The Year Abroad

By J. Daniels

When Dr. Lauren Stanton accepts a year-long research position in London, she prepares for her husband to come along. Instead, he takes a job in Texas and forces a separation. Unable to talk to friends or family, Lauren befriends a scientist and ultimately finds she is in love with both men. Does she stay with the husband who resents her success or risk her professional career to follow a new love?

• Language: English
• Publisher: J. Daniels
• Release date: Jan 7, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465803016

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The Year Abroad

Jennifer Daniels

Copyright 2010 Jennifer Daniels

Smashwords Edition

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Chapter 1

The heavy glass door of the concrete apartment building closed before she could pull her suitcase through to the lobby. Lauren had tried to hold the door open and pass the suitcase past her slender figure, but the doorway was too small. She tried again by pushing the door open, and then trying to quickly yank the suitcase through, but the door closed heavily on the extremely large piece of black travel luggage.

She could feel the pinprick of tears welling up in her green eyes, threatening to spill out and down her heart-shaped face. Her long strawberry-blond hair fell out of its clip, falling into her face and annoying her more. A hot flush rose to her cheeks and she wanted to fall into one of lobby couches and simply cry.

The frustration of the last few months overwhelmed her. Lauren pitched her carry-on, backpack, and purse to the floor with a discouraged sigh. She didn’t care if she looked childish to the people walking past on the sidewalk. As Lauren turned to push the glass door open with her freed hands, a tall man opened it from outside, and held it open so that she could pull the suitcase through easily.

Lauren felt silly for getting so upset over the door, aware that her pale skin was likely now spotted with red from her bout of anger. She mumbled a Thank you at the blond stranger as she pulled the errant suitcase into the lobby of the apartment building. She turned her shoulder to the door and pulled the suitcase towards the other bags.

Would you like help? the man asked, gesturing to the bags on the floor. I can help you carry a suitcase to the lift. Lauren looked confused for a moment, then remembered the English called their elevators lifts. I’m not in the mood for this, she thought to herself.

No, Lauren said woodenly and shaking her head with a sigh. I can handle them.

Not even turning to look back at the man, she began to gather her bags. She could sense that he was still standing behind her, watching her, but he didn’t speak. Straightening her back, Lauren stopped to look around the large lobby for the elevator he had mentioned.

Without warning, the man picked up Lauren’s largest suitcase, and motioned to a wide hallway off the back of the lobby. The elevator is behind that corner. Exuding confidence and control of the situation, he left Lauren with little else to do but follow. He walked with a long stride, and Lauren had to walk quickly to keep up. They passed a sitting area composed of leather sofas and a coffee table, and then he turned, waiting for her to follow. He observed her follow slowly, without relaxing his serious face. Gesturing to the corner, he said, It is here.

Lauren followed, pausing briefly to look at the simple design of the room. Besides the sofas, there were several decorative tables and lamps. Large seascape paintings on the walls and fresh flower arrangements decorated the space and created a cheerful aura. It was a lush contrast to the light grey of the building’s exterior…really, a contrast to the city of London. The main area around the college was buildings, with a large park to the north. It was a rather monotone pallet, though her opinion may have been biased by her rather bleak mood.

As Lauren rounded the corner at the back of the lobby, the elevator door became visible. It was a small elevator, probably original to the apartment building. Unsure of how old that would be, Lauren looked around to see if she could get a sense of the building’s age. But the lobby had recently been restored, leaving her no clues. She briefly considered asking the man, but decided against it.

The two waited silently for the elevator for several minutes, and Lauren tried to think of anything polite to say, but words wouldn’t come. She would have felt terrible and rude, but she was too exhausted to do anything but lean against the wall. It had been a long flight, on top of a long couple of weeks… perhaps a really long year, if she was being honest with herself.

Luckily, the man didn’t seem to care if she made small talk or not. He didn’t even seem to notice that she stood there. His face was austere, which made her decide he must have a very serious temperament. His blond eyebrows were a darker shade than his hair, and were drawn together in a tight line…furrowed, as if deep in thought. Likewise, his lips were pursed slightly. But more intimidating was his height. He was tall—at least 6 inches taller than her—and had broad shoulders. His body language was stiff, and he paid no attention to her.

In her younger days, it would have bothered her to have a man ignore her. In addition to a slightly shy personality, which seemed to beguile men into wanting to know her more, Lauren had always been thought of as a natural beauty…like someone you’d see in an advertisement for hiking shoes or tennis rackets. Her creamy skin always lightly tanned after a summer of outdoor activities, but her cheeks still retained a crimson blush over her high cheekbones. Her green eyes sparkled beneath long eyelashes and delicately arched eyebrows, giving her a look of innocence that men could, and had, often used as the opening for a compliment or pick-up line.

But her height often intimidated men, especially in high school. Even though she was an average weight, with modest curves and graceful arms, she had been tall most of her life. Her long legs gave her a height of 5’10", which was taller than most women she knew. In fact, she rarely wore high heels, because her husband complained bitterly that she towered over him and made him look short. Her husband. Before she could continue the thought, the elevator let out a loud ding.

