Chapter 20
And if I'm being honest
Don't know if I can tell you
Who's the harshest critic in the room
It could be the studio audience
But they're just payin' for admission
And I'm the one with everything to lose
Who's the harshest critic in the room?
- Harshest Critic, Allison Ponthier
Thirty-one grueling hours later, at well past 3 p.m. on Sunday, I crossed the threshold of my own home. I shut the door, parked my suitcase against the foyer wall, and leaned back against the door for a moment to reorient myself.
I had started feeling unwell when we landed in Frankfurt and had made a last-minute restroom trip just before boarding our transit flight. I'd been in such a hurry to get back to the gate that my purse strap had caught on the lock of the bathroom stall door and broken. At that moment, the final boarding call for my flight had sounded over the loudspeaker, so I quickly pulled my boarding pass, license, and passport from my purse and stuffed them into my hoodie pocket before cramming the broken handbag into my carry-on backpack. I had forgotten all about my purse in my backpack by the time the flight attendant stopped Jane and me as we boarded to tell us that they'd need to gate-check our bags because the overhead compartments were full.
It wasn't until we were leveling off at 35,000 feet over the Atlantic, and I had reached for the strap of my purse on my shoulder, that I realized it wasn't there.
By the time we landed in Newark, I had an upset stomach, a sore throat, and a pounding headache, which made our six-hour layover due to delays even more miserable than it normally would have been. I'd spent most of the time alternately curled up in a ball in a corner by the gate and slumped over a toilet in the restroom, too sick and exhausted to care about germs for once. Our next flight, out of Houston, was delayed three times, and I spent that five-hour layover the same way I'd spent the one in Newark.
When we landed in Omaha, I was feeling even worse. The heat and humidity – the kind that left a person sweat-soaked and struggling to breathe - hit hard and fast as soon as I stepped off the plane. To add insult to injury, the airline had lost my gate-checked backpack, which, of course, contained my purse, wallet, keys, phone, laptop, and chargers, somewhere between Frankfurt and Omaha. Faced with that knowledge, I filed a lost luggage claim with the airline and crossed my fingers.
Jane had texted Charles to tell him that we'd made it home safely. I'd had to borrow Mary's spare key for my condo.
A loud meow caught my attention. I opened my eyes to see Moriarty bounding across the foyer to greet me, his striped tail held straight up in the air. I picked up the purring tabby and nuzzled his soft, furry neck while carrying him into the kitchen, where I fed him and gave him fresh water. Once he was taken care of, I headed straight for the shower. Immediately afterward, I changed into a pair of pajamas and crawled into bed.
I usually find travel energizing, but considering I was sick and hadn't slept more than a few hours since Thursday night, I fell asleep almost immediately.
When I woke, I was still tired and sore; my head was pounding, and my stomach was churning. I glanced at the clock on my nightstand. It was two in the morning. I'd slept for nine hours. I got up to use the restroom and then went back to sleep.
Monday morning was no better. The headache had morphed into a full-blown migraine, so I took some of the prescription migraine medication that I kept in my bathroom medicine cabinet and crawled back into bed, knowing from experience that the only way to get rid of the horrible headache was to sleep it off.
By Tuesday morning, the migraine was gone, but my stomach was still upset, so I spent most of the day on the couch with Moriarty.
I finally woke up pain and nausea-free on Wednesday morning. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and sat on the edge momentarily to allow all my ducks time to line up in formation.
A knock sounded at the front door, and I rose to answer it. Jane bustled inside as soon as I had the door open. My heart dropped like a rock when I saw the worry and tension in her ordinarily serene face.
"What happened?" I asked immediately.
"Have you checked the internet lately?" Jane replied, her voice tense.
"Um, no phone or laptop, remember?" I reminded her.
"Oh. Right." She bit her lip worriedly. "Well, that's probably a good thing in this case. On the bright side, the airline called to say they've found your backpack. They're going to bring it by tomorrow."
I shook my head. "Okay, excellent, but why is it a good thing that I haven't checked the internet lately?"
Jane grimaced. "It's probably best if you just read it. You might want to sit down." She handed me her phone as I gave her an apprehensive look and sank onto the couch. "This article is on the Daily Mail's website, and U.S. Weekly ran something similar."
I took a deep breath and looked down at the phone screen. When my eyes landed on the digital image of the front page of the tabloid, I didn't even need to zoom in on the cover to understand why Jane had recommended I sit. Shock and dread hit me like a punch to the gut.
There, on the front cover, printed over a large, full-page image of Will and me kissing in the garden on the night of the ball, was a giant, bright yellow headline that read, "FICKLE FEELINGS; which cousin does she love?" The smaller subheading read, "Title-seeking American, swayed by greed and lure of nobility, tears Will's heart and family apart." Three smaller images were inset into the larger photo – one of me with my head on Richard's shoulder as I laughed while dancing with him at the end of the ball, another of Richard lifting me off my feet in a bear hug at the airport, and a third of me wiping a tear from my cheek as I walked into the airport while Will watched stoically in the background.
Bile rose in my throat while shock, disbelief, anger, and humiliation all fought for dominance in my mind as I stared at the screen.
"Lizzy?" Jane said hesitantly after several moments of silence.
My hands began to shake, and I squeezed my eyes shut, blocking the images. It was no use; the bold, yellow text was burned into my retinas. "He promised this wouldn't happen." I dropped my head into my shaking free hand. Humiliation and shame burned white-hot in my chest.
"No!" I exclaimed, tears filling my eyes. Panic flooded my mind. "What if my students, their parents, or someone on the school board sees this? Please, tell me this isn't real!" I begged in a hoarse whisper, squeezing my eyes shut.
Jane sighed and leaned over to hug me.
I wiped my eyes and took a deep breath, fighting to control my emotions. I glanced back down at the loathsome image on the screen and noticed the date, which reminded me, "Crap!" I choked, suddenly remembering my work schedule. "I have to get my classroom ready between today and Friday! I planned to do it on Monday and yesterday, but I've been sick. School starts at the end of next week!"
