Center of Gravity by Laura McNeill Page A

eyes.
    I reach for her elbow, drawing her close to me. The scent of her skin wafts around me, hints of cinnamon and vanilla. Any other day it would intoxicate me, draw me in. Today it is repugnant.
    â€œWhat are you doing here?” I hiss into her ear, tightening my grip.
    She ignores me, which only serves to fan my growing annoyance. “Hello, everyone. Hi, Blake.” She smiles brightly and offers a hand to Michaels, who shoots her a menacing glare and stalks off. The other staff members murmur hellos, then turn and walk away.
    Ava blinks, incredulous, then gives me a sidelong glance. “Did you deliver some bad news to your staff?”
    â€œYou could say that,” I reply.
    She stares after them, brow furrowed. “Can we talk? In private?”
    My hand finds the small of her back, and I guide her into my office. “Certainly.”
    Door closed, Ava glances around the room, taking in my neatly arranged bookshelves, the rich, dark carpeting, the elegantly framed photographs of Springport College buildings on the wall. The room, just cleaned, smells of freshly-squeezed lemon and citrus.
    â€œIt’s lovely, Mitchell.” Her eyes meet mine. “Your office looks wonderful.” She gazes out onto the campus, taking in my view of the lush, manicured lawns, wrought iron benches, and tree-lined paths filled with students on their way to class.
    I nod, forgetting she hasn’t seen it since the complete renovation a few months back. “Thank you.”
    Ava slides into the chair across from my desk, leaning forward to make sure she has my attention. When I don’t say anything further, she draws a breath and begins speaking.
    â€œMitchell, I’m confused.” She tilts her chin. “I love you. I love our boys. This . . . misunderstanding . . . what I said. It doesn’t have to go this far.”
    The words hang in the air between us, stilted and awkward. I won’t allow myself to digest them or be softened by pretty phrases. For just a moment, I consider whether she practiced her little speech.
    It doesn’t matter. I stare back and drop all polite pretense. “My dear, it’s what you wanted.”
    Ava bites her lip and drops her eyes. Her voice lowers and slows. She’s choosing her words carefully, as if picking her way around landmines. “I know what I said. I know how it sounded. I’m sorry.”
    â€œReally?” I tighten my jaw.
    She nods, eyes widening. Ava presses her fingertips together into a prayer, touching them to her lips. “I am. You didn’t have to move out or take the children to make your point. We all need to be together. I miss the boys horribly.”
    Her stab at raw sincerity almost fools me. I lean back in my chair, clasp my hands behind my head. “They’re fine.”
    She hesitates, and I can see the pain and confusion on her face. “They haven’t asked for me?” She begins to choke up.
    â€œNot at all. Not a word.” I shrug and flick a speck of dust from the polished surface of my massive desk.
    â€œWho is taking care of them?” Ava blinks back tears.
    I rock in my chair and glance away. “You don’t have to worry about that.”
    â€œMitchell—”
    From the corner of my eye, I see her wrestle to stay in control. It’s admirable. I stand up and put my fists on the desk.
    â€œRaise your voice to me again and I’ll call security.” I reach for the phone.
    Ava’s eyes dart from me to my hand and back again. She swallows and presses both hands into her skirt. “Mitchell, be reasonable. Let’s go to counseling. Come home. Let’s talk about this. Figure it out.”
    I chuckle. “Right. Are you figuring it out with Mike Kennedy?”
    Ava jumps out of the chair, her green eyes pinned to my face. She begins to pace in front of the window, then stops, centering the brilliant blue sky behind her. “Mitchell. Please. Listen to me.