The elevator doors opened, and she paused before entering the elevator. The stranger, seemingly noticing her for the first time in several minutes, politely held the door open so that Lauren could enter first. The carpet on the floor was a red plush, while the interior walls were paneled with wood and mirrors. It was definitely an older elevator, she thought, perhaps from the 1970s or 1960s. It didn’t bode well for how the apartment would be decorated. Even if the lobby was sleek and modern, that was only the first impression. Most people put up a false front to hide the decay beneath.

Excuse me, the man said, startling her from her thoughts. The stranger pointed to the numbers on the panel, and asked, Which floor are you on?

The apartment number was 503. Figuring that meant third apartment on the fifth floor, she said, Fifth story.

He pushed the elevator buttons and looked at her with an interested sidelong glance. Fifth story. That is social scientists. Are you a psychologist? A sociologist? What people do you study?

His decision to speak surprised her. A political scientist, Lauren said cautiously.

She studied the man carefully, trying to determine how much information she should give to a total stranger. Even if he had helped her, even if he was cute, she still had no idea who he was. He was stiff and polite, dressed in khaki pants and a short-sleeve, button-down shirt. His light blond hair was cut short, and his charcoal shirt made his light blue eyes stand out. Although his accent made it obvious he was from some area of Russia or Eastern Europe, his English was extremely clear. She decided he must also be a visiting scholar, like herself. His next words confirmed her thoughts.

Ah, you study people and their government, he said with a wry smile. I am on the seventh story. I study stars. We decide how they are born, when they died, and what they do to matter than gets in their way. They can be violent, as the people and countries you study.

His slight smile eased a little of the formality from his face. His eyes had crinkled slightly as he talked about the stars, obviously trying to be humorous. His eyebrows had quirked a bit, and his cheeks had relaxed. He was handsome, in a way that could have been boyish, if the formality was dropped long enough.

He couldn’t have been over 35, Lauren decided. The seriousness in his air made him seem older, but his eyes betrayed a youthful nature. She wondered who got to see the humorous side to him. He probably was married…most of the male faculty she knew were married. With his broad shoulders and well-muscled arms, he would easily attract women, but then again, his personality and height would be intimidating to most people. She then realized that she was staring at him, and quickly dropped her glance.

The doors opened to a hall with plainly painted white walls and more red carpeting. He stepped out to the hall and again held the elevator door open for her. Lauren reached for her bags, carrying them past him. I can take these. Thank you for your help. Even though he seemed friendly, living in San Francisco for the last 10 years had made her paranoid about strangers. Something in her wouldn’t allow her to disclose her apartment number.

As she slipped through the elevator door, Lauren brushed up against his arm. The touch gave her butterflies, and her heart beat quickly. Feeling like a stupid teenager, she tried to act like nothing had happened. But the touch had thrown her, as had her reaction to it. Her motions were shaky, and she fumbled with her backpack, ultimately dropping it at his feet. Lauren’s face turned red as the stranger reached down to help her.

That is not a problem, he said, handing her the bag. Sometimes there is too much in our lives and it makes life harder than we can do on our own. He stepped back into the elevator and nodded his head in farewell with a slight smile. The doors closed, and Lauren stared at the closed elevator door. She was still breathing unevenly, her arm tingling from brushing against the stranger. Even her husband didn’t make her feel this way—worse, she didn’t remember a time when he had.

She shook her head and tried to bring herself back to reality. She didn’t know which direction to walk, but didn’t want to keep standing in front of the elevator. She began to walk down the hall, but stopped. The first door’s was 407. The man must have mis-heard her.

Groaning, Lauren pushed the elevator button again, praying the stranger wouldn’t be on the elevator. He wasn’t. Struggling, she moved the luggage back into the elevator and hit the 5.

After pulling her luggage out of the elevator a second time, Lauren took a deep breath to alleviate her frustration. Then she began tugging her suitcase to the right. The numbers on the doors began to decrease, much to Lauren’s relief. When she hit 503, she tentatively knocked on the door. The door swung open wildly, and Nicole’s perky face and cheerful brown freckles jumped into sight.

Where have you been! I’ve been waiting for hours. You didn’t tell me anything, just that we were sharing your flat and I could sublet mine. Where’s Mark? Nicole’s short brown curls bobbed all over as she bounced around, helping Lauren move her luggage into the room and hurling questions at the speed of light.

Mark’s in Texas. Lauren walked past Nicole and into the living room, calmly ignoring the brewing concern in her friend’s expression.

Nicole’s face screwed up, crinkling her blue eyes and furrowing her arched eyebrows into a line. What’s in Texas?

A visiting professor position that opened up at the last minute.

Oh, Nicole said, cheerful again. Well that’s good news, right? I mean, after all those applications, to finally get a job.

Lauren let Nicole’s relief go; now wasn’t the time to explain the depth of her marital problems.

Yeah, it’s good. I mean, it could be, Lauren said, trying to sound cheerful. They said if it works out, he can move into a regular position in the next year or two. Maybe tenure track. Lauren pushed her bags against a wall and collapsed onto the sofa. The velvet of the couch felt soft, and she relaxed for the first time in weeks.

