The two men left half an hour later, their purpose accomplished. They wanted Kevin to design the program, become chairman of the department, consult on hiring colleagues. They wanted him to become tenured, instead of temporary.
They wanted to tie him down.
After their departure, he automatically graded another paper. “B—competent but could have been more thoughtful. See comments.” It had taken all his concentration to make it through one five-page paper. He couldn’t face another. Setting down his pen, he shoved back his chair.
He’d had only morning classes today; it was still barely one o’clock. Kevin felt a sudden desperate need to be out-of-doors. The walls were closing in.
Within an hour he left his vehicle at the trailhead to Puma Lake, swung a day pack over his shoulder and strode past the wooden sign that said “Puma Lake 2.3 miles.” A good eight inches of snow had fallen up here this past week, but eager cross-country skiers, snowshoers and hikers had worn the snow from the trail. It climbed sharply between tall stands of ponderosa pines, then dropped over a ridge toward the lake, a chilly blue-gray under snow-heavy skies. His stride was that of a man accustomed to covering miles in a day. His breath came out in clouds, his arms swung freely.
As always, his thoughts untangled out here in the wilderness and solitude. Okay, he was being pushed to make a decision sooner than he’d expected to have to, but was that a bad thing? He should feel flattered that, after only one quarter of classes, feedback should be so good on his teaching. He had to work; he was finding he was good at this. So why not?
Now he had a solid future to offer Melanie, too. The other night, as she’d clutched that turtleneck to her breasts and stared at him with huge panicky eyes, he’d almost asked her to marry him. But what could he say? I don’t know where I’ll be next year, but I want you with me? Romantic, but not what she wanted to hear right now.
It would mean resigning from the National Park Service once and for all. Knowing he was on a leave of absence only had felt like a safety valve. He could recuperate, try a new life but know his old one was still open to him. He imagined himself sitting down to write that letter of resignation. Visiting one of the national parks that had been his old stomping grounds, driving in and paying his fee like all the tourists in their RVs, staying on the marked paths, seeing old friends and having nothing to say.
Reaching the lakeshore, he paused and listened to the silence. How often would he find himself alone in a place like this again? Puma Lake would be surrounded by families picnicking most of the year. How often would he have the time to seek solitude?
Frowning, he set out again with his ground-eating stride to circle the small lake. He actually felt short of breath, which irritated him. He still hadn’t recovered, had been too sedentary. He needed to add some miles to his daily run. Push himself.
Maybe it was too soon to make a decision. Sure, Melanie wanted to stay in Elk Springs, but if she loved him, she would go if that’s where his heart led, wouldn’t she? He could see how the school year went, how hemmed in and confined he felt.
He could ask Melanie to marry him and find out whether she had balked the other night because of fear about who he was—or because she didn’t really love him.
Kevin drew a deep cold breath and blew it out in a frigid stream. His lungs seemed to expand now that he’d let himself off the hook. Not that long ago he’d been lying in a hospital bed. Melanie had accused him of doubting his own motives. Maybe she was right; maybe she wasn’t.
He’d given himself a year to decide what he wanted for the future. Take it, he told himself. Be sure.
WHEN HE CALLED Melanie that night, he got only her answering machine. Kevin hung up without leaving a message. He wondered if she was screening her calls because she didn’t want to hear from him, or whether she wasn’t home. The idea that she might have gone out with another man made him grind his teeth.
Dammit, this was the trouble with dating a single mother. He couldn’t come by in the evening for a serious talk—Angie would be around. Okay, how about after his last class tomorrow? No, he had several students scheduled for appointments, and by the time he was done with them, Angie would be home from school. Thursday at Angie’s soccer practice. Hell, they’d decided not to hold practice this week, the weather was getting so cold. Sunday was the last game of the season.
He still hadn’t made up his mind how to approach Melanie when fate intervened the next day. He was crossing the quad when he heard her name mentioned by a pair of coeds going in the opposite direction.
“…speaker today. Melanie Parker. She’s bringing historical costumes. She’s supposed to be really entertaining.”
Kevin spun around and trailed the girls. “Excuse me,” he said.
They turned to stare at him.
“I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation. Melanie Parker is speaking on campus today?”
“Well, I don’t think it’s open.” The coed flushed.
“I guess you’re not a student, are you?”
“No, I’m an instructor here.”
“Well, she’s talking to my class.”
“And which class would that be?” He spoke with eroding patience.
“Oh. World History 102.”
He extracted the remaining details from her. Time, building, classroom. He’d have to cancel one meeting, but to hell with it. Jason Bernard was trying to plea-bargain for a higher grade than he’d earned last quarter, but Kevin had already turned in his grades, and even if he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have changed Jason’s.
At two o’clock, he strolled into the back of one of the auditorium-style classrooms, where the larger survey classes were held. Students were still settling into seats and whispering. Up front, Melanie was laying out garments, presumably so that she could reach them easily later. The moment he saw her, he felt pleasure and relief and frustration. Why did this one woman exert such a pull?
Her hands were slim, quick-moving, competent, her neck long and graceful. Her every move was sure, contained; she didn’t toss her hair or laugh or fidget when nervous. She had a quality of…stillness, or perhaps, serenity.