What We Know Is True Read online

  “Reid McGrath is going to see me naked.

  Who would have thought it?”

  Polar opposites. Karis and Reid are nothing alike. Where she calculates risks, he takes them. When she looks, he leaps—literally.

  But somehow, they do work well together—better than well, because oddly, they seem to complement each other. They’re great work colleagues. They’re great friends.

  Could they be great at something more? Can Reid give up roaming around the world, looking for adventure? Can Karis let go of her control a little, to take a chance?

  Sometimes, your happy ending can’t be planned, coordinated, and calculated…but it’s there, if you can let go and reach for it!

  What We Know Is True

  Jamie Bennett

  Copyright © 2019 by Jamie Bennett

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the author, except as used in a book review. Please contact the author at [email protected].

  This is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is purely coincidental.

  "Gentlemen, that is surely true, it is absolutely paradoxical; we cannot understand it, and we don't know what it means, but we have proved it, and therefore, we know it must be the truth."

  Benjamin Peirce on Euler’s Identity, as quoted by A. Lawrence Lowell in Benjamin Peirce, 1809-1890: Biographical Sketch and Bibliography and Reminiscences (The Mathematical Association of America, 1925)

  Chapter 1

  This was it. It was really going to happen. I was really going to do it.

  I shifted in the bed nervously. No, no reason to be nervous. I could do this. Millions of women did this every day. I counted the five recessed lights in the hotel room ceiling to steady myself and felt my fingers methodically tap each number out. First I went forwards, thumb to pinkie, then backwards, pinkie to thumb, one, two, three, four, five, five, four, three, two, one. The sheet rustled with the subtle movement of my fingers and slid coolly over my bare arm. Bare, because I was naked. Yes, naked, not wearing even the extremely uncomfortable, body-constricting underwear necessary for me to fit into my mom’s old dress, the one I had chucked into the corner of the room. She was probably the last person who had seen me wholly without clothes, when she gave me baths as a baby. For twenty-some years, no one had seen my nude self…until tonight.

  Reid McGrath was going to see me naked. Who would have thought it?

  Who could have imagined it, when I hadn’t even known his name before tonight? When only a few weeks before, I had been holding Augusta’s hair above the toilet bowl back in Chicago…

  Maybe it would be better to start there, in that bathroom stall.

  ∞

  “Thanks, Karis. I’m better now. All better.” Augusta slumped back against the battered metal partition, her blue eyes closed. Suddenly they flew back open. “Oh, God. Here I go.” She leaned forward and puked into the toilet.

  “It’s ok, you’re ok,” I said, turning away so I wouldn’t have to watch, patting her back carefully as she retched.

  Augusta Wheeler sat down on the floor of the disgusting bar bathroom and pushed back her beautiful red hair with a shaking hand. At the math department offices where we worked, her hair was always so sleek and pretty, but now it was tangled and stringy around her pale, sweaty face. “I’m really glad you came with us tonight,” she said weakly, and coughed. “Oh no, I think I’m going to throw up again.” We waited. “Nope, I’m good.”

  “I’m glad I came tonight, too.” Minus the last 15 or so minutes in this bathroom, I’d enjoyed myself a lot more than I would have expected. Augusta was really nice and fun, when she wasn’t hunched over on the dingy tile of a public restroom. “Do you want to try to stand up?” I couldn’t stand to look at her sitting on that floor anymore. It was so dirty it was black, and as I helped her to her feet, her skirt stuck to it. Yikes.

  Augusta leaned heavily on me as I shoved the stall door open with my knee. “I wish you had been coming out with us all along!” she told me. Her state of inebriation made the sentence into one long, garbled word, but I understood her anyway and nodded. “I feel like we didn’t get a chance to know each other!” she continued, looking sad.

  I nodded again. That afternoon I had heard some of the women who worked in the math and science building—the teaching assistants, the secretaries, the younger, untenured professors—talking about going out. They socialized together a lot. I had pulled my chair further back into the shadows of my cubicle, focused on organizing the lecture notes for Professor Khalil’s classes for the upcoming week. Actually, I was two weeks ahead, because I liked to make sure I was prepared.

  “Hi.” Augusta had stuck her head over the top of the partition which separated her tiny workspace from mine. “The ladies of the math department are going out tonight. I’m getting married right before Christmas, and this is probably my last hurrah before exams. Do you want to come with us?” She smiled at me, all shiny and beautiful.

  “Oh, no, thank you,” I’d quickly said.

  She had asked me to do things before, always friendly and funny, and I had always said no, thank you. But this time, she persisted. “Come have some fun! It’s Friday night. Do you really want to be stuck in here, with only Pythagoras to keep you company?” Augusta smiled again, pointing at the bust of the mathematician on my desk, and I found myself smiling back and agreeing to join everyone. We’d had dinner, then gone to one bar, then another. This one.

  “I probably shouldn’t have done the last shot. Or two,” she told me now, her feet dragging as I walked her slowly across the bathroom to the filthy, hair-filled sinks.

  “Maybe not,” I agreed. “Try not to think about it.”

