Page 27 of Hudson

“So you will be okay if I go?” I ask her, my body feeling weary, not wanting to entertain her aboutHudson. My mind is a swirling mess about him enough as it is.

“Of course. I feel great at the moment, and I have the support of many friends. The last thing I want is you saying no to opportunities because you think you should be here. Go, Lacy. Go and see the world. As I said, maybe Hudson—”

“You are clearly reading too many romance novels,” I mumble.

“Oh, just imagine if he swept you off your feet!” I look at her, deadpan, and see that she’s almost glowing with excitement.

“Not going to happen, Mom. But I promise that I will thoroughly enjoy the spa treatments and be nice and relaxed when I get back.”

“Just promise me that you won’t hold back on finding love, Lacy. Not on my account. Life is too short. We both know that.” she says, squeezing my hand again, and I nod as I swallow down the bile that rises. I remain quiet, not able to promise her anything.

My shoulders lower slightly as she shuffles across the kitchen to put something in the trash as I finish what I was doing at the sink.

“Lacy, what is this?” she asks, and I look up, smiling, before I start to feel sick.

“Oh. Nothing. Just something from college. Junk mail.” Walking toward her, I grab the letter I discarded earlier so she can’t read it. But I’m not quick enough.

“It’s a letter inviting you back…” she trails off, frowning as she reads it. “You didn’t pass?” Her face is laced with concern, and I hold my breath.

“I passed. I passed every subject with flying colors… I just didn’t pass it with him,” I start to tell her. Because I did. I passed with an A average in every single subject.

“Except… statistics?”

My palms start to sweat, and I grab the letter from her hands and scrunch it up. Every month or so, he sends a letter. It’s all formal, of course, all aboveboard, just like the text messages and the emails, all inviting me to repeat the very subject he teaches. Offering additionalsupportto help me, saying that being in a classroom offers more to students than the online option I chose. He keeps them professional, not doing anything in writing that may link back to his behavior.

“Lacy? Please explain it to me.” My mom’s voice has changed. She knows I’m lying, but there’s no way in hell I’m telling her anything about this.

“It’s fine, Mom. Please, don’t worry. I passed. I graduated. I completed my studies and got my degree. I just did the statistics part here at home remotely with an alternative professor when I came back early,” I tell her, putting the lid back on the trash can and going over to the sink, wiping it down like a madwoman.

“So why is the professor inviting you back to complete it at a summer school program? The letter said that you are a star student who he would take great delight in having back for the summer,” she questions, and my body shivers at the words.Because he is infatuated with me. The words are on the tip of my tongue, but I bite them back.

“I think he prefers his students to do the class face-to-face. You know, one of those old-school thinkers whobelieve that, even though I covered the same topics and same workload remotely, I didn’t fully benefit from his teachings,” I explain, because that is the only thing I can say that won’t have her in tears and calling the police immediately. I don’t need that stress in my life.

“Sounds a bit odd,” Mom says, walking back to the dining table and taking a seat.

“It is. His office sends a letter every month or so. I have a feeling it might be tied to his bonus system within payroll or something.” I huff a laugh, trying to make light of the situation and position the letters so she understands what they are about if she ever sees another one.

“Oh, of course, that makes sense. Like they don’t already earn enough.” She huffs, pulling out her knitting that she started this morning. Making a new scarf for the winter already. I run my hands under the cool water in the sink as I take in a few deep breaths.

Those letters have been coming for months. Each one more persistent than the last. Then there are the emails, the text messages. There’s no point changing my number because I have a work cell, the number clear on our website, as is my email. Anyone just has to search online and they find my contact details.

I try not to think about it all. He’s a man of power and status, and I’m a young woman from a small town without many means. I’m not foolish enough to think that I would win in the situation if I was to go public. I swallow roughly as I think about the last time I saw him. When he locked me in his office under the guise of a meeting. The look on his face will haunt me forever.

15

LACY

Water sprays me from the kitchen tap. The lettuce I’m washing to have a side salad with dinner now saturated and my t-shirt looking similar.

“Why are you jittery?” My mom watches me carefully from where she is sitting at the dining table. Ever since she found that letter earlier, I have been feeling off. The letters I constantly receive, the ongoing text messages and emails, lying to Mom… None of it feels good.

“I’m not,” I say quickly, taking a deep breath to slow my racing heart. I think about Hudson again. My body seems to calm a little whenever I do. I get lost thinking about the way he stargazed with me, the way he bought me cookies, the way he grabbed the thorn from my skin with his teeth, how he kissed me.

“You have been fidgeting and dropping things all night, Lacy,” my mom scolds me as I grab a kitchen cloth and wipe my white t-shirt. The wet material sticks to me a little where the water splashes hit me, but I don’t care. It’sjust Mom and me and it isn’t like she hasn’t seen my bra before.

“There’s just a lot going on at work,” I tell her, which isn’t a lie. The trip to New York is also on my mind. I need to put a roster together for daytime visitors and support people for her. I also need to cook some meals and put them in the freezer, ensure the cleaning and washing are all up to date, and do a grocery shop. Me being away for a week takes a lot of coordination.

“Is that why you keep dropping things and look flustered?” Mom asks, and I stop what I’m doing and look at her. Her lips purse a little.

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