"I can help you," Jane offered, sitting down beside me and giving me a compassionate squeeze. "I finished setting mine up yesterday."
I took a shaky breath and nodded mutely as I pushed the hair back from my forehead.
My sister hugged me tighter.
I sighed heavily, wiped the tears that wouldn't stop from my eyes, and gestured toward the phone screen. "What am I going to do about this? What is Will going to think? What will everyone else think? How can I hold my head up in public?" I dropped Jane's phone on the couch cushion next to me and cradled my head in my hands.
I felt Jane move from her seat on the sofa. She grasped my wrists and gently pried my hands away from my face. I opened my eyes to see her crouched before me, her mouth set in a determined line. "Will is not going to think anything of it, Lizzy. He knows the truth. I'll wager he's pretty pissed off about it. Trust him. He will deal with it. As for what you're going to do, you'll hold your head up when you walk through that door because you know the truth, too, and that's what's important. Besides, it's highly unlikely anyone you know at work will even read the tabloids."
More tears burned my eyes, but I held them back and nodded. I wanted to believe she was right. "Love you," I whispered.
"I love you, too," Jane replied, embracing me before she stood. "Why don't you get dressed, and we'll leave when you're ready."
oooOOOooo
By the time I'd showered, dressed, and gathered up the classroom supplies I had purchased at the beginning of summer, it was almost noon. Jane and I each grabbed a tote box and headed for the door.
When we arrived, the school was fairly empty. The other teachers had most likely finished setting up their classrooms the week before and were at home, soaking up the last full week of summer break. By five o'clock that evening, we'd finished nearly everything and decided to call it a day. I would need to return the next morning to finish a few things.
"Want to get something to eat?" Jane asked as we walked through the staff parking lot toward my Jeep.
I nodded. "Definitely. I haven't eaten anything besides soda crackers and noodles since the pretzels I had on the plane Saturday afternoon."
After eating and returning home, I said goodbye to Jane and headed to bed.
The following morning, I took the bus to school because I didn't have any totes to haul with me. I worked steadily throughout the morning and through lunch. When I had finished putting the last lesson plan folder in the filing cabinet behind my desk, I glanced up at the clock on the wall. It was one o'clock. I gathered my things, locked the classroom door, and headed toward the exit.
I met the superintendent, Mr. Winter, in the hall just outside the administrative offices.
"Elizabeth!" the elderly administrator greeted with a smile. "May I speak with you for a moment?"
I smiled in return and nodded. "Sure. What's up?" I asked as I followed him into his office.
Mr. Winter sat behind his desk and gestured for me to do the same.
"First, let me apologize for not being here yesterday to welcome you back. Unfortunately, I had meetings all day."
"No problem," I shrugged.
He exhaled heavily and folded his hands together on his desk. He stared at them momentarily and pressed his mouth into a hard line, a stark contrast to the smile he usually wore. "Elizabeth, I hate to be the bearer of bad news," he began slowly. "You are a wonderful teacher; however, due to recent events and negative publicity, the board convened an emergency meeting last night at the request of several of our students' parents."
My stomach plummeted, and I felt as if all the blood had suddenly drained from my face.
Mr. Winter continued, "Many of the parents are very concerned about having someone who used a firearm to inflict bodily harm on another teach their children, and this latest story about the affair with the cousin has only added fuel to their fire. They believe that it exhibits poor judgment and poor character on your part, and many of the school board members are inclined to agree with them."
A wave of shock made me sway forward in my chair. When I opened my mouth to protest, Mr. Winter raised his hands in a calming gesture. "Now, I want you to know that I do not hold a like opinion. You've displayed nothing but exemplary character and behavior during the time I've known you. However, I must also consider the privacy and safety of our students should the press decide to show up at the school. All things considered, the board has decided to terminate your contract. I, however, am giving you the option to resign instead."
I shook my head, desperation welling up inside me. "But my personal life is none of their business!" I felt my hands begin to tremble. "The only reason I used a gun on anyone was because he shot my boyfriend twice and tried to harm me. It was done in self-defense because it was my only choice at the time!"
My desperation morphed into anger as the injustice of it all settled on me. A small voice in the back of my mind warned me to blow out the match and not burn my bridges, but it was drowned out and steamrolled by the roar of everything that had been weighing down on me for months. "This is a Second Amendment supporting state, for God's sake! Don't they understand what self-defense means? What? I can go shoot a deer and have most of those hypocrites applaud me for it, but I can't non-fatally shoot a human monster who is hell-bent on murdering the man I love and possibly myself in self-defense?" By now, my whole body was trembling with suppressed rage, and my heart hammered in my chest. I struggled to rein in my temper and steady my voice as I gripped the arms of my chair to attempt to control the shaking.
More calmly, I continued, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for blowing up, but this is a lot to process, and it makes me wonder what they think they would have done in my situation." I exhaled through pursed lips and closed my eyes. "As far as this latest story is concerned, it's completely fabricated! How can they fire me for something that didn't even happen? I don't understand!" When I finally looked up at Mr. Winter, he met my eyes with a sympathetic look.
"I know. I can't imagine the pressure you're under right now. And you're right; your personal life is none of their business, or mine, for that matter. However, academic integrity and providing a private, safe, and efficient learning environment for our students is. With the possibility of reporters and photographers encroaching due to your recent bad press, we can't ensure that our students will have any of those things if you remain employed here."
I took a deep breath and bit my lip. "So, I'm being fired for something I have absolutely no control over."
Mr. Winter sighed and gave me a sad smile. "Not by my choice. But I'm sure that once you step back and take an objective look at the situation, you will understand the concerns of the parents and the school board. Of course, with the termination of your contract, the school will be required to give you a severance package. It'll give you the time you need to find something else."
Find something else? I felt as if all the air had been sucked out of my lungs, and I struggled to take a breath.
