Chapter Eight: Vapors are Born
When I got back, I had two things on my agenda: one, to apologize to Grant and Reagan and two, to talk to Reagan about the Sweden trip, about Jacob McGammon, about everything. But when I returned, neither Grant nor Reagan was around. In fact, in the next few weeks, I rarely saw either of them. Reagan was working, rehearsing, or going to class and Grant doing what it was that Grant did.
During that time, I continued to plod through my routine. Aaron made a point to pay more attention to our relationship but, no matter how much he cared, we were all busy and our free time was sparse. He called me most evenings and we sometimes ran into each other in the music building, but I needed more.
Then, to my girly giddiness, a week before the February 14, Aaron approached me before class to tell me that he wanted to take me downtown Lexington to have dinner and see movie. My heart was ecstatic.
The morning of Valentine’s Day, I was attempting to study in the campus library, a log-faced building that sat atop a small hill with dozens of tree-lined stairs climbing toward the entrance. Because it was unseasonably warm for February, I huffed and puffed to the top, carrying two bags full of books. I wanted to make the trip worthwhile. However, my brain was in my heart and all I could think of was Aaron.
After 50 unsuccessful minutes, I closed the hardback texts and began to pack up.
Maybe I'll go down to Elm Street and get my hair cut, I thought. Or a manicure. Or both!
I began to descend the concrete stairs to the common area. Above me, a sad bloom clung to an overhanging tree, unaware that Kentucky warm streaks can quickly and without warning turn bitterly cold again.
I was so busy eying the white bud that I didn't notice a lean figure quickly ascending the stairs. With his head down and my head up, we roughly collided in the middle.
"Omph! Shit!" I heaved, trying to assess my surroundings.
I smelled him before I actually saw his face.
"Whoa! I am so sorry." Jacob McGammon reached out to steady me. "Well. Miss Farraday. Hello."
"Yeah, I'm sorry, too."
Avoiding eye contact, I reached down to pluck up one of the bags that had slipped from my arm during the collision. When I stood up, McGammon had not moved. He stood completely blocking the stairway, both of his hands on opposite rails. Because he was a few steps down, we stood eye to eye.
"Excuse me, please."
He took a deep breath and squinted his eyes before letting the air hiss out again.
"Foster, I feel as if you and I have gotten off on the wrong foot. I feel a ... tension between us."
God, please make him move, I silently prayed.
"Now I know that you and Aaron are close. He's an amazing young musician. If you're jealous about how much time he is devoting to his craft, I can assure you that it's going to be worth it. He's going to do great things, Foster."
“I know he is," I said defiantly, scanning the area to try to catch a glimpse of someone coming to my rescue.
It always seems that everyone is in your business until you really need them. Then, poof! Nowhere to be found.
Jacob continued, still acting as a gate to my escape. "Do I make you nervous?"
"What?" I asked, my voice cracking. "No. Why would you ask that?"
"I've seen you eyeing me in the music building." He paused, holding my gaze, then continued. "Maybe we have met before, perhaps in a past life. Do you believe in that sort of thing?"
I clutched my bags on my shoulder. "No."
He shifted. "Hmm. Too bad."
"May I pass, please, Dr. McGammon?"
Jacob looked over his shoulder, and then over mine, before ascending one step so I had to look up to see his face. He had on a green Polo shirt and, as he moved closer, I noticed chest hair peeking through the open top buttons.
"Call me Jacob. Practically everyone does. Do you have somewhere important to go?"
"Yes," I croaked. "Please ..."
"My dear, you act as if I have you tied up. No need to beg. I'm not keeping you here."
Once again, like the first day we met in the music building, his demeanor did a complete 180 and he stepped aside, mocking chivalry with an extended arm to allow me to continue.
I cautiously passed him, then began to run down the rest of the stairway to the bottom. My bags banged against my side, bruising my ribs, but I didn't dare stop.
When I reached the bottom, I continued to run but looked over my shoulder. To my horror, I saw that he was still there, watching me, smiling. That’s when, for the second time that morning, I ran into someone else.
"Whoa!" Two strong hands grabbed my shoulders.
Immediately I began screaming. "Let me go! Let me go! Please help!"
"Foster!"
The father-like voice boomed and I froze, lifting my chin, and looked into a pair of narrow eyeglasses.
"Dr. Lane. Oh my God." Without thinking, I threw my head into his chest and began to weep.
"Okay, Foster, okay." He gently pulled back and held me at arms length. In a brief moment, I saw him look over the top of my head to the staircase. "Would you like to go to my office?"
"I'm sorry I haven't kept my appointments. I’ve gotten your phone messages, I just …"
"Don't apologize." He looked over my head once more. "What were you running from?"
I looked back over my shoulder but the stairs were now empty.
"I wasn't running from anyone." When Dr. Lane raised his thick eyebrows, I continued. "I'm just in a hurry. I have diarrhea."
Oh, what the hell, Foster?
"I'm sorry to hear that. Doesn't the library have a bathroom?"
"It does. I just like to have more privacy."
The thing about a lie is that once you're in the hole, you have to keep digging.
Dr. Lane considered my face for a moment before repeating his question. "Who were you running from, Foster?"
It was him! I wanted to scream. I'm not crazy!
"Dr. Lane, I really need to go. Like, really go. I'll call you this week for an appointment. I promise."
"Alright, Miss Farraday,” he nodded. “I'll look forward to hearing from you again. My door is open all week."
I still felt the urge to run, but instead I walked calmly past Dr. Lane. I didn't stop moving until I was in my dorm room with the door locked.
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Knock, knock, knock.
"Foster?"
Knock, knock, knock, knock on the headboard.
"Foster? Aaron is in the lobby ready to pick you up." A pause. "Foster, come on." A second pause. "At least let me know you're not in a coma."
I placed my hand on the headboard knocked back three times, then pulled my arm back under the covers.
"Well, okay. You're alive. Great. Now what about your date? It's Valentine's Day, for heaven's sake."
I sat up and pivoted. A feeling of pressure began to well up inside of my chest and I looked directly into Reagan's eyes. "I need to talk to the both of you."
"Both of us? Aaron and me?"
"Yes."
"Okay. Do you want to go out? Maybe grab something to eat?"
"No," I said. "Right here. Right now." I stood up and made my way to the bathroom. "Get the box, sneak him in, and meet me back here."
I went to the bathroom, and when I emerged a few minutes later, both Reagan and Aaron sat quietly in the room. Reagan sat on the edge of my bed. Aaron had pulled up a chair from my desk and was straddling it. Neither spoke.
I let them sit in silence and stare at me for a few moments before taking a deep breath.
"I'm not sure where to begin. I'm just going to start talking and hope it makes sense." I ran my hands through my hair and directed my attention to Reagan.
"Do you remember that night during music camp that you went out drinking and came home sick and vomiting?"
In all seriousness, eyes still large and locked on mine, Reagan answered. "Which one?"
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