Page 9 of Tomorrow Belongs to Us
“Isn’t that a big jump? From being a high school teacher to becoming a professor?”
“I went back to college and got more qualifications.”
“I can’t wrap my head around you being a professor.”
“It’s still the same me underneath.”
“I’m not interested in what’s underneath,” I toss back, letting him know of the boundaries in place.
“I can’t wrap my head around the fact that you’re all grown up and …” His eyes run down my length; he looks surprised as if he still can’t take it in. “Things worked out for you. I hope they did. It looks like they did.”
I nod. He has no right to know of my life story. That’s not a privilege he gets to learn about.
“I tell you what feels strange,” he says, scratching the scar along his jaw. “To be living in the same town as you.”
I agree. It is one of the oddest things to happen to me in a long time. I’ve gone years without hearing his name, and then in the space of a month he’s shown up on TV, he’s in the press, he’s a local hero and now he’s here, in my life.
I lower my head, sensing an undercurrent to the polite outer façade of our conversation.
“Did things work out with your mom?” he asks.
As if he cares.
“They worked out.” I glance at my watch. “I really must go.” I’m suddenly aware of the time, and then slowly, the muted background noises of people walking past and clutching cell phones, having conversations, laughing. Even now, being with Lance Turner has the effect of tuning out everything around me, making it feel as if we’re the only two people around.
“Goodbye, Lance.”
“Goodbye?” A deep line forms between his brows. “So final?” His cool, calm demeanor slips.
“What did you expect? A hug and a kiss?” I snap. It’s taken me a long time to put his ghost to bed, and I don’t want to resurrect anything now.
“Do you hate me that much?” He looks like a wounded animal who’s been dealt a near fatal blow.
“You leave town without saying a word, leaving me to do with all the rumors and accusations and you expect me to be over the moon when you turn up eleven years later?”
I’m annoyed that I was so specific with the time. That I pinpointed it to eleven years.
Eleven years, four months and some days. Thankfully, I stopped counting the days a long time ago, but it doesn’t bode well for my state of mind that I remember to the month.
“What accusations?”
I stare at him in disbelief. “What do you think?”
“But we never—”
I glare at him. “We never …?”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m leaving. Please don’t follow me.” My voice is a little too loud, a little too stern, as if I’ve made a firm decision. I start to move away. “’Bye.”
“’Bye, Megan.”
~~
LANCE
My excitement at seeing Megan now turns to a gnawing unease.
