A blast from the past

A few days later, I’m walking back to my room with my mind half-elsewhere when I see a face go by that looks familiar. I stop, trying to figure out if it was actually someone I know, and if so, from where; then I hear a voice behind me. “Andrew? Andrew Lane? Is that you?”

I spin around to find myself looking into a pair of merry blue eyes, and suddenly I know who she is. “Emily!” A wide grin splits her face, and she gives me a huge hug, which I return with interest.

Emily Marshall was my best friend for much of my childhood, and into early adolescence. She was always a tomboy, skinny and active and fearless, and usually scraped up as a consequence of the combination. The Marshalls lived right next door to us, and Emily was only a week younger than me; we played together when we were little, and just kept at it.

When we reached puberty, things got a little awkward. Our wrestling matches, for instance, seemed rather less appropriate than they had been. I think we would have worked through it, but when we were both thirteen, the Marshalls moved away. It was quite sudden; I never even had a chance to say goodbye, to say nothing of getting her new address, and I never heard from her again.

And now here she is, in my arms, tall and willowy and still very blonde. She’s slender and athletic and nicely curvy, with medium-sized breasts (that she definitely didn’t have the last time I saw her) pressing into my chest. “Do you have time to talk, Andrew?” Emily murmurs into my ear.

I’m done with classes for the day, and I don’t have a client scheduled. “Sure!” I say enthusiastically. “Come on back to my room—it’s close, and I have a single.” I offer her my arm.

“Such a gentleman!” Emily grins as she takes it. “Your room would be great.” As we walk, she says, “I’ve thought about you a lot. I’ve wished I could have written to you, or called, or something.”

That gets my attention. “What do you mean?”

“When we left—” Emily hesitates. “It was a mess. I don’t want to talk about it right now . . . later, but not right now. My brother and I went with Dad; Mom went . . . somewhere else. Dad wouldn’t let us keep in touch with our friends; I didn’t understand then, but he wanted to protect us. Most of them, I didn’t mind too much—but I really wanted to tell you—something, I’m not even sure what. I didn’t want to just disappear; but just disappearing is what Dad insisted we do.”

I’m confused by this; I don’t know what to make of it, though it makes me feel good that she had wanted to stay in touch with me. I’d like to ask what she’s talking about, but I don’t want to push her. After a moment, I say, “I missed you.”

Emily squeezes my arm. “It’s nice to know I was missed.” After a moment, she adds, “I missed you too.”

“Well, you’re here now,” I say, and give her a grin. “Literally, in fact—this is my dorm.” We ride the elevators up (walking is for me, not for guests) and walk down the hall to my room. Danni’s door is closed, which makes me glad.

I let Emily in, and she looks around. She gives me an approving nod and says, “Nice. Looks like you’ve settled in comfortably.” Then her eye catches something, and she asks, “What’s that?”

She bends down, and just as she picks it up, I realize what it is: one of my referral cards ended up on the floor, half under my desk. My mind locks up and I freeze; I have no idea what expression is on my face. Emily looks curiously at the card, and then it registers. She blushes, and one functioning part of my brain notes that it looks good on her. She looks at me, eyes wide, and says breathily, “Andrew? Is this you?”

“Ummm, yeah,” I say hesitantly, looking down and away from her. “It’s just, umm . . .”

“Are you any good?” Emily asks, and I hear a note of desire tremble in her voice. I look up at her; her eyes are intent on my face, and the tip of her tongue traces lightly over her lips as she waits for my answer.

Well, in for a penny, in for a pound, I think. “It’s early days yet, but so far, my satisfaction rate is 100%,” I say quietly.