  “Did you drink at all?”

  “I had a glass of wine. I don’t do well with too much alcohol.” I glanced up at Augusta—she definitely knew what I was talking about. I balanced her against my hip and wet a paper towel. “Here, let’s wipe off your face.”

  “Thanks,” she told me. She squinted blearily at herself in the dingy mirror. “Oh, that’s bad. Is that how I really look?”

  “We’ll clean you up,” I assured her. But as I surveyed the damage, I wasn’t sure where to start. There was a lot of work to be done. “Maybe it’s better just to take you home.”

  “It’s just when I think about it, one penis. One,” she intoned, picking up a conversation we’d had earlier, right before she told me she was going to hurl, like, immediately, and I’d pulled her into this bathroom. “For the rest of my whole life, the same penis. That’s what happens when you get married,” she explained. She had told me this several times and I was no longer open-mouthed gaping as she repeated it.

  “I know. But you love it, right? I mean, you love him. Your fiancé.”

  She got kind of dreamy looking, despite the smears of vomit on her face. “I do. I really love Shane. He’s, like, the best guy ever. I wish we had never broken up.” Tears rose in her eyes and started to run down her cheeks. “We wasted so much time!”

  “But you’re together now,” I said firmly. I had heard this whole story too, twice already, about their break-up just before they graduated from college, their reunion a few months later, and engagement not long after that. “You got back together and now you’re getting married. Lean forward a little and spit into the sink.”

  Augusta did as I told her. “One penis!” She tilted ominously to the right and her weight pulled me, too.

&nbsp
; I planted my feet and hauled her back up. She was a lot bigger than I was, a lot taller. “But you love him, and one should be plenty. Let’s go find everyone else.”

  While we had been in the bathroom, it seemed like the party we came with had split up. Our former spots at the bar had been taken over by some guys who looked like they might be from the university, like we were. I hurried Augusta past in case any of them were in our classes. Both of us were teaching assistants, except that Augusta was in graduate school, and would finish up her master’s degree in December, and I was still an undergrad. I thought both of us might lose a little authority with our students if any of them saw me physically lugging her out of the bar with toilet paper stuck to her clothes. “My face feels numb,” she said loudly. “My voice sounds funny, too.”

  We made it outside onto the sidewalk and the freezing air revived her some. “I’m sorry, Karis. I don’t usually drink like this. I got really carried away.” Her face screwed up.

  “No, don’t cry again. Augusta! Don’t cry. We’re going to get a car and bring you home and you’ll feel better in the morning.” I looked up and down the street, wishing for a passing cab.

  “I got this,” she slurred with authority, and typed on her phone, jabbing at it with her finger and squinting at the screen. Miraculously, she did manage to order a car, and when it came to get us, I didn’t feel like I could leave her alone in it. I shoved her into the back seat and got in behind her.

  “One penis,” Augusta announced loudly. “For the rest of my life.” We were back to that.

  “She’s getting married,” I explained to the driver, as I blushed red. “I think she just has cold feet and she drank a little too much.”

  The driver didn’t even blink. “The thought of having only the one could drive any woman to drink,” she said glumly. “I prefer a variety.”

  I wanted no part of this conversation. None. We arrived at Augusta’s apartment building and again, I hauled her around, this time back out of the car and through the lobby. When we got up to her apartment, I let her roommate take charge, and I hurried to get on the L to head home and go to bed. First to take a blisteringly hot shower after our interlude in the bar bathroom, then go to bed. It sounded like a lovely plan, I thought, as I counted the empty seats and the other passengers on the train. I clicked my teeth, left side then right, as I said the numbers in my head.

  The next Monday, Augusta arrived at my desk in the math department with the biggest bouquet of tulips I’d ever seen. She was back to looking perfect. But she was looking very sheepish too.

  “I really apologize, Karis,” she said. “I’m so ashamed of myself! I never drink that much, and the last time I threw up from liquor was in high school when we were mixing that sports drink, NRG+Lyfe, and bourbon.”

  I almost threw up too, considering that concoction. “It’s ok. I’m glad I was there to help you. Thank you for the flowers.” I ran my hand gently across the petals. They were beautiful.

  “Can I take you to dinner later? I don’t want your last memory of me as one with my head in a toilet.” Augusta grimaced. “My own memories are very embarrassing. Did I talk about Shane’s…”

  “Yes.” She sure had. As a woman with not a lot of experience in the male, um, parts department, I had found it enlightening, and pretty fascinating.

  “Dinner, then? I swear, I will remain sober.” She traced an X over her heart. “I definitely owe you, but I feel like we could become friends, too. What do you think?”

  “Sure,” I said, feeling shy. We went out to dinner and Augusta was as nice as she had always been, once she got past apologizing and being embarrassed. It turned out that we had a lot in common, besides our mutual love of math. For example, we were both from Michigan. At least, she was from there, born and raised, and that was where I had been born and my parents were currently living. I hadn’t ever spent much time in the state besides a few random holidays and I was happy to learn more about the lay of the land. Since she was graduating, Augusta was driving home for keeps with her belongings after exams.