But Nicole was not to be denied the whole story. Her cheerful, almost pathologically perky personality made it impossible for her to not be supportive when she thought celebration was due. And since she knew nothing about the problems Mark and Lauren had been having, Nicole assumed the job was something to celebrate.

Nicole sat down on the edge of the chair across the coffee table, her hands gesturing excitedly as she shot-gunned the questions. So when did he find out about the job? Wait, when did he apply for it? I didn’t remember you mentioning Texas as an option. I mean, there were a lot of jobs, but Texas would have stood out. Does it pay well? How many classes does he have to teach? Is it a large school? Small? Liberal arts? State?

Lauren chose her words carefully. A last minute announcement went out from UT Austin, and he threw an application in as a hail Mary. I don’t think he thought he would get it. Lauren hoped Nicole didn’t press more on the issue. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to tell her friend. They had all been friends in grad school, and the details of the last few months would cause problems between Nicole and Mark. But Nicole was Lauren’s friend first and foremost, and Nicole wouldn’t be able to play neutral if she knew what had happened. And if things with Mark worked out, Lauren didn’t need Nicole dwelling on the drama of the last few months.

Nicole, luckily, was too excited to finally have Lauren around. Her desire to be helpful and hospitable was bubbling over, and she began moving Lauren’s bags into a room down the hall. Even though she was an average height, Nicole was very thin and didn’t weigh much. Watching her friend try to wrestle with the large, heavy suitcase brought a smile to Lauren’s face. The suitcase wasn’t budging, despite Nicole’s best efforts.

Well, Nicole huffed as she tugged on the suitcase, I’m sorry that Mark is stuck in Texas while we’re here, but a job’s a job. He can fly over for Thanksgiving and Christmas, and you can fly back next month. He’d love it here. Nicole paused and she moved to push the suitcase. The pushing yielded better results, and the suitcase finally moved.

We’re right next to the university, Nicole said, still out of breath. Once you get on campus there are protected walkways and all the buildings are connected. And it’s a short walk to downtown. Who doesn’t want to take vacations in London?

Nicole disappeared down the short hall with the last of the bags, but her cheerful voice floated down the hallway. The fridge is full of food. I’ve been scouting out everything while waiting for you to get here.

As she looked around at her new home, Lauren was happy to see that it was clean and neat. The walls had been painted in a neutral peach, with lots of crown molding and trim that were painted a clean white. The carpet was a cream color, and looked new. The couch had very little wear, and the tables and chairs were in perfect condition. Everything was decorated in dark, mahogany wood with plain cream and brown upholstery. Even the breakfast bar that separated the living room from the kitchen was paneled in a mahogany, and the two barstools had cream fabric on the seats.

Lauren looked up, and noticed the small refrigerator on the other side of a bar. Curious about the kitchen, she stood up and walked towards the bar. She stopped at the large picture window along the shared wall of the living room and the dining nook. Below, she could see the very top of the dome of the University’s library and the beautiful trees in the park that resided between the apartments and the university.

Turning back to the apartment, she observed how well-designed the living space really was. The dining nook was just a small carpeted area off the galley kitchen, but by having the bar between the kitchen and the living room, the space seemed open. The kitchen didn’t leave a lot of cabinet space, with the only cabinets along the back wall, above the stove and over the refrigerator. And they would have to keep their cabinets clean, since any guests seated on the couch or at the breakfast bar would be able to see inside the cabinet once the door was opened.

Not that they would have visitors, Lauren thought to herself. Mark hadn’t said anything about coming, and she didn’t have any friends in London. Her parents weren’t likely to come all the way to London, since they assumed she and Mark would be coming home for Christmas and Spring Break. That had been the plan last spring, and Lauren hadn’t corrected them. The correction would mean an explanation of what was happening in their marriage, and then her mother would offer marital advice. And since Lauren had no idea if her marriage was over or not, she just didn’t want to bring it up with her parents.

Nicole came back down the hallway. She noticed Lauren standing in front of the window, and interrupted Lauren’s thoughts. We’re on the corner…we have extra windows, Nicole said.

Windows are good. The view’s nice, Lauren replied, and she turned to look back out the window.

So were you packing Mark?

What? Lauren turned around, confused.

You said you wouldn’t be here for two weeks. You had to stay and work a few things out first. Did you have to help pack Mark? God, where is he going to live? Did he find a place? He’s such a pack rat...I can’t imagine how long it took you to pack him and his stuff. And his books…my God, he probably wanted them all packed up.

Lauren frowned, trying to decide what to say. She didn’t want to lie to her best friend. He found an apartment near the campus. It’s one where lots of new faculty live.

That’s going to be expensive, paying for him to have a place in Texas and also pay for your place in San Francisco. I’m just glad Seattle is cheaper than London. It’s hard enough to keep my condo paid for…but at least I won’t have to run the heater this winter.

Nicole walked into the kitchen, bemoaning the cost of Seattle and her old grad school days at UC San Francisco. Lauren followed her, eager