your unsent letter wasn’t the emotional response I was looking for. Your essay on The Raven was deplorable. And you missed my exam.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ll do better,” she stammered, shifting in her seat. It was apparent she wanted to end the conversation.

  “I heard you singing.”

  She flushed red and twirled a strand of glossy hair around her delicate finger. “Oh, that’s embarrassing.”

  “You were very good. My sister insists I’m tone deaf so I’m definitely not a qualified expert, but the crowd seemed to enjoy it.”

  “I should go.” She made a move to pick up that stupid bag of apples she’d been toting everywhere, but I grabbed it and put it beside me. My sudden movement left her speechless.

  “Please indulge me for a few more minutes.”

  “I have somewhere to be.”

  I sighed, not wanting to end the conversation. “I was wondering if you wanted to do that as a career—the singing.”

  “No, it’s just for fun.”

  “You play the piano as well?” I asked, drawing on anything to keep her in my company.

  “Yes, just as a hobby.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “Are you this curious about all your students?” she asked.

  “I’m just curious about people. Not all good stories originate from the written word.”

  “Well, my story is very boring.”

  “I would love to hear it in any case.”

  She looked away. “What is it you’d like to know?”

  “Why are you in my class, Miss Becker? According to your records, you already have a degree in communications, although your answers reflect that you may not have gotten your money’s worth with that choice of major.”

  She narrowed her eyes at me and squeezed the cardboard cup so hard I thought the coffee would spill out. “I didn’t realize taking your class would be an open invitation to violate my privacy or that I’d be forced into an inquisition about my choices.”

  I shrugged. “Not an inquisition, just a conversation. Your degree is a matter of public record anyway.” It was a lie. I didn’t have a right to view it, but Shirley in admissions liked me so she had let me see the records. “How old are you?”

  “I don’t think that’s an appropriate question, but I’m twenty-two.” Sophie Becker looked about twenty-two. Sylvie would have been twenty-five, but it wasn’t like I totally trusted what this woman was saying anyway. Shirley had let me see Sophie Becker’s transcripts but not the documents containing her birth date and social security number.

  “Why did you take my class?” I asked again. I knew I was throwing questions at her, waiting for her to crack, like a homicide detective interviewing a potential suspect, but I wasn’t exactly prepared for this confrontation.

  “You’re right, this isn’t an inquisition. It’s an interrogation. For your information, I’ve always loved reading. I just thought it would strengthen some skill sets for me, but you don’t have to worry about me anymore.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I’m dropping out of your class. It’s clear that you have some really deep issues, and I’m not comfortable with the way you’ve approached me.”

  Like an invisible ton of bricks, my stupidity came clamoring down on me. This girl looked like Sylvie, she played the piano, she sang, she loved books, maybe she even painted, but those were not extremely unique things. Neither were brown hair and eyes. If she was Sylvie, she wouldn’t put me through this kind of torture. Sylvie was no sadist. In fact, the girl I loved didn’t have a mean bone in her body. Sophie Becker could not be Sylvie Cranston. But it was a strong possibility my obsession had finally rendered me psychotic.

  I handed her the sack of apples. “I’m sorry, Miss Becker. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

  She let out a cynical laugh. “Well, you sure have a strange way of counseling your students, Mr Tanner.”

  I decided it might be a good idea to repair some of the damage I’d done, both to my professional pursuits and her sense of security. I wasn’t sure if my statement would do that, but I had nothing else except a small hope that, like most girls, sympathy was part of her genetic makeup. “Yes, I do. This is going to sound crazy, but you know how I said you remind me of someone I used to know?”

  She nodded, but chose to stare out the window instead of looking directly at me.

  “That girl was the love of my life. We grew up together and she was my best friend. She left when she was sixteen and I’ve just never really recovered from that. It’s no excuse, but I’m being extremely melodramatic and eccentric as a result of that experience. Luckily, those traits aren’t rare in my line of work, but I have definitely stepped over the professional line with you. Please forgive me.”

  She turned to me, but her expression was difficult to read. “I understand,” she said softly.

  “Thank you.” I stood up to leave then I remembered what she had said about my class. “Please don’t withdraw from the course. It’s too late for it not to influence your transcripts. Even if you do have a degree, you might need this class for other pursuits. Also, several of your other papers were very good, and I can tell you’re an avid reader and strong writer. I know the teacher has many faults, but the class itself is valuable, I assure you.” I gave her an apologetic s
mile and she gave me a wary one in return, but at least she smiled back, although she continued to regard me with apprehension.

