Chapter 26

  

The meeting to discuss Larry Coleman’s tenure application began at three in the afternoon on the last Friday in January. All the tenured faculty members showed up except for Simon.

“Anyone notice if Coleman came in with a violin case this morning?” I heard Ardith whisper to Phyllis.

“Probably not,” said Phyllis. “It’s too cold for the homicidal.”

“Don’t be too sure. Simon isn’t here, yet.”

I called the meeting to order.

Each of the other nine tenured members of the faculty were told to spend no more than a few minutes on their opening remarks.

After a half hour of discussion, Edwin made a surprising motion to approve Coleman for tenure and send our recommendation forward to the university Promotion and Tenure Committee.

“I had my doubts about Larry,” Edwin began, “but since the retreat and reflecting upon the new media presentation, I have reconsidered. In fact, I plan to ask Larry to guest lecture in one of my writing classes later this semester.”

A few jaws dropped. Good for Edwin. There’s a man who knows when the train is leaving the station. The change in his attitude toward Larry was remarkable. But the look he gave me was icy. He cared about the school, but I wondered if he was just waiting for a better chance to punish me?

Phyllis seconded the motion. Everyone voted in favor. Even George muttered “aye.”

The meeting adjourned.

On the way out I heard Ardith say to Phyllis, “Do you think Coleman will forgive those who trespassed against him?”

“Oh, I think Larry may seem to forgive but he will never forget the past months. He will carry a dagger for George and another for Edwin. But, for now, the weapons will be concealed.”

Cynicism is the last refuge of the idealist but, sometimes, the first instinct of the academic.

  

Karen Coleman sat in a chair next to her husband in the hall outside my office. When I returned from the tenure meeting she gave me a tepid smile and left.

“I’ll wait in the car,” she said to Larry.

“Let’s go into my office,” I said, motioning him in and closing the door behind us.

I sat with him at the round table. “It went well,” I said. “Your tenure application will go forward first thing Monday morning. I have every expectation it will be approved. I don’t want to jump the gun, but I think you should feel good about this and take Karen out for a nice dinner.”

Larry folded his arms across his chest and cleared his throat. “What was the vote?”

I could have claimed the vote as confidential, but the hallway gossip would make my discretion irrelevant.

“Unanimous. In fact, Edwin Cartwell made the motion to approve and both he and George voted aye with the majority.”

“But not Simon?” Larry’s eyes held the hardness I had seen before.

I sighed. “Larry, Simon didn’t attend. But I do think it’s important to note that George and Edwin both supported you.”

He rose and shook my hand.

“Well, thanks Red. I appreciate your help in this and your leadership. I guess I won’t keep Karen waiting any longer.”

His eyes told me we were not out of trouble yet.

  

A faculty meeting the following Monday confirmed my suspicion. It was not that anyone said anything antagonistic. In fact, on the surface, all seemed friendly. Simon was absent.

Coleman was quiet. George was expansive. Edwin was polite and the rest of the faculty seemed animated by the possibility that civil conversation was the order of the day and the year-long battle was finally over. But it was not over.

As I watched the group, I realized Coleman was also a wounded water buffalo. The quarrel may seem resolved but, in his heart, hatred remained.

George prattled on oblivious, too self-absorbed to realize how deeply he had injured his colleague. Edwin seemed indifferent.

Afterward, in the hallway, Larry offered courtesy to both George and Edwin, but I could see the unforgiving look in his eyes. The curriculum dispute would disappear but anger and a residual subterranean spitefulness would stay. More fighting was in our future.

  

When I got home Monday evening, I found a note in my mailbox. Like the earlier one, it was unsigned and created on a computer:

“Now would be a good time to go back to Ohio before you get hurt. Henry Brooks ignored my warnings. Don’t make the same mistake. I can promise things will turn out badly for you if you stay.”

My stomach lurched. I took the note into the house, holding it carefully by the edges. I knew I had to call Joe even if only to leave another message on his voicemail. There had been no sign of Simon at school, but I could still remember the menace in his voice.

