The Speed of Light: A Novel(30)
Strength in numbers. I have to check it out.
With a trembling hand I lean toward the door, push gently against the cool silver bar. The door eases open soundlessly, and I take a cautious step forward, my feet silent on the faded brown carpeting.
We listen, our heartbeats the only sound, until—there, a murmur, muffled but quick. Hayley gasps; she hears it, too.
Voices.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
January 11, eleven months before
Nikki and I traipse out into the crisp morning air. A dazzling white frost blankets the trees on campus, a sparkling reminder that beauty exists even in the dead of winter. You can’t ask for better winter marketing photos for a Midwest university—the perfect chance to paint the season as something to enjoy, not endure.
“So he stayed overnight.” Nikki arches an eyebrow, then turns her attention to a frosty pillar in the middle of the campus green. “You guys getting serious?” Her voice is pinched, but it’s her first day back from the trip to Minneapolis, so maybe she’s just crabby.
I shrug. “We slept together, but we didn’t sleep together. And I don’t think it’s been long enough to call it serious.” But a smile tugs at my lips at the memory of his steamy kisses, the fact that he texts me good morning every day, calls me every night, and we’ve already had two coffee dates and have made plans for an official dinner-and-a-movie date this weekend.
Nikki frowns at an icy branch overhead. “Yeah, but serious enough that you called him before me.” Her voice is hurt. “After the support group meeting last week, I mean. You know you can always call me, right? No matter what.”
“I know.” Her loyalty spreads its warmth all the way down to my toes. “But I don’t want to always be such a drag of a friend . . . such a burden.”
“You are not a burden. Okay?” I nod, and she drops her eyes. “I mean, you could cut the rest of us some slack once in a while.” My brow furrows, but she scoffs, shaking her head. “I’m sorry the meeting sucked. What a bunch of assholes.”
I wrap an arm around her shoulders. “Eh, I tried it, right? It’s done. Now, do we have enough photos? It’s cold out here, and it is Thursday morning.”
Nikki grins. “Of course.”
Arm in arm, we make our way across the twinkling campus into the Student Union, past a group of students playing pool in the gaming alcove, beyond rows of tables lined up with eager club representatives, and downstairs into the bustling student café.
I inhale deeply as the heady scent of brewed beans envelops us, welcoming us like an old friend. The line of backpacked students moves quickly, and soon, with coffees in hand, we sit down in our usual spot, a comfortable distance from the chatter of students and the grating sound of the milk steamer.
I sink down onto a plush mauve cushioned chair with a contented smile. When we first started working at Southeastern State University, this little gem gave us a way to keep part of our college lives going after graduation. Since sophomore year, Nikki and I have had Thursday-morning coffee dates—no matter how much homework we’ve had or how busy we’ve been juggling work-study jobs.
Now, it’s grown into an even bigger occasion, with more of our work friends often joining us—like Raj and Hayley, or Charlene, the nice older lady who works on the floor above us in Administration. “Anybody else coming today?” I ask.
Nikki shakes her head. “Don’t think so, which is a shame because I just overheard a couple of students waiting in line say something about two professors having an affair. Figured Charlene would have the scoop on that.”
I roll my eyes. “Probably just a rumor. But anyway, I want to hear about the show!”
Nikki sighs and her face changes, her wistful smile reminding me of past Nikki, college Nikki, loud and proud and safe in the affirming environment of liberal arts college theater, free to be fully and completely herself. “Mone, it was so great. I mean, Wicked was fabulous, of course. But just . . . being there, you know? I didn’t realize how much I missed the theater scene.”
“Ugh, I don’t miss opening-night jitters.” My stomach twists at the memory. I tried out for that first production at Nikki’s insistence, but despite my nerves, I had fun—and we banded together with the group of thespians into a tight-knit, boisterous troupe. But thinking of that terrifying moment before going onstage—standing in the darkness, waiting to step through the thick, velvety curtain and into the light—still sends shivers rippling through my core.
Nikki laughs. “Yeah, I loved the rush.” Her eyes flick to mine. “Remember the plans we had? Living in the big city, working our way up?”
I snort. “I think it involved auditioning for Second City in Chicago, right?”
“Yeah, that would be epic. But I mean even working behind the scenes, in Minneapolis.” She takes a breath, heavy and expectant. “We could still do it, you know.”
I pause, coffee cup frozen midair. “What are you talking about?”
Her words come out in a rush, like she doesn’t want to lose her nerve. “Claudia’s clinic is opening a satellite in a suburb of Minneapolis. Burnsville. She’s thinking about applying for a transfer.”
I suck in a breath. “Wow, that sounds like a great opportunity.”
Nikki nods, her eyes boring into mine. “Yes, we’re thinking this could be a great long-term move for us. We’re also thinking this might be my chance to try to get a job in set design, or a costume shop, even if I have to start at the bottom, you know? And you—you could look for a job, too. Theaters have marketing departments. Somebody has to write their press releases, right? We could still work together.”