I think that’s how Sylvie won her way into my daddy’s heart. She knew as much about obscure
rock songs as he did and they both loved the piano. She won my mother’s by being so well-mannered
and sweet.
The girl didn’t have to win my heart. She owned it outright.
Chapter Six
Present day
I arrived to class early on the pretense of grading the last few papers, but I was really hoping to
get a better look. I swallowed hard as I watched her come into the classroom. She still wore the
baseball hat, but I could see the deep cinnamon-colored hair sticking out in a silky ponytail. It curled
at the ends. She wasn’t wearing her sunglasses and for that brief moment our eyes met before she
tilted her face downward. They were large brown eyes—solid as fresh earth, sexy as melted
chocolate and soulful as the majestic oak trees in the forest. They took my breath away.
She wore simple jeans and a loose V-neck T-shirt the color of mud, but even this outfit didn’t
hide her voluptuous assets. My gaze followed her perfectly round ass and shapely legs all the way up
the steps of the lecture hall to that very back seat. This girl had so many similarities to Sylvie, but she
was different too. Sophie Becker was jaw-droppingly gorgeous, but then again, I’d always known
Sylvie had a natural beauty and even she couldn’t hide that forever. Sylvie Cranston
was…
perfection
.
I was determined to get more information this time. I wasn’t letting Sophie get away so easily,
but first I wanted to talk to her openly. Talk to her without talking to her. Luckily, I was in a position
to do that.
“Today, we are going to talk about the unsent letter, which is your next assignment. Just like the
term implies, it is a letter you write to someone which you have no intention of sending. You will all
be writing unsent letters to someone. They can be sonnets or a simple letter. The idea behind the
assignment is a chance to showcase some emotional writing, as exhibited in the works we have been
reading. We won’t read them out loud, so they will be completely anonymous except to Jessica and
me.”
Roy Adkins’ hand shot up. I waved it away. “Mr Adkins, there is no need to point out that this
assignment is not in the syllabus. This is a place of higher learning and, as your instructor, I have the
right to add additional assignments.” A few of the guys groaned, but I ignored them. “Do not look at
this as additional work, but rather an extra opportunity to impress me. I hope some of you will, as it is
a rare experience for me. Now, it won’t take much time. It only needs to be a paragraph or two in
fact. I just want a clear indication of your writing skills through an informal outlet.”
A girl in the front row raised her hand. I nodded toward her. “Can it be to anybody we want?”
“Yes, anyone.” I paused for a moment, trying to coax the next words to come out evenly. “Dead
or alive. It’s your choice. I have an example of an unsent letter, which I wrote when I was eighteen.
It’s to give you a perspective on the assignment.” I took the folded paper out of my pocket,
questioning why the hell I’d thought this was a good idea in the first place. “I wrote this to someone I
cared about very much and in some ways, writing it brought me some peace.”
I cleared my throat and stared at the shaky words mocking me on the paper, flavored with
yellowing tinges of time.
“Dear Sylvie, I keep forgetting that you’re not with me anymore. I keep going to the lake, looking
for your pretty face, but you’re not there anymore. I keep walking in the woods, staring at the fallen
leaves, wishing for your sweet embrace, but you’re not there anymore. I tap on your bedroom
window, hoping you’ll greet me, but you’re not there anymore. The only place I find you now is in my
heart and troubled soul. There you live as if you’d never left. You will be there forevermore.”
A sob escaped in the first row. Melanie Adams had a tissue out. Shit.
“That was so poignant,” she said. Some of the other girls looked teary-eyed too.
“Thank you,” I replied, a bit surprised by the emotional reaction I was getting from the females.
I’d only read the first paragraph, but decided that was enough.
“You loved her,” Melanie Adams said.
I didn’t reply. I couldn’t. I didn’t want to cry. I had never cried for Sylvie. Somehow, it felt like
if I did, I would accept her death, and I never wanted to do that. “Your letter can be a poem like mine
or in letter form. It can be anything you want as long as it’s spoken from the heart. Also, don’t forget
we have an exam next class and it’s worth a quarter of your grade.”
She filed out fast with her head down as soon as class was over, but I yelled out her name.
“Miss Becker, can I please have a moment of your time?”
She halted in her tracks and turned to me. She stood there like a frozen statue as the other
students fled past her.
“Do I know you?” I asked her.
“I don’t think so,” she replied.
I walked over to her. She winced, staring at my feet. The limp was very slight and very few
people noticed it, but Sophie Becker did. “Are you sure? You look like a girl I used to know.”
She smiled politely, but shook her head, “I get that a lot. I have one of those faces.”
“I highly doubt that,” I muttered, letting my eyes graze over her lovely body. I was in trouble. I
had to stop this madness.
“Professor…err… Cal, can I speak to you?” Melanie Adams interrupted.
I turned toward her, trying my damnedest not to scowl. “One minute, please.”
When I turned back, Sophie Becker was gone.
I spent the next twenty minutes listening to Melanie Adams drone on about poetry and the great
American novel. She plied me with compliments about how much she was enjoying my class and all
the things she had learned. Damn, the girl could talk. I nodded when appropriate and added my own
comments, but my thoughts kept drifting to Sophie Becker, Sylvie Cranston and of course…Lenore.
* * * *
She didn’t come to class, but her essays appeared in my mailbox. The one on
The Raven
was a
train wreck and gave me no clues whether she was my Lenore or the raven tapping at my door. It was
as if she was throwing the assignment. Her papers on
Moby Dick
and the Hardy novel were much
more detailed, but provided no real insights. I wondered if her absence was due to the exam
scheduled for today. Did she think I might recognize her slanted handwriting on the essay questions?