  “’Kay,” she replied. My heart suddenly stood still in my chest, stopping in mid-beat.

  “What did you say?” I barked, grabbing her arm.

  Her eyes widened at the drastic change in my tone. “I said, okay.”

  I sat back down and leaned in close to her. “No, you said ‘’kay’.”

  “Let go of me,” she seethed. I complied, but I kept my eyes on her.

  She moved to get up.

  “Sit down. We’re not done yet,” I commanded in a quiet but authoritative voice. She complied.

  I took my seat again, swallowing hard, deciding that I was going to lay all my crazy across the table for her. All the evidence was circumstantial at best, but the hope in my chest burst forth like a dam about to break. I pulled out my wallet, taking one of my business cards out. Someone had left a pen on a nearby table so I reached for it. The conversation was so surreal that I could barely remember my own home address. I had to either do this now or never do it. I didn’t look up at her, concentrating on my words. “Sylvie always said that. She said ‘’kay’ all the time.”

  “It’s a common expression. You just need to look at me to see I’m not a dead girl.”

  I sucked in a deep breath before I allowed myself to look at her again. I shook my head, unable to stop the tight smile that formed on my face. It was not a smile born from joy or relief as I had expected when this moment came, but pure, palpable anger.

  “I never told you she died.”

  The coloring in Sophie Becker’s face faded as she turned stark white and her hands trembled. I took the paper cup from her and set it on the table before it fell out of her hands. “You implied—”

  I interrupted her before she could conceive the lie she was about to tell. “Here’s the thing, Miss Becker. I’m willing to risk losing my job and my freedom for the nice lodgings at the Portland Mental Health Institute where I’m sure they’ll outfit me with my very own terrycloth robe and fuzzy slippers. I’m willing to face those consequences to make the following statements to you, so I would appreciate it if you would shut the fuck up and hear what I have to say. I believe you are Sylvie Cranston, but either you don’t remember it or you want to hide that fact from me. The girl I loved would never put me through something like this, so I really want to believe you don’t remember. However, judging from your responses, I’d say the latter was true.” I slid the card over to her. “This is my home address. When you’re done playing games with my head—and my heart—please come see me, Sylvie. We need to talk.”

  I walked away before she could say anything else.

  Chapter Twelve

  Excerpt from Raven Girl

  Age 18

  I sat on the football bleachers, drinking a beer. It was one of the safe places for me. I didn’t like going to the church, the woods or the lake. I didn’t even care for being at home. There was too much of her everywhere I looked. The bleachers, like Switzerland, were cold, comfortable and most of all neutral.

  I came out here as I did most nights, trying to drink away the pain. It didn’t always work, but like Sylvie had once told me, pain dulls. As it turned out, alcohol helped with the dulling process.

  I leaned back and stared up at the stars, wondering if she was looking at them too. They seemed exceptionally bright tonight, “Why did you leave me, Sylvie?”

  “She didn’t leave you, Cal,” a quiet voice came from behind me.

  I should have been freaked out, but it was part and parcel of the delusion I’d been living for the past two years. I turned and saw the shadowy figure approach me. He was so quiet as he walked over the steel benches that I almost wondered if he was a ghost.

  “Want something stronger?” Matt Sampson asked, handing me a paper bag.

  I didn’t look at the contents, I just took a deep, long swig. “Shit, tequila, really?”

  He shrugged. “It’s all my mom had in the liquor cabinet. You’ll get used to it, Tanner.”

  I handed it back to him. We passed it back and forth for a while in the silence. I didn’t talk to him much, but he was the only one I’d have a conversation with these days.

  “I’m getting out of here soon,” he said after a while. “I hate this town.”

  “I love this town, but I’m leaving too.”

  “Of course you love it. You’re like a king around here. I’m like a joker.”

  “I’ve been dethroned in case you didn’t notice, Sampson.”

  “I’ve noticed. I think we all have.”

  “Good thing there’s two jokers in the pack because I think we might be a matching set.” He didn’t laugh or even reply to it. He just handed me the brown bag again. “Where are you going?”

  “Good ole Santa Fe. They have a pretty accommodating art community there. What about you, Tex?”

  I laughed. “Sylvie used to call me that.”

  “I know.”

  “If everyone had their way, I’d be going to a mental institution. Do you think I belong there?”

  “Judge not,” he replied.

