Sorry's Not Enough
Commercial Fiction
Chapter 1
Sanguinolent
sunset. Now
there's a word you don't see every day. Charlotte circled it with her
red pen and drew a smiley face at the end of the line, just below
where she'd called out a different phrase for being trite. She
continued making notes in the margin as the rest of the group took
turns giving their feedback. By the time she was done marking up the
poem, the paper was also sanguinolent.
She
looked up when the group grew quiet. Her turn. She looked down at the
poem again and hoped its author wouldn't be offended. She had to look
at the paper to remember his name. Steven.
“It's a little confused,” she said. There was a
pause and a shuffle of papers.
“What don't you understand?” he asked.
She snapped her chin up to look at him and was taken
aback by the force of his gaze and the color of his eyes. There
wasn't an adjective to describe the shade of green staring back at
her.
“I'm not confused. Your poem is.”
His
gaze dropped to his copy of the poem. She could almost see his brain
struggling to acknowledge that there could be any imperfections. He
probably thought it was soooo amazing!
as proclaimed by Aubrey, the bubbly redhead to his left. She had
gushed to an embarrassing extent, obviously more interested in
getting his number than saying anything meaningful. It had been sad
and funny at the same time. With a pang of something she refused to
believe was jealousy, Charlotte realized that, of the two of them,
Aubrey would be the only one taking any numbers.
Whatever. She certainly didn't want Steven's number.
Not when he looked at her again with an aloof, almost cocky grin,
apparently waiting to hear more of her thoughts about his poem. Well,
if he insisted.
“The
style isn't consistent. The first stanza is really concise, like you
chose each word for a reason.” The red smiley face she'd drawn next
to sanguinolent sunset caught
her eye, but she ignored it. She'd let Aubrey pad his ego. “But the
last couple of stanzas have some ornate description that's just a
waste of space. And some clichés that need to go.”
“Lots of authors use clichés,” Aubrey said and
shot a hopeful glance at Steven. “It can be an effective tool.”
Charlotte shrugged. “Except it's not. Not here. They
don't help create a tone or anything, and this isn't satire. A cliché
without purpose is still just a cliché.”
Aubrey frowned, but Steven nodded slowly, like he was
seeing her point.
“Easy
on the poor lad, Charlotte,”Alexander McAnulty said. He was a
portly gentleman, and one of the oldest workshop participants.
Charlotte liked to think of him as her long-lost, really awesome
Irish uncle. The kind who might've let you take a puff of his pipe
when you were barely twelve, with a warning of don't
tell yer mum. She'd
gotten to know him during a previous workshop. “Wasn't there
anything you liked about it?”
She softened a bit. She wasn't trying to be mean. “I
never said I didn't like it.”
“No, it's okay. I appreciate the honesty,” Steven
said.
She would've gone on to mention what she did like about
it, but Deb, the instructor, called for the small groups to break up
and reform one large group.
At the end of the day's session, Charlotte met Deb at
the front of the classroom.
“Ready to go?” Charlotte was looking forward to a
cream soda float at the campus creamery.
“In a minute. I asked Steven to come along,” Deb
said.
“Why?”
Deb laughed and shook her head. “What'd he do to rub
you the wrong way?”
“Nothing. He's just very sure of himself.” She
watched him pack up his messenger bag from across the room.
“Since when is that a fault?”
She shrugged. Aubrey bounced over to Steven, grinning
like a fool. Charlotte couldn't deny she was cute. A thick mass of
red curls, fair skin, a smattering of freckles. Her voice was a
little nasally, though. It carried across the room. She was asking
Steven to get lunch with her and a few others. He smiled and looked
over Aubrey's head to where Charlotte and Deb stood. Aubrey's gaze
followed. Charlotte couldn't hear Steven's reply, but the pretty pout
said it all.
He slung his bag over his shoulder and approached the
front of the room, acknowledging them with a nod. As they walked
across campus, Deb and Steven chatted about his job search while
Charlotte felt like the odd man out. She trudged alongside Steven,
trying not to resent his presence. She had been looking forward to
chatting one on one with Deb this afternoon. Deb was like a mother to
her, and they hadn't gotten to talk as often as usual in the past
month or so.
She perked up a bit when she finally had her cream soda
float in hand. Before she could hand the cashier her check card,
Steven stepped in front of her and thrust a twenty at the cashier.
“I'll get it.”
“It's fine, I can get my own.”
“For all three.” He ignored her protest. The
cashier hesitantly reached for the money.
“I
said I can get it.” She gritted her teeth.
“I
heard you.” He took his change and smiled his thanks to the girl
behind the counter, who promptly blushed. Good lord. Was she the only
one not all that impressed? She stalked out to the patio without
another word.
