Lenny and Andy talked about Tanner as we drove to the restaurant a few miles outside of town. I listened, trying to learn as much as I could about Andy from his comments. I gleaned that he and Tanner had been better friends as undergraduates in Iowa than I first realized. Their friendship cooled when they applied to graduate school, each moving in different directions. Tanner wanted to attend school in Denver, Andy said, but was rejected. Andy was accepted, creating the first ripple in their relationship. Although Tanner wouldn’t admit it, he was jealous, at least according to Andy. I believed Andy. It would be hard seeing your friend attend a school that gave you a pass.
“You didn’t keep in touch with Tanner after you moved?” I turned to Andy, who was in the backseat, staring out the window. Perhaps he was thinking of Iowa. A lot of the farmland in the Midwest looked alike.
“Maybe for the first month or so,” said Andy. “He moved to Copper Bluff, and then we both got busy with our graduate work. Felix took me under his wing right away. He had plans for me the moment I started the program. I owe everything to him.”
“Did he give you the idea for the Shakespeare book?” asked Lenny, navigating a turn.
“The idea was mine,” Andy replied, sounding offended. “It’s why I was admitted into the program in the first place.”
That made sense. Felix would be thrilled to have a student writing a book about the relevancy of Shakespeare in the twenty-first century. From what’d I’d seen at our campus, graduate students were gravitating toward less traditional topics. They were interested in under-represented authors and under-studied subjects. Andy was an old-school scholar who thought like Felix. They could collaborate on the Shakespeare book for the five years it would take Andy to finish his PhD. With the book coming out in the fall, they wouldn’t want to chance competing with or being contradicted by a new discovery in the field. But would they go so far as to kill Tanner so that he couldn’t publish his work? That’s what I needed to determine.
Lenny pulled into Bluff View Restaurant, a white building that hugged the edge of the bluff. The sun had almost disappeared behind it. Only faint streaks of pink remained in the sky, giving the horizon a rosy glow. This is what people mean when they say spring is in the air, I thought as I got out of the car. For me, the color of spring was pink. Pink like the cherry blossoms. Pink like the color of my cheeks when Lenny took my hand as we walked up the stairs.
The hostess pointed us to the room reserved for the English Department. The dinner was a nice way not only to end the Shakespeare conference but also to celebrate our students’ accomplishments. Many students would be receiving awards and scholarships after dinner. The buffet at Bluff View was one not to miss; the restaurant was considered the best in town and for good reason. Besides serving great food, the establishment was elegantly furnished and had the best views in our area. Tonight, white lights outlined the oversized deck, a sure sign that summer was on the way. Lunches were already being served outside. Soon, dinners would be too. But for now, guests would have to be content with taking a drink on the deck to soak up the last rays of daylight before the sun set.
“This is nice,” said Andy, glancing around the room.
The surprise in his voice irritated me. Copper Bluff might not be as large as Denver or Detroit, but it had fine dining, too. “They have great food.”
“There’s André,” said Lenny. “It looks like he found a wine he could drink.”
Swirling a glass of red wine, André was standing next to a table where many faculty members were already seated.
“Good idea,” said Andy. “Where’s the bar?”
I pointed out the door we’d just entered.
After he left, Lenny said, “That was nice of him to ask us if we’d like a drink.”
“He only thinks of himself,” I said. “It drives me crazy.”
“I hear you,” said Lenny. “If he name-dropped one more book reviewer in the car, I was going to smack him. You want a glass of red?”
“Let’s set our coats down first. Seats are filling up quickly.”
We joined the English faculty, choosing chairs near the end of the table. Giles, Felix, and Reed hadn’t arrived yet, but the rest of the faculty was there, including Thomas Cook and his wife, Lydia. I glanced over the people seated between us. Maybe I’d have a chance to talk to her when we went through the buffet line. I was brainstorming conversation starters when Lenny interrupted my thoughts.
“Are you thinking about switching seats?” Lenny’s blue eyes twinkled. He knew exactly what I was thinking.
“Have you ever talked to Lydia?” I whispered. “I’ve only seen her once.”
“Never,” said Lenny. “They say she’s a hermit.”
“Who says that?”
“Thomas’s students,” said Lenny. “They say he talks about her in class sometimes.”
I nudged Claudia, who was seated on my other side. “Have you ever talked to Lydia?”
“Occasionally,” said Claudia. “Why?”
