Off the Clock

She needed to tell Nate that this wasn’t going to happen, needed to be honest about the reality. But seeing his face lit up like this—all that hope and promise—she couldn’t bear it. This was the kid who’d needed therapy since elementary school because of all he’d been through with their mother. A kid who still had scars on his body to remind him of it. A kid who’d been so depressed before he’d come out freshman year that she’d worried for his safety. And now he was here—proud, brilliantly talented, and confident. She couldn’t tell him his dream school wasn’t possible.

She’d barely been keeping them afloat with her modest postdoc pay, but they had made it work. Hell, she’d managed to keep a roof over their heads while she raised him, went to college, and worked night jobs for all those years. Maybe there was a way to figure this out, too.

She wouldn’t break the news to him until she’d looked at every possibility. Maybe she could get a raise, apply for additional grants to help supplement her salary. Maybe there were extra resources that she hadn’t tapped into when she’d gotten her own financial aid for school. She knew they were all long shots, but for now she was going to let him have his happy moment. She’d figure out the rest later.

She put her hands to his face, which required reaching up these days, and smiled. “I’m really proud of you, Nate. Seriously. No matter where you land, you’re going to bring beautiful things to this world.”

His smile went crooked. “Aw, don’t get sappy on me now.”

She lowered her hands and waved him off. “I can’t help it.”

But he gave her another quick hug. “Hey, this is good news for both of us. I know you’ve given up a lot all these years, having me here. Once I leave, you can get your life back, do your own thing. Act like a twenty-seven-year-old for a change. Maybe you can be the one sneaking guys in at two in the morning. Or girls. Whatever you’re into. Just don’t tell me about it.”

He scrunched his face up in a grossed-out expression.

She laughed. Her brother didn’t even know if she was gay or straight. That’s how pathetic her love life was. Nice. “I like guys, for the record. And you’re not out of the house yet, so rules still apply. Until that diploma’s in your hand, midnight curfew, understood? I don’t want to be up worrying.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, Marin.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “And if you and Henry need alone time, and you swear you’re going to be safe about it, then he can be in your room. But not on a school night. And make sure you have your inhaler in there, so I don’t have to bust in and be traumatized again.”

Nathan’s eyebrows went up. “Yeah?”

“You’re almost eighteen, and you and Henry have been together awhile. I trust you to make smart decisions. I’d rather you both be in a safe place than hooking up in the corner at some drunken party.”

He looked down and rubbed the back of his head. Despite his earlier teasing about her prudishness, he was obviously just as uncomfortable discussing this with her. “All right. Cool.”

“And learn how to put on the radio and lock your damn door. I’m going to need therapy now.”

He snorted. “You and me both. Henry, too. He may never show his face around here again.”

“I’m sure he’ll get over it to see you and to eat my food.” She put her hand on his shoulder and steered him toward the door. “Now get some sleep. I’m glad you had great news to celebrate tonight. But your punishment for getting in late is that you’re making the weekly grocery run tomorrow and washing the car.”

He groaned. “I hate you.”

“Love you, too.”

He dragged his feet as he headed to his room, but then stopped in the doorway and turned back to her, his eyes serious. “Thanks, Mar.”

“For what?”

He gave a tight shrug. “You know why. For all of it. I’m not dumb. I know how bad things could’ve ended up if you hadn’t fought to keep me when everything happened with Mom. You kept it all together. My dream is happening because of you.”

Her ribs tightened, heavy weight descending on her chest. “Honey …”

“Night.” He slipped into his room and shut the door, never one to stick around when things got emotional, and left her standing there.

She stood in the hallway, tears threatening, and then slunk back in her room and fell onto the bed, the unpaid bills littered around her. She grabbed her laptop and woke up the screen. She could do this. She just needed to figure out how to make three times her salary immediately. Easy peasy.

That left winning the lottery, selling organs on the black market, and …

Hmm, maybe she could become a stripper. She glanced down at her faded, oversized sweatshirt, the empty bag of M&M’s, and the yoga pants she had yet to use for actual exercise. Yeah, probably not.

She was so damn screwed.

5 (#ulink_495cbf61-9cd8-5bd5-863a-3e926ff4b1dd)

The frustrated look on Dr. Paxton’s face told Marin everything she needed to know. He was in his office, which was neat as a pin as always, but his gray hair was sticking up on one side. His hair only got like that when a study wasn’t coming together or a student had done something stupid … or he had bad news to deliver. She’d emailed him over the weekend, requesting this meeting and letting him know what was going on with Nathan. But she’d known it’d been a long shot.