"I'll give you excellent references," he continued.
I rose unsteadily from my chair and gave a curt nod; I couldn't summon the control to do more. I don't remember the walk to the bus stop, but the reality of the situation hit full force on the ride home. It was hard enough for a woman to land a job as a history teacher – a position usually reserved for male athletic coaches - and if the largest school district in the state had let me go, there was little chance I'd be hired on anywhere else, good references notwithstanding. Despite having walked from the bus stop a couple of blocks away through a blur of tears, I somehow made it to my building.
When I stepped off the elevator, I saw a man standing at my condo door. "Can I help you?" I hesitantly asked as I approached.
The man turned. "Are you," he paused to look down at the tablet in his hand, "Elizabeth Bennet?"
"I am," I replied.
The man held up a familiar-looking backpack with his other hand. "I believe this belongs to you," he smiled.
I sighed in relief. "Thank you so much," I said, taking the bag from him.
He smiled and pointed to the tablet. "I'll just need you to sign right here with your finger." I signed my name, and he left.
I unzipped my bag and rummaged through it to ensure everything was there. Even my wallet and keys had been returned, which was something, I supposed. I switched my phone on to check the battery level - one percent.
I pocketed the phone, rezipped the bag, and unlocked the door. My phone rang as I crossed the threshold. I set the bag on the floor and pulled the phone out of my pocket to check the caller ID. It was Will. The trigger for all the rage and emotion I'd struggled to keep bottled up during the meeting with the superintendent, and on the ride home, tripped, and I exploded. I sucked in an angry breath and hurled my phone across the room. It bounced off the brick wall on the opposite side of the living room with a loud thunk before clattering to the floor.
There was no way I could deal with talking to him at the moment. I was too raw, too volatile. As unreasonable as it seemed, a large part of me wanted to blame Will. If I hadn't agreed to spend the summer at Pemberley - hadn't met him! - none of this would have happened! My hands started shaking again, and I dropped to my knees on the hard floor with a sob.
Moriarty, sensing my distress, padded over and rubbed against my thighs. I picked him up and hugged him tightly, burying my face in his soft fur. There's nothing quite as effective as a cuddle from a fluffy cat to calm even the most frayed of nerves. I shifted into a seated position and scratched the lovable tabby's ears as I took several slow, deep breaths.
I needed to get myself under control and figure out what my next step would be. I took another slow, controlled, deep breath. I could do this. After all, I'd spent a good portion of my adult life suppressing unpleasant things.
I plugged in my newly returned laptop and ordered Chinese food online – with extra fortune cookies - and changed into the most comfortable pair of oversized sweats I owned while I waited for the food to be delivered. If I was going to allow myself a good, cleansing - albeit short-lived - wallow before I stuffed every shred of pain from the current debacle into the recesses of my being, I was determined to do it thoroughly and properly.
By the time I'd finished eating the last of the fortune cookies - and my feelings along with them - reason and objectivity had returned, in some measure at least. I decided that the first thing I needed to do was examine the possibility of a new career path now that the career I loved was utterly obliterated.
I also acknowledged to myself that the tabloid story wasn't Will's fault. In a way, it was my own; I should have kept my emotions and actions under better regulation and not let my guard down in public while I was with Will and his family. If I had, the photographers wouldn't have had any material to work with. The problem, however, was much bigger than one fake news article. Ultimately, it meant I'd either have to adopt a cavalier attitude about my reputation and integrity – which probably wouldn't happen – or be beyond careful in everything I did and said each time I stepped outside my door. One thing I refused to do, however, was live in fear.
After I'd thrown away the takeout containers, I crossed the living room and picked up my phone from where it had landed on the floor. Half fearful I'd really broken it this time, I pressed the home button and held my breath. The home screen popped right up before the low battery signal flashed across the screen. I breathed a sigh of relief and plugged it in to charge. My phone usually paid the price whenever my temper took a violent turn. As a result, I'd become something of an armored phone case connoisseur over the years. Time and time again, Unicorn Beetle cases had proven to be the most durable.
I spent the rest of the afternoon curled up on the couch, looking through the help-wanted ads. I even went on the Nebraska State Historical Society's website to see if they were hiring. There wasn't anything open that didn't require a Ph.D., but that gave me an idea. I had finished my master's degree online the previous spring. Why not continue my education and obtain my Ph.D.? It'd take a while, and I'd have to complete some extra classes to beef up my transcripts in order to apply for a doctoral program, but my employment prospects would broaden substantially with that under my belt, and I could continue my coursework at another university if I did move.
With that spark of hope flickering before me, I browsed through UNL's programs online. Anthropology looked promising; history in action, so to speak. By that evening, I had decided to enroll in some anthropology, archeology, and sociology courses to bolster my transcript and work towards a second bachelor's degree. With any luck, I'd be able to finish an anthropology degree and gain acceptance into a doctoral program within a few years.
I grabbed my phone off of the end table where it had been charging and checked my missed calls. I had to do a double-take when I saw the number. Thirty-three. Thirty-three missed calls, twenty-five of which were from Will, along with a few from my family members, and Richard and Georgiana as well. Crap. Luckily, my voicemail was full before we left, so I was spared that, at least. My text messages, on the other hand… Will's concern and fear were palpable, and my stomach sank as I scrolled through them.
I looked at the time on my phone screen. It was 10 p.m., four in the morning for him. I knew I needed to call him, but I was terrified to do so. Considering that he had been livid the last time we'd had a communication breakdown after my impromptu walk to Lambton, I could only imagine his state of mind after five days of radio silence and the conclusions I was sure he had jumped to. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath before I opened the Skype app and hit the call button.
Will picked up on the fifth ring. It was dark when he answered, and there wasn't any sound other than the scuffling of his large body against fabric. After a moment, I could just make out the shadow of his face, illuminated by his phone screen. A second later, his voice, scratchy with sleep, finally came across the speaker. "Elizabeth?"