“What does she do, for a job, I mean?”
“She works from home.” Claudia took a sip of her white wine. “A lovely person.”
“Students say she’s a hermit,” I said.
Claudia gave me a sidelong glance. “And we can vouch for how much they know.”
“But what does she work on, from home?” I pressed.
“I don’t know, Em,” said Claudia, setting down her glass with a plunk. “Maybe you’d like to interrogate her before dinner.”
“She’ll wait until dessert,” answered Lenny. “It’d be bad manners not to let the woman eat first.”
They shared a chuckle at my expense.
“I’m just curious, that’s all,” I said. “I’d like a chance to get to know her.”
“Sure,” said Lenny.
“How about that wine now?” I said. Andy had returned with a cocktail, but much to my amusement, all the seats at our table were filled. He’d have to sit with the other grad students.
Lenny stood. “I’ll be right back.”
In the meantime, the guest of honor arrived and was welcomed with a nice round of applause. He, Giles, Katherine, and Reed took their reserved seats at the head of our table, officially beginning the night. Standing to join them, I congratulated Felix on his lecture. “I loved hearing about your childhood and the theater. I dream of seeing an English village like yours someday.”
“Thank you,” Felix said. “Those were formative years, if somewhat painful at times. But we English are known for keeping a stiff upper lip, right? My childhood served me well when facing adversity. Have you ever been abroad?”
“Almost.” I glanced at André, a few seats away. Last spring, we were scheduled to take a group of faculty members and students to France, but a professor died in-flight—murder, it later turned out—grounding the plane. I hoped one day for a chance to see France and the town of St. Émilion, where my great-great grandmother (and namesake) had lived. With the cost of airfare and hotel, it wouldn’t be any time soon.
Giles provided Felix with an explanation. He nodded toward André. “André is from France. He organized the trip.”
“That reminds me,” I said to Giles. “I asked him to come tonight. I know you tried to reach him last week and failed. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” said Giles. “I need to talk to him about the English as a Second Language Program. With Professor Davis leaving us unexpectedly, I’m looking for a replacement for next year.”
“André would be perfect for the job,” I said, getting excited. It was too late in the year for Giles to conduct a proper search for the position, and André needed a department. It was a win-win for both of them.
“I’m glad you agree,” said Giles. “Let’s just hope André does.”
The buffet opened, and I quickly said my goodbyes and took my seat. Lenny had returned with my wine, and I told him the news while we waited in line for food.
“I suppose that means I’ll learn more French curse words,” said Lenny. “I have to admit I’m kind of excited.”
I chuckled. André tended to curse in French when he was frustrated. “Giles is going to talk to André tonight. I don’t think André knows. I’m so excited for him.”
“He’s worked hard,” said Lenny, taking a plate. “He deserves it.”
“No chicken parmigiana?” I said, checking out the entrées. “Dang.” Bluff View was known for its excellent chicken parmigiana.
“Don’t look so glum,” said Lenny. “There’s cheesecake.”
I glanced down the buffet. Lenny was right. The end of the line was a dessert lover’s mecca. I gathered my meal and sped toward the desserts, reaching for the chocolate mousse and cheesecake.
“You can’t possibly eat both,” said Claudia.
We started for our table. “It’s chocolate and it’s cheesecake. One dessert.”
“You’re worse than my kids.”
I believed it. Her kids were like miniature adults, well-mannered and disciplined.
After dinner, Giles made a short speech, then gave Felix a token of our appreciation—a painting of Copper Bluff, signed by the artist. Felix shook his hand, thanking Giles for the gift. He also thanked Reed for inviting him and Andy to campus as special guests.
Andy stood and raised his cocktail high in the air. “To the good people of Copper Bluff!”
As we raised our glasses, Lenny whispered, “I think he’s drunk.”
I agreed. If he wasn’t drunk, he was headed in that direction. I should have warned him about the well drinks. When grad students bartended on the weekends, the drinks were strong, especially when their friends were present.
I noticed Lydia walk to the deck after her dish was cleared. Now was my chance to get to know her better.
“I could use some fresh air,” I said to Lenny. “How about you?”
Lenny stood. “If by getting fresh air you mean cornering Lydia on the deck, I’m game. I’d like to know who taught her to slip in and out of places like a ghost.”
Lenny helped me with my coat, and Claudia reprimanded us with a look. “You know you’re getting as bad as Em, right?”