When he saw her standing in the doorway, he waved her in. “Come on in, Marin. I’ve got Clint bringing us some coffee.”

She stepped inside the small but stately room and took a seat. The ceilings arched high and a tall window that looked out onto the big trees in the quad let in a flood of dappled light. It was the most coveted office in the psych building, and Professor Paxton, head of the department, said he wasn’t giving it up until they dragged his cold, dead body out of it. He also joked that Professor Englebreit in the neuropsychology department was plotting his demise to make that happen.

Marin’s office, on the other hand, was tiny and windowless. She didn’t mind it much since she spent most of her time in the university’s library or in one of the bigger labs, but some days she did feel like the walls of that tiny room were closing in on her. She’d been hoping to stay here long enough to get a tenured position at the university so that she could work her way up, maybe teach a few courses in between her research. But she may not have time for that dream to come to fruition. She needed a raise now. Not in three years.

Dr. Pax folded his hands atop his desk. They were good hands, solid ones. During her Ph.D. program and this postdoc, she’d relished those times when his big paw had landed atop her shoulder to congratulate her or to convey how pleased he was with her work. She’d never known her real father, and in a lot of ways, Dr. Pax had filled some idolized version of that role for her. A mentor. A person she’d been able to go to when all the stress of raising Nathan on her own had gotten just a little too heavy to bear. He had a therapist’s soul and a researcher’s mind. She’d learned a lot from him. She’d also learned how to read him.

“There’s no room for a raise, is there?” she asked, getting the hard part out of the way first. “I’m going to need to pick up a second job.”

He frowned. “It’s a little worse than that, I’m afraid.”

Marin tensed, but before she could say anything Dr. Pax’s student worker, Clint, tapped on the door and carried in two cups of coffee. He set one on the desk and handed Marin the other.

The paper cup seared her cold fingers. “Worse, sir?”

He sighed and leaned back in his creaking chair. “When I got your email, I decided to call and check on the grant status. I thought maybe if we had an idea how much we were going to get this year, then I could find some room to adjust your salary. But the news wasn’t good. We landed two smaller grants, but we’re not getting the Filmore this year.”

The words didn’t register in Marin’s head for a second. “Wait, what?”

He wrapped his fingers around his coffee cup but didn’t take a sip. “Apparently, they have a new board in charge of the foundation, and they didn’t think your research warranted new funds. They said they are excited about the program you’ve created but that they feel it’s ready to go. Now the challenge will be getting it into schools, not doing more research.”

“But there’s so much still to do, components we haven’t tested and—” Panic was tapping her shoulder, ready to tackle her.

“I know, Marin. I understand where you’re coming from. I always think more research can only lead to a better product. But I see their point, too. You’ve developed an amazing online program for an underserved population. The sooner we get it out there, the better. If we turn over your work to a company that can streamline the program, we can get kids access to it all the sooner. Start helping people now. And if all goes well, you’ll eventually make money on it.”

Eventually. That was the key word. Eventually didn’t help her right now. Plus, she didn’t have it in her to charge some exorbitant price to nonprofits and schools for that kind of program. She sat back in her chair and set her coffee to the side, her heart like thunder in her chest. The grant had fallen through. No more study. “But if I don’t continue that project, what does it mean for me? What am I going to do without that grant?”

Dr. Pax swiped a hand over his mustache and beard, his expression sympathetic. “Marin, without the Filmore grant, we don’t have the funds to keep you on for another year at the salary you’re at. You’d have to take a significant cut in pay, and I know that’s the opposite of what you need right now.”

Her breakfast threatened to come up. No money? There was no money. And that meant no position. She couldn’t work for less than she was already. She’d starve. Nathan would have nothing to live on. She put a hand to her forehead. “Oh, God.”

Dr. Pax leaned forward on his forearms. “Take a breath, Marin. I know this is a shock, and I’m sorry for that. But I’ve been thinking through this over the last day or two, and I may have an option that could work out for you.”

She lifted her head. “What do you mean?”

“I know you’ve expressed that you’re not interested in a clinical career. I get that research is your passion. But the truth of the matter is, you need money and clinical work is where you can find it. If you can get yourself set up in a private practice one day, you won’t ever have to have this type of conversation again.”

She blinked. “Clinical work? Like actually be a sex therapist? I don’t know how to do that. And I can’t do private practice. I’d need to get licensed and that takes at least a year of supervised work, right?”