"Hey," I greeted nervously, my throat tight.
He cleared his throat. "Hold on, alright?"
"Sure," I replied. I took another deep breath in an effort to relieve the tension coiling in my chest. It didn't help.
A light flickered to life on Will's side of the screen. The view changed to the ceiling momentarily as he shifted his position on the bed. "Are you alright?" he asked, his voice low and rumbly and utterly sexy with sleep, reminding me just how much I had missed the sound of it. "I've been so worried."
Any remaining anger I felt melted, and my fear subsided enough for a soft smile to touch my lips. "Yes, I'm fine. There's no reason to worry about me."
A look of relief passed over his face before a flash of impatience marred it.
Damn. I inwardly cringed, and my smile fell. This wasn't going to be good.
"No reason to worry?" he scoffed. "Do you know how worried I've been?" he asked, his voice tightening with concern. Then, taking a deep breath, he continued in a calmer tone. "Look, I'm sorry, but you can't imagine the horrible scenarios that have been going through my mind! Why in the hell didn't you call or text anyone or at least answer our phone calls? I've spent days scouring the news for reports of plane crashes and even for news of car accidents and fires! I actually considered searching the bloody obituaries! For the love of God almighty, Elizabeth, do you know how terrible of a feeling that was?" His voice had gradually risen until he was nearly shouting.
His face crumpled, and he screwed his eyes tightly shut as he thrust his free hand into his hair, dark, unruly tufts sticking up at odd angles between his fingers. I cringed as I watched his hand move from his hair over his face. He rubbed his jaw and exhaled sharply as he visibly fought for control to suppress his emotional response. Even after he'd calmed a bit, his eyes still appeared a little wild as he continued, "You didn't answer your phone for five days," he whispered, the softer tone somehow worse than the yelling that had preceded it. "I was afraid something terrible had happened. Then I saw the necklace, and I thought maybe there was another reason you weren't answering. I was so worried I bought a plane ticket—"
I had never seen him so utterly undone before - not even during the shooting incident with Wickham - and frankly, the knowledge that I could hurt him worse than a man who had put bullets into his body terrified and shattered me. What had I done? "Will, please, please, calm down!" I begged, tears burning my eyes. I tilted my head back and blinked rapidly, refusing to let them fall; crying wouldn't help anything. "It's been a crazy couple of days, okay? I'm sorry!" I ran a hand across my forehead and brushed my hair back from my face.
Will's brows furrowed. "I am perfectly calm." A muscle jumped in his jaw, betraying his bluff. He pressed his mouth into a hard line. "I'm just wondering when will you understand that you are everything to me."
I was again taken aback by the intensity of his voice and expression. I'd have jumped to many of the same conclusions. Probably worse. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen!" I sighed heavily. "I got home Sunday afternoon, and I was really sick, and the airline lost my carry-on bag that had my phone, computer, purse, keys, and everything else in it, and I didn't get it back until just before I walked through the door after work this afternoon."
The mention of work brought me perilously close to tears again. I squeezed my eyes shut and massaged my temples. "Let's just put it this way; it's been a very, very crappy day for me." I ran my tongue over my dry lips. "Will, I," I began, but I lost my courage. I bit my lip and shook my head. I couldn't tell him I'd lost my job. He was already angry enough with me. What would he think of me, unemployed with absolutely no prospects for the foreseeable future? Not only that, but he'd probably blame himself, and I didn't want to add another weight to his already overburdened shoulders. I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose before I raised my head and looked at the phone screen. "Didn't Charles tell you that we made it home safely? I didn't even think of giving Jane your number and having her text you because I figured you'd hear it from him. I should have thought to have her do so. I'm sorry."
Will's hand rested over his mouth, hiding his expression. His eyes, however, stared at me grimly through the screen. "He did, eventually, but he left Saturday evening, and I was unable to get ahold of him until yesterday afternoon. He's been traveling between London and Scarborough for the past several days, dealing with business and Caroline, and you know how he is with answering his phone at the best of times. I don't think he has had much of a chance to speak with Jane over the past few days, either. However, neither of us knew that your laptop and phone were lost. Elizabeth, after I found the necklace, I thought..." A tense pause ensued as he stared hard at me through the screen, his eyes bright. Then, he took a deep breath. "Look, I understand, but I hate this." He closed his eyes tightly and shook his head. "Are you alright? Is there anything I can do? I can catch that flight this morning and be there by this evening."
I shook my head. "I don't like it either. But you can't fly across the world every time we have a disagreement or misunderstanding, Will."
His intense gaze met mine through the screen. "I would willingly do so to make this work. You know I would."
"I appreciate that, but don't worry, we can talk things out, and everything will be fine." After everything that had gone wrong since I'd arrived home, I wondered if I even believed that. I took a calming breath. "As far as the necklace goes, didn't you read the note?"
He raised an eyebrow in question. "What note?"
I exhaled wearily. "The note I put on top of the necklace case, which explained that I left it there with you for safekeeping and that I love you." I smiled at his raised eyebrow.
Will gave me a small smile in return, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
He shook his head. "No, I didn't, but hold on a moment."
He held the phone at waist level as she stood up from the bed. "I'll look underneath the dresser. Perhaps it fell behind it."
After much scuffling noise and a prolonged view of his arm and shoulder, as he used his phone's built-in flashlight to search the floor underneath his dresser for the note, I finally heard the sound of rustling paper. "Found it," he announced.
I allowed myself an eye roll. "Told you so."
He gave me a wry look.
I shrugged. "What? I can't be blamed for the drafts in your house that carry notes off to nooks and crannies unknown."
I watched through the screen as he settled onto the floor and leaned back against the wall, just below a window, while he read the note. Will was seated so that the arm holding his phone was fully extended and rested on his bent knee, giving me an unobstructed view of his handsome face and muscular torso. I took a screenshot. The memory of the warmth of his chest, the steady beat of his heart, the strength of his arms, the soothing, spicy scent of his skin, and the sense of absolute safety I felt when he held me filled me with a longing so acute I could hardly stand it.
