Page 5 of Fraud
Although we’d both been out of college for nearly six years, she’d still make the trip back to our alma mater several times a year to visit me. I knew it was her way of checking up on me, and although part of me felt annoyed by her motherly behavior, I appreciated the gesture all the same.
She was more than a friend.
She was my family.
My only family.
Jane had been caught up in the literary world since she was a kid. She’d always had these lofty goals of becoming an editor at a major publishing house in New York. I’d thought she was crazy. That, or just desperately trying to find a way back home after graduation. God knows why she chose Fremont, Oregon as her top college choice. She wasn’t exactly an outdoorsy, nature kind of girl.
But four years of hard work had paid off, and at twenty-two, she had been hired as a junior editor at a one of the biggest publishing companies in New York. She’d been working her ass off every day since then. After several years, she’d decided to branch off and try something new, and she’d taken a job at a large literary agency. She’d said she’d finally found her niche in the book world.
At that time, I honestly hadn’t known what the difference was in being an agent or an editor, but I was happy for her.
I’d majored in psychology with a minor in education. I’d planned on becoming a teacher or going into social work, but after a semester of interning, I’d quickly realized that I wasn’t cut out for either.
So, I’d applied for the first job I could find—processing loans in the Student Services office on campus. I’d moved from my dorm room to my office in a week, and I’d been here ever since. It was supposed to be a stepping-stone to something else.
Something great.
Instead, I’d gotten stuck, and I hadn’t been able to find my way out since.
Taking advantage of the facilities Fremont provided to its faculty and staff, I’d made it a habit to wake up early every morning to fit in a long workout. Even though the fully equipped gym was open all the time, catering to the nocturnal habits of college students, it tended to be almost empty in the early hours.
College kids weren’t known for their love of mornings. I definitely hadn’t been when I attended here.
After running a few miles around the indoor track, I made my way into the locker room and jumped in the shower. After a quick shampoo, I toweled off and grabbed the work clothes I’d stuffed in my gym bag earlier that morning and what little makeup I had in my purse. Pulling my wet blonde locks into a low bun, I swept some tinted moisturizer across my face and added a little mascara and gloss before heading for the door.
“Shoes!” I said to myself, realizing I was about to walk out barefoot.
Doubling back, with my gym bag over my shoulder, I slipped into my flats and then made my way across campus. The sun, fresh and new in the sky, was warm against my cheeks as I walked briskly, waving to a few friendly faces. The students who were brave enough to have classes at this hour stumbled down the pathways, yawning, as they checked their phones and sipped on hot coffee from the cafeteria. Some were still dressed in their pajamas.
What I wouldn’t give to roam around this campus in pajamas.
Picturing my prim and proper boss, I shook my head.
Never going to happen.
I loved this time of the morning. The campus was relatively quiet and peaceful. It felt like home in these moments.
Second semester was now in full swing. Homecoming and winter break were things of the past. Now, the students were eagerly looking forward to spring break and graduation, especially those who had plans to go someplace warmer. Our coastal Oregon town hadn’t gotten the memo quite yet that warm weather was on its way, as chilly temperatures still prevailed across campus.
As I made my way into the old brick building the Student Services department called home, I made a beeline toward the break room, not even bothering to drop off my gym bag.
“Please tell me there is coffee ready,” I said as I swung into the small kitchen space reserved for staff.
My coworker Sabrina was there, wiping down counters and putting away dishes. She was our administrative assistant and had a serious fetish with organization and cleanliness.
Visiting her house made you feel bad about your own life choices. It was impeccable.
“Just brewed some,” she answered cheerfully. “Help yourself to the first cup.”
“Thank you!”
“Early morning again?” she asked, motioning toward the messy gym bag over my shoulder.
I nodded, setting it down on the floor next to me, hoping she wouldn’t notice the sports bra sticking out the side.
“You know me and mornings,” I replied, pouring some cream into my cup of coffee.