A storm had been brewing since mid-afternoon. Suddenly the wind came up howling and tossing the trees outside my windows. I looked outside and saw snow falling heavily. When the phone rang, I thought it might be Sadie who lives near an unreliable power line. Last year, she had spent a weekend keeping warm at my house after an ice storm had taken out her electricity.

The voice was very soft, but it was not Sadie’s. It was Joe’s. I had to fight back tears at the sound of it.

“I got your message. You okay in this storm?” he said.

“I’m okay. But, I wouldn’t mind some company.”

“I’m down the street. I’ll be there in a minute or two.”

I raced upstairs so fast it set Charlie barking with excitement. I brushed my hair and checked my sweater for crumbs from lunch. No time to change into the soft red sweater. Just as well. It was probably bad luck.

The doorbell rang.

Joe hadn’t used his key. He stood in the doorway stamping his feet and brushing snow off his jacket and out of his hair.

No kiss. No hug. Just “hi.”

Charlie was thrilled. He got lots of patting and rough scrubbing on his chest while I stood there watching the play between the man and my dog. Joe took off his jacket, walked with Charlie into the living room and sat on the hearth.

I sat in the chair facing the fireplace. Joe stared at the carpet. At length, his head came up. “I’ve been meaning to call you,” he said.

“I’m glad.”

“I know we should talk. It’s just been hard to call your number.”

I decided to get to the matter that had preoccupied me. “I’m sorry I interrupted you the other night at your apartment. I should have called first.”

“You didn’t interrupt anything,” he said. “Because I...because nothing happened after you left.”

Oh.

“I haven’t been with anyone else,” he said.

“Joe, I am so...” I started to move toward him but he held up his hand.

“Let me see the note.”

I stopped, got up, and went to the hall table and picked up the note by one corner. He pulled a clear envelope from his jacket pocket. I handed the note to him and watched him read and then carefully slip the note into the envelope.

“We’ll check it for prints.” He resumed petting Charlie.

“Joe, I...”

“I know, Red. I listened to all the messages and I read your letter about Max and I understand you know you were wrong about him. And I know I was wrong about you with him. That was a stupid thing for me to say.”

I sat still and quiet.

Joe breathed deeply and went on. “I need time to think this through, Red. I need to be able to trust you, and to trust us together. I can’t worry about you having feelings for other guys.”

“I don’t have feelings for other guys.”

Joe still looked troubled. “I share a lot of stuff with you. Stuff about myself and my work, and I need to be able to do that without wondering where your loyalties are. I don’t want to be one of those cops who keeps it all inside and never talks about how he feels or what he did on the job.”

I knelt down in front of him and put my arms around his neck. His mouth found mine, but the kiss was light, his lips closed, and it ended when Charlie pushed his head in between us.

Joe smiled at Charlie but not at me. “Okay, Red. I’m going to take this note down to the station.”

He got up and went for his jacket.

“Aren’t you going to stay tonight?”

Joe was silent. He put on his coat and took forever putting his fingers into his gloves. He looked at me. “I need to get back to work.”

“I see.” But I didn’t.

“If anything happens tonight that scares you, call my cell. Otherwise, I’ll call when we’ve checked this note for prints.”

Out the door, into the snow now thick and wild around the front step. Then he was gone into the darkness.

  

I woke up late on Saturday. Snow covered the ground and the sky was pewter. More snow was due. My kitchen felt empty even though it was my favorite room in the house. Empty without Joe. Empty without croissants and jam and his arms around me. Even Charlie looked despondent. I made some coffee and then moved to the living room alcove to settle in front of my computer. Stacked on my desk were the personnel files for the entire faculty. Today I would have to re-read all the evaluations I planned to give next week. Nell had typed my notes and inserted them in each folder.

The phone rang. Joe’s voice. “Sorry, Red, we could not get any definitive prints off the note that was left in your mailbox either. Apparently the writer wears gloves when he wants to threaten you.”

“I see,” I said, my heart in my shoes. “Is it possible to see you?”