When he had finished reading the note, he looked up. "Elizabeth."
I blinked and refocused my attention on him.
"I love you," he whispered.
I smiled. "I love you, too." The memory of the latest tabloid story wormed its way into my mind, ending the happy moment. "Did you see the tabloids yesterday?"
Will sighed and distractedly ran his fingers through his hair. "Yes, unfortunately."
I debated once again whether to tell him what that story had cost me, but I couldn't do that to him. Not now. Not like this. I refused to add to his worry. Not only that, but he'd probably try to use the fact that I didn't have a job tying me down as leverage to get me to move to England, and considering how much I missed him, I'd probably cave.
Will's eyes met mine through the camera. "I'll take care of it, Elizabeth," he assured me.
I swallowed hard. Too little too late. Aloud, I said, "I know. And Will, you know it's not true, right?"
There was a long pause on the other end of the line before he said, "Of course," and then changed the subject.
oooOOOooo
Jane and I went to my parents' home that weekend for Sunday dinner. It went surprisingly well. Thankfully, my mother had been too busy planning Jane's upcoming engagement party and wedding to read the tabloids, and she and my sisters kept themselves occupied with discussing the two events, leaving me safe from excessive criticism. The engagement party was to be held in Omaha at the Durham Museum in the old Union Station.
After the meal had wrapped up, they were still absorbed in discussing décor. My dad caught my eye and motioned toward his study with a sideways nod. Gratefully, I stood and followed him.
When we'd reached the peace and quiet of his bookroom, he hugged me. Embraced in my father's arms and surrounded by the familiar smells of his study – paper, leather, lemon furniture polish, pipe tobacco, and peppermint - the emotional dam in my heart threatened to break again. Tears stung my eyes. It felt so good to be home.
"I missed you, Lizzy," Dad whispered, hugging me a little tighter.
His comment cemented in my heart that I'd done the right thing by not agreeing to move to England.
He released me from the embrace and stepped back. When he noticed the tears in my eyes, he asked, "Why are you crying?"
I shrugged and managed a half-hearted smile. "I just missed you, is all."
He lowered an eyebrow and gave me a doubtful look.
I bit my lip. My dad had always been able to tell when I was lying.
"I think we'd better have a chat. Sit down and tell me everything," he kindly urged, motioning toward the large, worn wingback chair that had been my favorite seat since childhood.
And so, I did. I told him everything. About the summer, Caroline, and how Will made me feel alive, loved, and furious. I told him about the George Wickham ordeal, my anger, and subsequent reconciliation with Will. I told him all about the shooting, Will's recovery, my fears and guilt, the necklace and the ball, and about Will asking me to move to England. I even told him about being sick on the flight and during my first week home, the tabloid story involving Will's cousin, Richard, and how the photos had been deliberately misrepresented. I told him about the talk with the superintendent, the subsequent termination of my contract, my talk with Will that same night, my uncertainty about his thoughts on the article, and my decision to go back to school.
After I'd finished – and gone through several tissues in the process – my dad tapped his chin thoughtfully with steepled fingers. "It looks like you have a decision to make, Lizzy."
I swallowed hard and shrugged. "How can I, Dad? I do love Will. And even if I loved my job, too, what's done is done. I lifted a shoulder. "No school will hire me after this. I need to move on. Besides, I've lost one thing I love, and I don't know if I can handle losing another right now."
He leaned forward in his seat and rested his forearms on his thighs. "Elizabeth Rose Bennet, you have to decide what's best for you. I can't tell you what that is, nor can Will. You need to determine that for yourself. Love is meant to make life worth living, not rob you of the parts of it you hold dear. But know this: whatever you decide, I will support your choice. As your father, my love is unconditional, and if Will loves you as much as you believe he does, he will support your decision as well."
oooOOOooo
The week that followed was brutal. I was required to attend a perfunctory school board hearing on Wednesday evening to finalize the termination of my contract. On Thursday afternoon, I went grocery shopping. Although I studiously avoided looking at the magazine racks, others didn't. When I was in the checkout line, the woman in front of me repeatedly cast surreptitious glances between me and the cover of US Weekly in the magazine rack beside her. I quickly left the line and went to a self-checkout lane.
Seeing the tabloid in the grocery store also renewed my sense of guilt about withholding the fact that I had lost my job from Will. The last thing I wanted to do was add to his burdens, but I knew that honesty was essential for our relationship to work. I sat on the edge of the couch cushion and scrubbed my palms over my jean-clad thighs before glancing at the clock on the living room wall. It was 4 p.m. I mentally counted ahead five hours to allow for the time difference. He would still be awake. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath before I picked up my phone and touched his contact icon to start the video call. He picked up on the second ring.
"Hello," Will answered with a smile. He was seated behind his desk in his study.
"Hey," I smiled nervously in return. "Do you have time to talk?"
"Of course," he answered. His expression sobered, and his eyebrows drew together. "You look nervous…are you alright?"
"I…" I paused to take a deep breath. It was now or never. "Will, there's something I need to tell you, and I'm honestly afraid that you're going to be upset when you hear it."
"What is it?" he asked softly, concern creasing his forehead.
I scooted further back into the couch cushions and nestled into the corner before I met his eyes through the screen. "The school terminated my contract last week. On the first day I called you after I returned home, actually."
Will's eyes narrowed. "What? Why?" he demanded.
I squeezed my eyes shut before opening them again. "Just let me tell you everything first, okay?" I begged, afraid that if I didn't get it all out now, I wouldn't be able to at all.
He clamped his mouth shut and nodded for me to continue, though I could tell it took effort for him to do so.