  “I like that, Matt. Judge not,” I repeated, holding the bag up in a mock toast. “I’m going to State. My grades just scraped the cut-off.” They had tanked since that night, but it was just enough to squeeze by. The truth was, all my teachers felt sorry for me, because of my dad, my leg and Sylvie. I would like to say that I was above that pity, but I wasn’t. It got me a few points on every test and paper I turned in. “It’s all I can afford right now. It turns out they don’t give scholarships to gimps.”

  “Cal, you have to get yourself together. I know you come out here and drink every night.”

  “Isn’t that what you’re doing?”

  “I thought if I came bearing gifts, you might be more receptive to my company. This isn’t a hobby for me…or a habit like it is for you. She wouldn’t want this for you.”

  “I love her. I can’t let her go.” I wasn’t sure what else to say.

  “I know.”

  “I never told her. Well, at least not until it was too late. I waited too long.”

  “She knew, Cal. You didn’t have to say it. She was smart like that.”

  “She was one in a billion, Sampson.”

  “Yeah, so I think you should have more respect for her memory than sitting out here feeling sorry for yourself.”

  “What happened to judge not?”

  “What would Sylvie say if she saw you like this?”

  I chuckled, thinking of the choice words she’d have for me. “I don’t know, but I think she’d swear and yell a lot. She never let me get away with too much.”

  “Yeah, I won’t do that, but I know you’re better than this. She did too. Take care of yourself, Cal, and stop being such a pussy.”

  Matt walked off then, leaving me with the rest of the bottle. I replayed his words in my head, and for some reason they made me laugh. Laugh like I hadn’t in years. I laughed so hard that I puked right onto the turf below me. Then my stupid ass fell off the railing onto the turf. I lay there looking up at the stars, searching for a falling one so I could make a wish. It didn’t matter. He was right. I was a complete pussy. I poured the rest of the liquor out on my way out.

  I turned upward once more before I exited the field. “I promise, I’ll find you, girl.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Present day

  I think I broke a record running the six miles back to my house. I was sweating like a pig, but way too amped to be tired. Was I going crazy? I’d practically assaulted one of my students in a coffee shop. I didn’t want to think about it. Or the fact that if she was Sylvie, she might run from me.

  I jumped in the shower, letting the hot water scald my skin as I tried to desperately drown out the conversation I’d just had. The anticipation of waiting for her was too great. I left the bathroom door open in case there was a knock, but none came the whole hour I spent in the show
er. As soon as I got out though, the rapping on my door mimicked my heart rate. I ran to the door in nothing but my boxers. It was the mailman with a package from my mother.

  He regarded me curiously. “You must have been real anxious for this,” he replied, good-naturedly. I tried not to scowl as I signed for it.

  Fuck.

  I waited another anxious hour for that knock, alternating my time between walking around my apartment like a lunatic or doing one-armed push-ups until I collapsed. The third hour, I spent making dinner, trying to get my mind off what a foolish thing I’d done. What if I was wrong? Although I’d never been so forceful, I had asked other girls if I knew them only to be disappointed.

  I decided to put it out of my mind. Either way, it had been three and a half hours since our talk. She wasn’t coming. What if she was Sylvie? I knew there was danger surrounding her. Had I just caused her to run farther away from me with my brute behavior?

  It was then that I heard the timid knock on my door. My heart beat wildly and I swallowed hard, opening it, praying it wasn’t another unwelcome visitor. She stood before me, a vision of an angel, still grasping that bag of apples. Her eyes were swollen as if she’d been crying for a very long time and her lips trembled like she wasn’t ready to stop.

  “Hiya, Tex,” she greeted in a choked whisper.

  I exhaled for what felt like an eternity. I’d been holding that breath in since I’d left her at the coffee shop. Maybe even longer than that, like the night she left me.

  “Get in here, girl,” I said, pulling her into my apartment. She dropped the apples, embracing me. They thudded to the floor with hard thunks, but I wasn’t about to pick them up. I leaned her against a wall and stared at her, allowing myself to look at the face I’d missed so much over these years. “I knew it was you. Everyone told me I was crazy, but I knew if you weren’t on this earth, I would have felt that.”

  “I’m so sorry, Cal.” Hearing her say my name made it clear why Sophie Becker never used it. The way she said it, drawing out the syllable slowly against those sumptuous lips, gave her away immediately. All the anger instantly dissipated as I wrapped my arms around her. She let me, falling into my body where she fit so nicely.