The Professor (McMurtrie and Drake Legal Thrillers #1)(18)

“No, I’m good, Jeff,” Tom said, reaching into his briefcase and pulling out a small umbrella. “Jesus, it’s coming down.”

“Yes, sir.” They both looked out the door, and Tom caught sight of a lone figure carrying a pile of books down the sidewalk, the weight of the books causing the person to walk in zigzag fashion.

“That stack of books is bigger than her,” Jeffrey said, beginning to walk towards the door. “She must’ve come out the doors to the student lounge. I should probably...”

“Don’t worry about it,” Tom said, catching his arm. “I’m headed that way. You stay here.”

“Uh... OK...” Jeffrey said, stopping. “Thanks, Professor.”

“No worries,” Tom said, heading out into the rain, which was coming down sideways. Tom opened his umbrella, ran and caught up to the figure.

“Need some help?” he asked.

The person looked up and Tom recognized the face of Dawn Murphy.

“Professor!” she yelled, smiling at him. “I would run, but I’m afraid I’ll drop everything,” she said, and, just as she said it, one of the books she was holding fell to the ground.

Tom picked up the book and set it back on her stack. Then he smiled at her, and held the umbrella, which was barely big enough to cover just him, over her head.

“Here,” he said, instinctively putting his arm around her. “Just hold onto your books and stay close.”

She hesitated for a moment, but then gave in, and Tom felt her body relax against his. Feeling self-conscious, Tom walked Dawn down the long cobblestoned sidewalk to the parking lot. When they reached a white Mustang hatchback, Dawn slid her purse off her shoulder, and it fell to the ground.

“The keys should be on top,” she said, shrugging and looking embarrassed.

Tom leaned down, unzipped the purse and found the keys easily. He pressed the button and opened the passenger-side back door.

“My hero,” Dawn said, throwing the books inside. When she turned around, Tom saw that the front of her blouse had gotten wet.

“Well... here you go,” Tom said, holding out the keys and forcing himself to look at the ground.

“Professor, thank you so much,” Dawn said, taking the keys from his hand. “I had five guys walk right by me and not even offer to help.”

“Glad to help,” Tom managed. Then he remembered the conversation with Dawn in his office after the first class. She had a young daughter and was in need of money. She lived with her mother. “So how is everything going?” he asked.

Dawn chuckled softly and shook her head. “Oh, fine. I have to go be a mom now. Tonight is parents’ night at Julie’s school, and–” she looked down at her watch and sighed “–and I’m late and I’m gonna have to change.”

Julie... Tom winced as he heard his wife’s name out loud. He looked away, feeling the depression beginning to seep back in.

“You’re getting wet,” Dawn said, grabbing the handle of the umbrella and stepping towards him. Tom looked down at her, blinking rain out of his eyes. At some point while talking to her, he had covered her with the umbrella and forgotten about himself. Forgetting had felt good.

“Are you OK, Professor?” Dawn asked, her eyes and forehead crinkling up with concern.

Tom just gazed down at her. He knew he should nod or say something, lest Dawn might get uncomfortable, but he couldn’t force out the words. He wasn’t OK. He hadn’t been OK for three years.

“Well, thanks, again,” Dawn said, leaning in and patting his shoulder.

She stepped out from under from the umbrella and opened the door to her car. Feeling lightheaded and foolish, Tom took a couple of steps back, waiting until the Mustang roared to life before he turned away. As he made his way towards his own vehicle, he heard Dawn’s voice again and turned around.

“Bye!” she yelled, her window rolled down as she drove past.

Tom waved at her as she left, and he shook his head. That girl is something else, he thought, climbing inside his Explorer and letting down the umbrella. As he cranked the ignition, and waited for the car to warm up, he leaned back in the seat and tried to relax.

What’s going on with you? Tom wondered. Depression had given way to restlessness. He could feel something churning within him. Something reawakening. Like an old bike whose chains had rusted and whose handlebars were covered with cobwebs craving to be oiled up and ridden. Tom fumbled for his cell phone and scrolled down the contacts until he reached Ruth Ann. He highlighted her number and stared at the green “Send” key, hovering his right thumb over it. He owed Ruth Ann a call about her case, but he wasn’t thinking about her case right now. Tom felt goosebumps on his arm, remembering the tingle he’d felt when Ruth Ann touched him. Do it. Just call her. He lowered his thumb, and started to apply pressure.

No. Tom pressed “End”, feeling his heart pounding in his chest. “What’s going on, Tom?” he said out loud. He laughed nervously and shook his head, trying to get a grip.

It’s just the whiskey. It’s just the booze and that foolishness the Cock was spouting and all this shit with the Board. Just go home and get some rest.

Tom took a deep breath. “Go home,” he whispered, forcing himself to put the car in gear and flinging the cell phone into the passenger seat.