I swallowed the lump in my throat. "Some of the parents and school board members felt rather strongly about having someone who had shot a man teaching their children." I struggled not to roll my eyes. "They said the story about Richard and I raised further concerns about my character. The last straw seemed to be their concern about the possibility of the invasion of student privacy, should the press show up because they could run into legal trouble if it did happen." I tilted my head back against the couch cushion and looked up at the ceiling to gather my thoughts. "The school board held a hearing last night. Suffice it to say that many concerns were expressed about the safety and privacy of students and my decision-making abilities. They cited 'unprofessional conduct' as the reason."
I raised an eyebrow and lowered my head to look at Will, who watched me closely, his expression solemn. "It turns out that's a legit thing. According to Nebraska state statutes, it's defined as 'conduct related to the fitness of the employee to act in his or her professional capacity.'" I shrugged. "I could have filed a petition with the district courts, but the problem is, when I look at the situation objectively, I can't really dispute their concerns. I can't guarantee that their children's privacy won't be compromised if the press comes onto school property or that I can keep them away, should they decide to do so, however unlikely the probability."
I shrugged. "I can't even guarantee that I wouldn't harm someone again if they threatened my life or yours. Honestly, if I were a parent, I'd have issues with someone who is as two-faced, dishonest, and manipulative as that story made me out to be or someone who shot another person for a reason I, as an outsider, didn't understand, teaching my kids, too. And I definitely wouldn't want anyone taking pictures of my children or trying to interview them. No one wants their teenager caught up in a media circus. There's no telling how distracting it could be for the kids, either. They're there to learn in a safe environment, and I don't know if I can provide that for them at this point." My throat ached uncomfortably as I struggled to swallow back my emotions.
I watched helplessly through my phone screen as Will rose to his feet and began to pace. "It was not your fault, Elizabeth. And what you just told me – your reasons for agreeing with them – only demonstrates your exemplary character and just how qualified you are to teach." He sighed heavily, and his shoulders sagged as he ran a hand through his dark hair.
The sadness and guilt in his eyes gutted me.
"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" When I didn't answer, he continued, "I need you to be open with me," he demanded. "I could have done something!"
I leaned forward in my seat, resting my elbows on my thighs. "Because Will, there was a lot that I had to come to grips with. I considered my job to be my life and identity. Even when I was little, I wanted to be a teacher. When I was in high school, I fell in love with history. It's been a lifelong dream of mine and has defined everything I've done for such a long time. When you take that away, I'm left with the uncomfortable truth that I'm just me. Not a teacher, just plain Elizabeth, who doesn't have a purpose at the moment." I shrugged hopelessly.
"Not only that, but I know how you tend to overreact and worry about things, especially when it involves the wellbeing of those you care about, and while I appreciate that, I didn't want you to feel responsible and have you worrying about it while you're four thousand miles away, dealing with your job and your family." I flicked away a tear that had escaped with my fingertip. "You always feel like you have to fix everything, and this is something that isn't your responsibility to fix. There's nothing you could have done to stop it. I know how explosive our discussions can be, and I didn't want this blowing up over the phone or a video call while I was still trying to process everything and come to terms with the situation. Not only that, but I was also worried about what you would think of me. You're so successful in everything you do, and I was fired, and I don't have any professional employment prospects and probably won't until I finish school, and who knows how many years that will take!"
Will shook his head, his eyes darting around his study before settling on mine again. He appeared to be struggling under the weight of powerful emotion. "This is my fault, and I wouldn't blame you if you wanted me out of your life. I am so sorry."
I leaned forward and rested my forehead in my free hand. "See? This is what I don't want you to do. I was afraid to tell you because I wasn't just worried that you'd be angry with me and disappointed in me, but that you'd beat yourself up over something that isn't your fault."
He gave me a sharp look. "How is this not my fault?"
I touched his face on the screen, wishing I could be there to calm and reassure him. "You didn't invite the photographers or write the article. It wasn't your fault."
Will closed his eyes tightly and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I know, but considering what happened with the photographer during the ball, I should have foreseen this and acted to prevent it." He opened his eyes and looked directly into the camera. "And how could you possibly think that I would be disappointed in you? You could never disappoint me. Do you understand that? No matter what, I love you, and that will never change. It's not my place to stand in judgment of you, but rather to support you in your choices and do whatever I can to help you achieve your goals."
Relief settled over me, and I swallowed hard. "Thank you. And I'm sorry for not telling you about it sooner, but can you understand why I didn't?"
Will gave a slight shake of his head. "I understand why; however, I would have been happy to listen. In the future, if there's to be a future, we need to work through things together and be there for one another. From now on, your burdens become mine, alright? Just please, don't shut me out."
"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I've been very independent for a very long time, but I'm learning."
Will's mouth curved up in a ghost of a smile. "So am I."
"The same goes for you, too," I said. "Share and share alike," I winked. "Considering how stubborn we can both be at times, it won't be easy."
"I've heard nothing worth having ever is," he answered. "So, what will you do now that you're no longer teaching?"
I shrugged. "I hope to apply to a doctoral program next year or the year after. In the meantime, I decided to enroll in classes at UNL in the subject field I want to pursue to help bolster my transcripts a bit."
Will raised his eyebrows. "And which subject would that be?"
"Anthropology," I answered. "History in action, you know."
"I would imagine so," he answered with a smile.
"I love you," I whispered.
"I love you, too…six more weeks, and I'll be there, Elizabeth. This isn't forever."
"I know," I sighed. "I'm counting on it."
oooOOOooo
Time marched on, as it always does, even when it feels like it's stopped completely. Charlotte had broken up with her boyfriend over the summer, and she and I happily resumed our decade-long tradition of Friday movie nights. I started school at the University of Nebraska in Lincoln at the end of August. I had class three days a week on Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday.
Going back to school presented its own set of challenges. Public knowledge of my and Will's relationship – and my implied wrongdoing, thanks to the tabloid article that had cost me my career - was more widespread than I had hoped. Once people figured out who I was, it was as if I became public property, and every aspect of my life was open for questioning by anyone who wished to snoop.