  “How are you going to get home for Christmas? Were you planning to fly?” she asked me.

  I said that I had been planning to take the bus.

  “You should come with me, then!” Augusta told me, smiling. Then she picked up the check, putting down her credit card without even looking at the total. I’d really liked hanging out with her and I thought she’d had fun as well. At least she didn’t end the night covered in someone else’s urine and her own vomit, a real plus for her.

  I wasn’t expecting her to follow through with driving together, but she did, and we ended up in her car on the road to Michigan after the semester ended. I was happy to avoid the bus, and I thought that she was happy to have the company. I wasn’t exactly a chatterbox but Augusta was easy to talk to and I pushed myself to make an effort. Chief on her mind was her upcoming wedding, and somewhere along I-94 in northern Indiana, she invited me to come.

  “You totally should! I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before!” she told me. “I know this isn’t the standard way to invite someone, but I think you’ll enjoy it. You could meet more people in Michigan. Plus, it’s going to be really fun. Will you?”

  I nodded slightly. “Sure. Thank you.” I didn’t think she really meant it. She would probably forget.

  Augusta started to tell me about the band, the food, the cake. The groom’s mother, who was driving her crazy. “She’s concerned about how it will all look, but Shane and I just want everyone to enjoy themselves.” She glanced at me. “So, um, the things I said about his penis, and about me just having the one for the rest of my life…”

  “I won’t mention that stuff to anyone. Not ever,” I said solemnly. “I swear.”

  “It was just nerves. I talked to him the next day, and he made me laugh so hard, when I was so hungover. I realized that I feel even more that he is absolutely the guy for me. I don’t need any other penis but his.”

  I would have been very glad never to discuss that particular appendage ever again in my life. I didn’t know how I was going to deal with meeting her fiancé, if I ever did—I probably would not be able to look him in the face, and I was going to have to work to keep my eyes from fixating south of his belt buckle.

  “How come you never went out with all of us math ladies before that night?” Augusta asked me.

  I shrugged a little, looking at the white, snow-covered landscape as it flashed by the windows of her car. “I don’t go out very much. I’m busy, with school, and working.” I had a scholarship, and I had my father’s reputation to uphold. I had to keep my grades up.

  “Well, I’m really glad that we got to know each other, even if it’s just as I’m leaving Chicago. Are you definitely planning to come back to Michigan after you graduate in the spring?”

  “Yes, definitely.” It was funny, thinking of myself coming “back” to Michigan, since I hadn’t ever really lived there. I did have a few relatives around the state, and, of course, my parents. I would need to live close to my mom and dad. “I’ll just need to find a job.”

  Augusta was nodding. “I can help you. My parents know everyone. What are you looking for? What do you want to do?”

  This was nice to hear. We discussed my possible employment opportunities, and it really felt like she meant what she said—she wanted to help me. But I knew that she would be busy with all her family and all her friends once she got back home, so I didn’t have my heart set on anything we talked about, like how we’d stay in touch, or how I was invited to the wedding, and especially not about how she could help me find a job after I graduated.

  But then, after I had been at my mom’s house for only a day, a big white envelope with my name written in calligraphy arrived in the mailbox, the invitation to Augusta’s wedding. She had been serious about that. Along with the beautiful invitation, there was a note in her handwriting saying she was hoping I still planned to come. My mom and I looked for something for me to wear, first in
my wardrobe (nothing) and then in hers (a black dress that she thought we could freshen up). My mom was so excited that I had a party to attend that I was glad to go, just for that.

  Augusta walked up the aisle in the cathedral wearing the most spectacular dress and the biggest smile I had ever seen. Apparently she really had dispelled all her pre-wedding jitters. There were readings, and people crying, and laughing, and an extremely posh mass of guests. I kept my mom’s old black coat wrapped securely around myself until we went to the party afterwards, held in Detroit in an art museum.

  The wedding reception was absolutely mindboggling. First we had dinner in a big gallery, at tables with giant bowls of gorgeous flowers while surrounded by priceless works of art. Then waiters served course after course of delicious food. I thought immediately of Alexander the Great and his weddings at Susa—yes, it was that big and opulent!

  I glanced across the sea of faces, but I didn’t know anyone there besides Augusta, not one soul. So I sat quietly at the assigned dinner table on the outskirts of the room, with other people who were low in the friendship rankings. They seemed to make some connections with each other as I watched and listened. We had champagne for toasts, then wine with dinner. I hadn’t been kidding when I had said that I was not a big drinker, but I wasn’t averse to celebrating.

  After dinner, we all moved into the museum’s giant central hall with a three-story ceiling, murals, fountains, and mobiles hanging overhead. I just kept staring around with my mouth open. There was a band on risers at one end of the room and people immediately started to dance. I saw a man eyeing me, and when he began to walk over, I turned quickly and went to the bar to place an order.

  “A Jack Rose, please,” I said. I had read about that, and had always wanted to try one.

  The bartender looked at me blankly. I searched my knowledge of classic literature for more drink ideas.