“I’m supporting her interests,” said Lenny. “It’s what any good boyfriend would do.”
I beamed at him.
Claudia shook her head as we walked past her.
The evening was clear, and the stars sparkled like silver confetti in the night sky. The land was as flat as the horizon, the two melting together into a vastness that made me feel small. This close to the bluff, I could hear the river flowing down below, the burble of water over the rocks. The murmur of people on the deck couldn’t quell the distinctive sound, so rare on the Great Plains.
Near the edge of the deck, Lydia stood with her back to us, her narrow shoulders covered in a thin sweater. While others formed small groups, Lydia was alone and appeared comfortable in her aloneness. With the crush of people inside, maybe she needed to get away. For a moment, I reconsidered approaching her, and in that moment, Thomas Cook joined us on the deck. He greeted us with a hearty hello.
I returned his greeting. In the few years Thomas had been on campus, he’d changed. We’d changed. The first time I met him, he came off as East Coast intelligentsia, bragging about his hip dissertation. He was friendlier now—though still very au courant. One glance at his slim-fit jacket and perfect highlights told you that.
“Not a bad way to end the conference,” said Thomas. “I enjoyed dinner thoroughly.”
“The night isn’t half-bad either,” said Lenny. “I can’t believe how warm this spring has been.”
“I’m sure we’ll pay for it sometime or another,” said Thomas.
We were talking about the weather like real South Dakotans.
Thomas glanced at Lydia. “I’d better see how Lydia is faring. She was worried the gluten-free option wasn’t really gluten-free.”
“We’ll join you,” I said.
We started in the direction of Lydia, who jumped when Thomas touched her arm.
“Sorry,” she said to Thomas. “You startled me.”
Lydia was thin and tall. Maybe that’s why she seemed frail. Or maybe it was her eyes. Studying her, I wondered if that’s where Lenny got the idea of a ghost. There was something behind her melancholy expression, a painful memory that time couldn’t heal, perhaps.
“We’re having a great time,” said Lenny. “Right, Em?”
Whatever Lydia had said, I’d missed it. Lenny was prompting me to answer. “Wonderful,” I said. “How about you? Thomas said your gluten-free meal might have been misrepresented.”
“I think so,” said Lydia. “When you’re gluten intolerant, it’s impossible to get a decent meal out.”
No wonder I didn’t see her around town. “I suppose you eat in most nights?”
She nodded. “It’s the only way to know if the meal’s been prepared correctly.”
“Thomas says you work from home, too,” I said.
She and Thomas shared a smile. “You’re right, Thomas. She is inquisitive.”
“I’m sorry,” I said with a chuckle. “I don’t mean to pry into your business.”
“Not at all,” said Lydia. “I’m teach online history courses for a college in Rhode Island.”
“I didn’t realize,” I said. “I love history.”
“You’ll have to enroll in one of her classes,” said Thomas, putting his arm around her. “In Massachusetts, she received the Teacher of the Year Award.”
She brushed aside the accolade. “That was a long time ago.”
“That’s cool,” said Lenny. “You should teach something on our campus.”
“I know the history chair,” I added. “I’d be happy to talk to her.”
Lydia shook her head. She looked genuinely worried. “No, please don’t. I mean, I’m happy where I am.”
Thomas must have seen the question on my face. “Thank you, Emmeline. It’s a kind offer, but like Lydia said, she’s perfectly happy teaching from home.”
The deck door burst open, and I turned to see what was causing the commotion. It was Andy, and it looked as if he had refilled his glass more than once. He might be a burgeoning author, but he was still a graduate student. He didn’t know when to curtail his drinking. We’d all been there. I wasn’t going to judge.
“I think I like Andy when he’s drinking,” said Lenny. The group followed Lenny’s eyes, which were on Andy. “He’s much happier like this.”
Maybe a little too happy. He was swerving around clumps of people like an indie race car driver. It might be time to get him home. I didn’t want him to embarrass himself.
“We’re his ride,” I explained to Thomas and Lydia. “We’d better get him back. I don’t want him getting in trouble with Felix. It was really nice talking to you, Lydia. I hope to catch up with you again sometime.”
“Yes, I’d like that,” said Lydia.
Lenny was saying his goodbyes when I heard the crash. It appeared we hadn’t intervened in time after all. Andy had run into a table and fallen flat on his face, spilling his drink.