In addition to numerous dirty looks and immature, snide comments, including more than one "Don't shoot!" from a few of the students on campus, a woman in my Historical Archaeology class even had the gall to condescendingly ask me who was better in bed – Will or his cousin. I had blinked twice, reminded myself that what people thought of me didn't matter, and with a forced polite smile, I told her that she shouldn't believe everything she read, and that I wouldn't know because I hadn't slept with either. Ignoring her dubious look, I quietly picked up my backpack and moved to another seat in the back row of the lecture hall.
Thankfully, after the first couple of weeks, people moved on with their lives, and I was left alone.
The retired cardiologist who lived next door to me put his condo up for sale. It sold within a week, but he didn't know who the new owner was; he only knew that an overseas corporation had purchased it. I cringed inwardly at the possibility of my neighboring unit becoming a short-term rental. He explained that he and his wife were tired of the harsh winters and, as a result, were planning to move to Florida. I wished them good luck and helped them pack the valuables that they didn't want to entrust to movers.
Will and I talked every chance we got, which, with the time difference, our families, his work, and my classes, equated to about twice a week if we were lucky. Our calls often extended far into the night for one or the other of us.
"Three weeks," I told myself. Four down, and only three to go before I could see him again.
Late one night during the second week of September, I woke to the sound of rain falling heavily outside the open windows of my bedroom. The constant din of the raindrops, as they fell against the iron balcony and windows, was soothing. When the thunder and lightning started in, I was reminded of the night of the storm with Will. His kiss. The way his hands had seared my body with their touch and made me feel so incredibly alive.
As the night wore on, thoughts of him led to more profound realizations about our relationship. As I lay in the darkness, listening to the relentless storm rage outside the window, each flash of lightning that cut across the sky seemed to illuminate the ugly and unacknowledged truths I'd buried in the dark corners of my mind. I recognized that I had only shared partial truths about my tumultuous past with Will, things that I had refused to face. Instead of confronting the pain and fear in my life head-on, I'd buried it and built walls around it, but that hadn't stopped either from affecting me. I realized that, despite my best efforts to deny that it existed, it had seeped up through the soil and out through the mortar of the walls I'd built like black tendrils of poison. The poison hadn't harmed only me; it had hurt Will, too. I'd seen the pain it caused in his eyes every time I withdrew from him, each time I flinched away from his touch.
I turned onto my stomach, burying my head in my pillow, and punched the mattress. The physical release of anger and tension felt good. I did it again, and again, and again, over and over, until the muscles in my arm and shoulder burned and spasmed. Sometimes, physical pain was better than emotional pain.
But what about Will's pain? By withdrawing and not being completely open with him, I was hurting him, and I knew it. Things had been better after talking with Richard. The grounding methods he'd taught me had seemed to help, as did regular close contact with Will. What did they call that? Exposure therapy? God, that sounded so clinically cold and horrible. I knew I needed to tell him everything. In person. And soon.
Tears blurred my vision, and I lifted my head from the pillow and reached over to my nightstand to pick up my phone. I opened the travel app I regularly used to book airline tickets, and for one insane moment, I considered buying a ticket for an early flight out. If I did, I could be in Will's arms again in a few short hours.
I checked the time. It was three in the morning, 8 a.m. for Will. He would be up, but he'd probably be working. I decided to give him a call anyway. He didn't answer. I called twice more just to listen to his voice in his voicemail greeting. The whole long-distance relationship thing was proving infinitely more challenging than I'd imagined it would be.
oooOOOooo
My sisters and I went shopping together that weekend to find dresses for Jane's engagement party. I was eyeing a sensible, knee-length navy blue dress with a black lace overlay when Lydia thrust a hanger in front of my face.
She gave me a stern look. "Step away from the dark colors, Lizzy. Kate and I found your dress."
With that, she shoved the hanger into my hands. I held the garment up and eyed it warily. It was a short, satin, blush-pink dress with a deep V-cut neckline, spaghetti straps, and a short, tiered skirt. I laughed. "Uh, yeah, no."
"Lizzy! Pleeeeeease," Lydia whined.
I tried handing the dress back to her, but she refused to take it. "I'm not seventeen, Lydia. If you like it so much, you wear it."
Kate stepped forward and crossed her arms over her chest. "Yeah, well, you're not forty-five either. Just try it on."
Jane and Mary joined us then. "What's going on?" Jane demanded in a hushed voice. "I could hear you guys on the other side of the store!"
I put one hand on my hip and held the dress up with the other for Jane to see. "This is what's going on. Kate and Lydia think I should wear this to your engagement party."
Jane eyed the dress. "It is really cute, Lizzy. Can't you just try it on?"
"Not you, too," I griped, dropping my head to one side and glaring at her.
I looked to Mary for help, but she raised her hands in surrender. "Hey, don't look at me! I'm staying out of this," she laughed.
I sighed dramatically. "Fine." I grudgingly trudged to the dressing room, followed by my sisters.
I quickly removed my clothing and stepped into the dress. After I'd zipped the back, I turned to look in the mirror. The hem hit just below mid-thigh. The low-cut neckline accentuated my already overly generous curves, while the cut of the waist and smoothly tiered satin skirt gave the appearance of an hourglass figure. I was surprised by how good it looked on me. I alternately tugged at the hem and neckline. Maybe I could have the hem lowered and the neckline raised, I mused.
"Heads up!" Kate called from outside the dressing room door. I stepped out of the way just as a pair of gold, strappy stiletto heels clattered over the door and landed with a thud on the floor. I rolled my eyes and sat down in a chair to put on the ridiculous shoes.
"Get out here, we want to see!" Jane called from the other side of the door.
Feeling very uncomfortable, I reluctantly stepped out of the dressing room and faced my sisters.
Jane covered her mouth with her hand, Lydia and Kate squealed, and Mary smiled as she nodded in approval.