She
didn't like being indebted to anyone, even if it was for less than
five bucks. Especially not some smug guy who thinks his recently
earned college diploma makes him an authority on life. After a
moment, he came out of the building and sat down next to her. Deb
trailed a few feet behind, but before she reached the table, her cell
phone rang. She stepped further away and took the call.
“Pistachio
is so pretentious,” Charotte said of Steven's double-dip waffle
cone.
He
laughed and shook his head. “Is that better or worse than being
trite?”
She
flushed against her better judgment and hoped any color on her cheeks
would be mistaken for the effects of the sun. She gazed out across
the green stretch of campus between them and the main academic
buildings. The Common Grounds
is what everyone called the open space. In the middle of summer now,
there were more sunbathers than study groups clustered on the lawn.
She studied each one that was close enough to see clearly, but no
matter how hard she concentrated on tanned bodies and colorful
blankets, she couldn't ignore the weight of his gaze.
“You're staring,” she said, without meeting his
eyes.
“Why cream soda?”
“What?” She looked at him that time, and
immediately regretted it. Didn't he ever blink?
“Root beer float, sure. Coke float, even. Why cream
soda?”
The sun glinted in his eyes. At least she thought it
was the sun. Eyes couldn't naturally possess that much sparkle, could
they? She looked down into her cup, then silently cursed his ability
to make her uncomfortable.
“It's what I always get.” The melting ice cream
formed a frothy foam on top of the soda. She scooped some up with her
spoon and brought it to her lips. It began to fizz and melt away the
moment it hit her tongue. She loved the mellow caramel flavor of
cream soda as opposed to the almost spicy bite of root beer. Vanilla
and caramel. Few things worked so well together. “Why mess with
perfection?”
“I agree.” He reached toward her and wiped the
corner of her mouth with his thumb. His eyes bore into hers like he
was looking for something.
At the brush of his fingertips across her cheek, her
spine shifted into a sensuous curve and the hair on her scalp
prickled. A flutter of eyelashes obscured her vision for a moment.
She couldn't keep looking at him if he was going to keep looking at
her like that. She averted her eyes, feeling like a part of her was
showing that she'd much rather keep under wraps.
“Sorry.” His voice tickled the base of her spine
even as his hand dropped back to the table.
“It's okay.” His hands she didn't mind. It was his
eyes she wished he would keep to himself.
Deb finally joined them at the table, oblivious to the
tension of a moment ago.
“Sorry about that, guys. Gary is taking the boys to
the lake for a little while and couldn't find Gregory's swim trunks.
I swear, if the man bothered to move something, life would be a
little easier.”
“The lake sounds really good right now,” Charlotte
said. Her cheeks burned. From the sun, of course.
“Maybe you can come with us some time next week,”
Deb said. “The boys have been asking about you.”
“I miss their little faces.” After seeing them and
helping care for them every day for more than two years, she was
having cuteness withdrawal after moving out of Deb's house earlier in
the summer. She glanced at her watch and sighed.
“What? Oh, you don't have to leave right now, do
you?” Deb asked.
“I have to get ready for work.”
“Where's work?” Steven asked. She pretended not to
hear.
“I left my uniform in the dryer last night, so I’m
going to need to starch it to death.”
“That's too bad. I wanted to ask you guys how you
liked working in small groups today.”
“I got some great feedback,” Steven said, grinning.
Deb looked at him, then Charlotte.
“Apparently I’m trite.” He still smiled when he
said it, but she blushed anyway. God damn, she wished he'd stop
making her do that.
“Not you, the poem. Although you're getting there.”
“Charlotte doesn't hold back when it comes to
criticism,” Deb said, smiling.
“Oh come on, you say that like I get some pleasure
from it.”
“I said no such thing. But maybe it says something
that that's what you heard.” Deb winked and nudged Steven with her
elbow.
Maybe she was right. She shrugged it off and stood up.
“Call me tomorrow,” Deb said. “There's something
else I wanted to talk to you about.”
Charlotte
stiffened. The air grew thick, as though the humidity had doubled.
She already knew what the something
else was,
and she didn't want to discuss it any more.
“I told my Aunt no. I’m not changing my mind.”
“Honey, I just want you to understand--”
“No.” She angled her body more toward Deb, in an
attempt to remove Steven from her peripheral vision. “I have
nothing to say to him and want nothing to do with him. He has no
legal standing over me anymore. I made sure of that.”
“I know. I get that.” Deb stood and embraced her
briefly. “Sorry I brought it up here. Just call me, okay?”
“Okay.” She smoothed her shorts over her hips, more
as a way to iron out her irritation than to rid herself of wrinkles.
“Give the boys hugs and kisses for me.”
“Of course.”
“See ya, Charlotte.” Steven's voice made her pause
mid-turn as she was leaving. She looked back over her shoulder. His
smile worked some of the tension out of her shoulders. She nodded and
smiled back. He'd at least earned that much.