It was a stretch to think that way, but it didn’t stop me from glancing at her empty seat or the
closed doorway of the classroom. About an hour into the two-hour class, a knock came that had me
springing from my chair as if it was a hotplate.
I sighed in disappointment, staring at Roy Adkins and three other boys I’d nicknamed the
Asshole Alliance.
“Mr Adkins, I’m afraid I’m very busy right now proctoring an exam. I believe you boys received
an invitation to attend. Is this your idea of fashionably late?”
His lip twitched into a tight grimace. “We’re sorry, Professor…er… Mr…”
“Cal, just Cal,” I said not hiding my irritation.
“We just ran late.” He made a move to come into the classroom, but I blocked the door. The
arrogant sense of entitlement they exhibited pissed me off, and I was already in a bad mood.
“You are over an hour late. You don’t have enough time to take the exam and I don’t have the
inclination to let you.”
He stood back, a slight sneer forming on his pimply face. It was clear the Asshole Alliance had
no respect for me, my class or their education. I’d worked hard on my elocution. It was necessary in
my profession, especially living this far north, but occasionally my Texas shone through. Funny,
women found the accent charming and sexy. Men, though, thought it signaled stupidity. These boys
were no exception, often responding with snickers and eye-rolls when I let a Texasism slip through
my lecture.
“It wasn’t our fault,” Roy explained, acting as the group’s spokesperson.
“I’m sensing a story here, but I’m afraid I do not have the time to indulge you.”
“Just a minute, please.”
Curious, I closed the door and stepped out into the hallway. I glanced at my watch. “Sixty
seconds starts now.”
“We were on our way, but this old lady was stuck on the side of the road. We stopped to help
her. Her car battery died. She had an old car so it took us a while to jump it, but luckily I took
mechanics in high school and all of us know cars.”
“Well, I guess chivalry is not dead. Goodbye.”
“Wait, sir. Please. What would you have done? Are you honestly punishing us for being Good
Samaritans?”
I glanced at the four of them. Did they really think I was dumb enough to believe that it had taken
them an hour to jump a car? Or that I’d missed the stench of stale beer on their breath, and the red-
rimmed eyes they all sported, indicative of a night consisting of heavy partying?
“So y’all drive together?” I asked, emphasizing the y’all.
“Yes, yes we do,” he replied with hope. The other boys all nodded and murmured in agreement,
making it clear they either thought they were superior in their intelligence or I was gullible in mine.
“And were you able to help her? The elderly woman?”
“Yes, we were. She’s safe and back on the road. Can we make up the test?”
“Mr Adkins, the syllabus, and I know you’re very familiar with it, specifically states there are
no makeup exams in my class.”
“But, Cal, surely you can make an exception for an extenuating circumstance like this. I mean,
what would you have done? Left her on the side of the road?”
“Perhaps called the auto club and explained I had to get to school for an important test?”
“She was scared.”
I made a move to open the classroom door, but his voice stopped me with one last plea. “I need
this class. I can’t fail another or my parents are going to cut me off.”
“Is that supposed to appeal to me on some level, Mr Adkins?”
“No, but what we did should.”
I regarded them for a moment, almost grateful their little intrusion occupied my mind for a brief
moment. “I’ll think about it. Come back after class and I’ll let you know my answer.”
They all nodded, thanking me profusely. Oh yeah, this was going to be fun.
My class all shuffled out once the exam was over, and the four of them strutted in, not hiding
their wide smirks. Hell, they didn’t even hide the fact that they had stayed sat in the hallway studying
like fiends while the exam took place.
Roy stood around my desk. “So can we take the exam?”
“You realize it would be rather unfair to the rest of the class who came on time.”
“Yes, but we took the moral high road, knowing it may bite us.” The moral high road? He was
laying it on thick. “If you don’t let us take the exam, you’ll be supporting the lack of compassion that
plagues our society.” If only he worked this hard on his papers.
“Well, Mr Adkins, I would never want to be one of the forces responsible for our society’s
downfall. I tell you what, I’ll allow y’all to take the exam.” They all beamed wide smiles of relief,
turning to each other with silent but apparent glee as if they had crossed home plate without the
benefit of running the other bases. In true ump fashion, I geared up to call them out. “On one
condition.”
“What condition?”
“I want you to take a pretest. If you pass it, I’ll give you the real exam.”
“A pretest?” one of them questioned. Roy held his hand up, gesturing his buddy to shut up.
“It’s only one question. I don’t even expect a complete sentence. Do y’all agree?”
“Sure, that’s fair,” Roy said. “Thank you, sir.”
“I’m a fair man. After all, I have a mother and if she were to ever find herself stranded, I should
hope some fine young men like yourselves would step in.”
They went to take their usual seats. “No, I need you to spread out. Each of you take a seat in one
of the four corners.” After some awkward shuffling, they complied.
“Take out a blank sheet of paper. I will give you the question orally, but you must write the
answer down. If anyone blurts out an answer you are disqualified. If anyone fails the pretest, none of
you can take my exam.”
“That seems unfair,” Roy whined.
“You’ll find life to be unfair, Mr Adkins. After all, I should be reaching home about now,
watching the play-by-play of the Cowboys game on ESPN, but instead I’m here with y’all. Do we
agree to the terms?”
A brief silence followed by unanimous nods responded.
“Good. Ready for your question, gentlemen?” I asked, crossing my arms.
“Shoot,” Roy said, not hiding his smirk.
Batter up, boys. I’m about to throw you a curve ball.
“What was the make and model of her car?”
Stunned silence greeted me.
“What?”
“The lady you helped.”
“We… We don’t remember,” Roy said. Funny how he knew all of them didn’t remember.