I self-consciously tugged at the low neckline. "If I do get it, the hem will need to be lowered a few inches, and the neckline will have to be closed a bit."
Jane shook her head. "No. You're getting it, and you're not altering a thing. You look amazing, Lizzy! Will's going to have a coronary when he sees you in that dress."
I gave her a withering look. "Yeah, that's not helpful, Jane."
"A coronary?" Lydia snorted. "Doubtful. He's definitely either going to ask you to marry him or bear his children. Possibly both."
"No proposals at my engagement party, please," Jane pleaded. "That's so tacky."
"If he does, Lizzy, you have to say yes," Kate added.
"To what?" Mary asked. "The marriage or the babies?"
"Both!" Kate and Lydia practically shouted in unison.
I was pretty sure my entire body was blushing at that point, thanks to my sisters' teasing. "Stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it!" I commanded in a harsh whisper. "There will be no bearing or begetting of babies, no proposals, no weddings, and no coronaries."
"Begetting?" Mary raised an eyebrow as she smirked and crossed her arms over her chest. "How far back in your historical vocabulary archive did you have to reach for that one?"
Jane grinned. "I'm going to hold that dress hostage at my house until the day of the party so that I can make sure you don't alter it. And I bet twenty dollars on a niece by the end of next year."
"What?!" I asked, exasperated. "You guys have a gambling pool set up for that?"
"I put twenty on a nephew by the Fourth of July," Lydia confidently stated.
"Me, too!" Kate chimed in. "But a niece, not a nephew."
I turned to look at Mary. Surely, my genius of a sister had enough sense to know better. "Mary? Help."
Mary gave me an innocent look. "Don't look to me for help; I bet on twins by next Valentine's Day…that's still seventeen months away. I like my odds."
I dropped my head back and stared up at the ceiling in defeat.
oooOOOooo
The following Monday, I began a mental countdown to Will's arrival. Ten short days. I felt almost giddy. The prospect of his visit was the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel that kept me going.
That hopefulness, however, dimmed considerably during our Skype call that Thursday night, exactly one week before he was set to arrive. Will seemed distracted during our short call that night, and reluctantly, I glanced at the clock on my screen and frowned. "I have to get going," I told him with a sad smile. "I'm going out with Jane and Charlotte tonight, and I need to get ready."
"Have fun," Will smiled in return.
"I'll talk to you tomorrow," I promised.
He shook his head. "I won't be available tomorrow."
I shrugged. "Okay, Saturday, then."
He pressed his mouth into a hard line. "Not then, either. I'll be out of town for an extended period of time."
I raised an eyebrow. He hadn't said anything about traveling before our conversation. "Okaaaay…do you just want to text me then, when you have a chance?"
Will exhaled heavily and looked down at his hands before he met my eyes again. "I'll do what I can, Elizabeth, but I can't make any promises."
I swallowed hard to suppress the uneasy feeling rising in my chest. Something was up, and it didn't bode well for my guilty conscience. "What's wrong?"
He gave a slight shake of his head. "It's nothing. I'll talk to you when it works for me, alright?"
I reared my head back in surprise and confusion. He never acted like this. Ever. "Is…is everything alright?"
His brow furrowed momentarily, and a slight frown tugged at the edges of his mouth before he gave me a stilted smile – the smile I recognized as the one he reserved for uncomfortable situations like public appearances and conversations with people he didn't like. "Everything's fine. Look, I have to go, alright? Goodnight."
"Goodnight..." I replied uncertainly, just before he ended the call.
His odd farewell bothered me for the remainder of the evening.
oooOOOooo
Early the next afternoon, my conversation with Will the night before still weighed heavily on my heart and mind. I was sitting in my living room, knee-deep in yards and yards of glittery green and gold tulle, making hand-tied tutus for Lydia and Kate's school homecoming Spirit Day, when a knock sounded on the door.
I quickly rose from my seat, brushed my hair out of my face, and straightened my glitter-covered white tank top and denim shorts with glitter-coated hands as I made my way through the house to answer it. I tugged the door open and looked up.
Then, I clapped a hand over my mouth to stifle a scream and staggered backward.
Note: Sorry this is overdue. Life is crazy. Deployments are dumb. C'est la vie. Happy Valentine's Day.
I've received a couple of messages asking about the music at the beginning of each chapter. Why it's there. What it means. Whilst I can't personally relate to any of the experiences in this story, my life is a jumbled mixture of places and faces (I've moved 20 times in my *cough-40-cough* years), but one of the things that has always remained constant and helped me pinpoint feelings, events, times, places, and people, is music. I guess that's just how I view the world...through a musical lens, so to speak. If someone says, "Stop," my brain automatically replies with, "collaborate and listen, Ice is back with a brand new invention," or if someone says they're nervous, I just bust out with "but on the surface he looks calm and ready to drop bombs, but he keeps on forgetting what he wrote down the whole crowd goes so loud..." etc. So, in a way, it's helped me process what the characters are feeling because I don't have first-hand experience with their struggles. Anyway, here's the music wrap on the story so far:
I Hate, by Passenger Made of Scars, by Stone Sour I Am a Rock, by Simon and Garfunkel All the Little Lights, by Passenger Love and Trust, by Charlie Musselwhite, Ben Harper Dark Horses, by Switchfoot Whatever It Takes, by Imagine Dragons Bridge Over Troubled Water, by Simon and Garfunkel Imperfect, by Stone Sour Before You Go, by Lewis Capaldi Your Arms Feel Like Home, by Three Doors Down Burn the Ships, by For King and Country Collide, by Howie Day Let Her Go, by Passenger Better Love, by Hozier Faithfully, by Journey The Sound of Silence, by Simon and Garfunkel Demons, by Imagine Dragons Something Just Like This, by The Chainsmokers and Coldplay Harshest Critic, by Allison PonthierAnnnnnnnnd, here's a sneak peek for what's to come in the next chapter with this track:
Budapest, by George Ezra