Long pause.

“Maybe for a drink later tonight. Gormley’s.”

“Thank you.” I hung up. Bad news. I felt sure the note was from Simon. I could picture Simon’s cold bony hands in rubber gloves writing the note. I could see his wrinkled angry face, full of hate. I should feel sorry for Simon, but I was too frightened of what he might do, might already have done. But maybe it was from George. Big, beefy George so willing to try to dominate and intimidate. Did you kill Henry, George? Do you plan to hurt me?

That night Joe met me at Gormley’s.

“You look good,” said Joe, swirling the bourbon in his glass. If only he could believe in me again.

“Thank you for seeing me,” I said.

“How’s Charlie?”

“He misses you.”

“You haven’t mentioned your dad lately. How’s he doing?”

“About the same as before. I rarely call now.”

He sat back in his chair, stretching his long legs under the table at an angle to mine but not touching them. He looked inviting and sexy but I didn’t dare move my leg to his.

“Tell me about your father. Did you love him?” Maybe if I could get him back to the subject of his own family, he would get comfortable with me again.

Joe looked away and pursed his lips. “I loved my dad. Maybe not as much as you love yours, but I loved him. So did my mother for all the good it did her. Sometimes I think her love for him is what ultimately killed her.”

“What makes you say that?”

“She pined for him. He was unaware for the most part, but he was always leaving us to go off on hunting trips, poker nights, baseball games, football games. Sometimes he took me to a game, but Mom and Elaine were left at home. My mother spent years trying to figure out what she had to say or do that would make him pay more attention, make him love her more.”

Joe shifted in his chair and looked at the duck prints above the bar. He spoke to the wall. “Mom even had a brief affair to try to make him jealous. But it didn’t make him jealous. It just gave him another excuse to go out with the guys and keep his distance from her.”

“Joe, you told me he was devastated after her death, that he lay on the kitchen floor all night.”

Joe turned his gaze back to me. I could see the pain. “That’s right. The night she died he realized what he had lost. For nights afterward I could hear him sobbing in his room—deep, heavy sobs I never thought possible from my father.”

“Are you like him at all?” Please Joe, don’t be.

Joe looked down at his hands. “I don’t want to be,” he said, and then looked back up at me. “I don’t want to be like her, either.”

That stung.

I wanted to touch his face and kiss his eyelids but I sat there, respecting the distance he had requested, watching his rugged face and the lines around his desirable mouth.

“If it’s any comfort, I don’t think you are like either of the parents you describe. You’re a good friend and a great lover. I’m just sorry I messed up what I know was a terrific relationship.”

He took a deep breath. “You’re very brave, Red. And very independent. You’ve been through more hell than anyone I know and you’re still standing, still fighting.”

Somehow, perhaps to justify the compliment, I began telling him about my childhood, my mother and my own problems with drinking in college. It was so easy to talk to Joe and so hard not to touch him. He listened quietly, his eyes fixed on me. His green eyes softened when I described my mother’s death.

“I think you may have had it rougher than I did,” he said.

“I think I grew up skittish about serious relationships. My past has made it hard for me to commit to anyone or anything but work. I tend to push people away, especially important people. I test people to make sure they really care. I tested you, Joe. And I didn’t have to. It was insane to let you believe for a single minute I’d ever had an affair with Max.”

“Red, I was an idiot about that. I couldn’t stand seeing you all upset and letting that son of a bitch get away with what he had done to one of your students. I couldn’t bear your compassion for him.”

“Maybe I was the idiot.”

Joe shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Face it. You were unquestionably wrong to let Max get away with having sex with Celeste. Even if he was your friend before, he’s not worthy of your friendship now. And when this investigation ends and we know who murdered Henry, I trust you are going to do the right thing about his behavior and his plagiarism.”

“When we know who murdered Henry,” I murmured as Joe stood and put on his jacket.

“When we know.”

Clearly, I was not forgiven.

I stared up at him, waiting for more. But there was no more and we went to our separate cars.