My Professor's Secret

34|

Once Kevin is no longer on the phone, he dresses my burn and instructs Josh to drive me to the Health Center. When we arrive, they pull me back immediately. The nurse practitioner babbles on, but again, nothing but the sound of faded echoes register. The only piece of information I managed to hear was  needing to stay overnight.

Josh rises from his chair with a hefty sigh the instant the nurse exits the room.

"I can call Kevin and ask if I could stay longer if you need me to."

"I'm sure you have much better things to do than sit in a clinic with me. I'll be fine here alone. It'll give me time to think."

"About Alex?" He questions hesitatingly. If it weren't my swift denial or the fact that I clam at the mention of her name, I might've been able to convince him it had absolutely nothing to do with her or that I had no idea what he was talking about, but I fail. "The way you two looked at each other in the lounge earlier was intense. Maybe neither of you realize what it is, but something is there."

I'm terrified—enough to be grounded back to reality and in my right mind.

"I was only shocked to see her. Couldn't help but think something bad had happened to her either."

Josh is an intelligent man. Not that it took a rocket scientist to detect the obvious tension that did in fact take place in the lounge. Thankfully he doesn't attempt to elaborate. He shrugs his shoulders and heads in the direction of the exit.

"I'll let Kevin know they want to keep you for the night. Take care." And with that he's walking down the hall out of the Health Center.

After only an hour, I've already indulged my mind on everything about STDs, teen pregnancy, and stress management from the pamphlets sprawled out on the side table near my bed. But even the horrific images of syphilis isn't enough to take my mind off of Alexandrea's return.

When had she arrived? Why hadn't she returned a single one of my texts or given me the courtesy of her whereabouts so I wouldn't have made such a fool of myself in front of our coworker and boss? There was so much I needed to know from her and it couldn't wait until tomorrow. My phone—nearly dead—has a few missed calls and text messages from Meghan. She'd most likely heard about the incident from her sister or some other source she had lurking around campus. Though my intent is to leave her out of whatever shred of privacy I had remaining, my daughter had a right to know why it would be her mother tucking her in tonight and not me.

In an effort to preserve any of the life my battery had left, all Meghan receives from me is a text explaining my safety and my earliest return. For Alex, I dial her number by memory and wait for an answer. The phone continues to ring, eventually growing louder and closer as if it had been closing in on me. Only it had. There's no answer from the call, and as her voicemail plays in my ear, the last slither of power remaining on my phone ceases to exists.

She approaches the door with her phone locked in a secure grip. She'd still been dressed in the custom Valentine's day shirt Kevin provided, and her eyes appear bloodshot.

"I was just—what are you doing here?"

Perhaps it came off a tad bit rude and though I wouldn't openly admit it, I was glad to see her.

"Kevin may be a douche bag for making us wear these stupid pink shirts, but he's not heartless," she says, entering into the room to sit in the empty chair across the room. "He didn't want you here by yourself so he swapped Josh out with me. If it's too weird, I can leave."

Alex examines the room from the top to the bottom as if she'd never been here or a hospital before. But I know it isn't that. I could only imagine how her days might've gone being confide to the hospital's ICU at the cost of her father's wellbeing. If I weren't selfish and didn't want to spend this time away from everyone to be with her I may have encouraged her to go back to Hinkhouse instead of torturing herself in here with me.

"No, that's okay. I was thinking about you. It's why I called. I didn't know you were back in town."

"Dad's girlfriend practically kicked us out of the hospital. We made it back earlier this morning." She avoids looking my way as she speaks and I can only imagine the pain she's in. I'm tempted to go to her or to ask her over to me, but the words refuse to come. "I heard that burn was nasty. What's the prognosis?"

"Third degree. The nurse said my arm will never look the same again. I'm okay though. It could've been much worse you know?"

She only nods and finally removes her hearty winter coat then grabs something from her bag before sitting it on the floor beside her chair. In her hand is the script of the play. I watch in silence as her eyes deliberately follow line after line of the booklet.

With everything going on in her personal life, I had no intention of making her participate in the play or anything behind the scenes because it felt insensitive and inconsiderate. And as much as I wish I could have avoided the question I'm sure she knew would arrive sooner or later, I couldn't.

"If you don't mind my asking, how's your father?" Those same bloodshot eyes break from the pages of The Scarlet Letter and find mine again. I'm tempted to pull away from her gaze at the risk of her reading through it the way Josh was able to, but I don't in hopes that she realizes it for herself.

"Better," she says, readjusting herself in the chair. "The doctors felt his body was strong enough to come off the coma inducing medication. He should wake anytime now. It's the only reason I came back."

Recalling our conversation where she confided in me about the details of her father's injuries, I couldn't imagine him living through something as severe as that. Let alone doctors assuming a brain that has been blown through with a bullet could actually function without the help of a machine, but I'm sure not to let my uncertainty slip through my lips. Not when it was obviously eating her alive. And especially not when this burn could have been a lot worse than it turned out to be and it could've been me in the ICU and Emma struggling to make it day by day.

There's nothing I can say to express my condolences enough. Nothing I'm certain she hasn't already heard once before so I nod. Luckily it suffices enough for her to focus back on the pages of the script.

"You're excused from participating in that if you're not up for it. Given the circumstances."

It wasn't like I hadn't punished her with stage director for reasons beyond truancy anyway. How selfish would it be to make her do all of that while juggling with the uncertainty of her father's fate? I wouldn't be able to live with myself.

"Don't count me out just yet, Professor. School and work are the only things keeping me from self-destruction."