"Yes, by encouraging her creative writing. I am so happy that she took it up again. You have no idea how many hours she spent writing stories as a child."
I leaned back and relaxed my shoulders. "Well, that would explain why she's very good at it."
"It nearly broke my heart when she stopped." Patrick puffed on his cigar. The smoke drifted upwards in three wobbling rings. "Clarity is still so affected by her mother leaving. She's driven by the idea that she has to be the complete opposite of her mother to be a good person."
"Hmm," I said and wiped my palms on my knees.
"Oh, she wasn't how she sounds, not exactly. Clarity's mother and I were a bad match from the beginning and I knew it. When she left I wasn't all that heartbroken, but it killed me to see what it did to Clarity." Patrick slapped my shoulder. "Take a little advice from an old man: it's not your heart you should follow when you fall in love, but your gut."
"My gut?" I asked.
Patrick returned my skeptical smile with a vigorous head nod. "I knew in my gut that Clarity's mother and I were never going to be able to make a serious go of things, but my heart wanted it to be true. I hesitated to make plans with her even from the start because I knew I couldn't rely on her, I knew she'd be gone sooner than later, but I tried anyway. Go with your gut."
I shrugged, uncomfortable. "My hunches have never really been that good," I said.
"Now, see, I can tell when someone is lying," Patrick sat forward and studied my face. "In fact, I think you might have already gotten a hunch about someone but you're holding back."
There was a loud clatter from the kitchen and Clarity's faint voice called, "I'm alright. Everything's fine."
Her father stood up. "I better go help dry the dishes. Help yourself to a glass of scotch. It'll warm you up before you head out in the snow."
I stood up as he headed out the door. It felt awkward to be alone in his office, but a moment later, I heard laughter in the kitchen. Patrick was a genuinely kind and generous person and his daughter ... I needed a drink to think about Clarity.
On the far wall of the office was a built-in cabinet and shelves. I took a lowball glass from the shelf and turned the scotch bottle to admire the vintage before I poured a drink.
"Thanks a million, Michael Tailor?" I looked at the small, handwritten tag two more times before I put back my glass and backed away from the cabinet.
I paced back and forth and read the tag a few more times. Why was Michael Tailor giving the dean custom cigars and expensive scotch?
The short stretch between the cabinet and the opposite wall was not enough area to help me think. I expanded my pacing and took a lap around behind Patrick's desk. On the second lap, I felt the hardening cement in my stomach that meant I had a hunch.
A manila folder was open on the dean's desk, I didn't even have to touch the spread out pages to see what they were. Test scores from Michael Tailor Junior. Terrible test scores.
"Ouch, that's not going to get you into Landsman," I muttered.
Junior's application essay lay closer to the dean's computer. I stepped forward to read the ridiculously bad opening lines and accidentally bumped the desk.
The computer screen glowed to life and showed two documents. The one behind was a template from Landsman College entitled Acceptance Letter. The other was a new version of the application essay, or rather, a loose interpretation of what the young man must have meant.
Clarity's father was rewriting the essay and preparing to send Junior an acceptance letter.
The implications froze me to the spot, and that's where Clarity found me. She bounced into the door frame and laughed. "I hope you're not looking at those terrible pictures of me. He insists on keeping them on his desk even though they're almost a decade old."
Words couldn't escape around the wedge in my throat. Clarity took a step in the door and locked her eyes on my face. I cleared my throat but no words came out.
"What's the matter? What is it?" Clarity rushed across the office.
I stopped her at the corner of her father's desk. "It's nothing."
"No, I saw the look on your face. What's in the folder?"
I caught her arm and tried to steer her back towards the door. "How about we go for a walk in the snow? I need to burn off some calories from that feast."
"Stop trying to stop me," Clarity snapped. She pulled her arm back. "If my father left something out on his desk, I have more of a right to see it than you."
I let my hands fall and Clarity pushed past me. "It's probably nothing," I said. "It's not what it looks like."
She glanced at the computer screen first. "Why is he retyping the essay?" She popped her mouth closed as she saw the acceptance letter and then she picked up the original essay.