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ON THE WAY HOME FROM campus, I stopped by Nishioka Drugs and bought a birthday card for Davison. He might not have been my favorite person in the whole world, but no one was going to accuse me of being a thoughtless, un-maternal birthday-forgetter.
When I got home, Davison was in my living room, bare feet on my coffee table, watching something on his phone.
“Eh, Molly, you been watching the feed?”
“Sorry. I don’t know what feed it is I should be watching. Davison, people eat off of that table.”
Davison pulled his feet off the coffee table and placed them on the floor.
“Come on, Molly. I know you not that old. The Mahina State news feed online. They send out announcements, what’s going on and stuff. It used to be so junk an’ boring, but now it’s funny. Mister Flanagan’s doing it now, is why. Listen to this: Mahina State Slogan Contest. Now in the lead: Mahina State, Not as Bad as Everyone Says.”
“I hope he doesn’t get in trouble.” I went into my little office (a tiny space, which originally served as a telephone nook adjacent to the main living area), set down my bag, started up my computer and navigated to my course website.
“Eh Molly, you looking at the feed now?” Davison called from my couch.
“No. I’m going to try to get caught up on my grading.”
He was quiet for a few seconds and then,
“Eh Molly, what’s this mean?”
“Can I look at it later?” I called out, but he was already walking his phone over to me.
“Try look.”
The official Mahina State feed, tagged #AlohaState, showed a muscled, shirtless man working under the hood of a classic Mustang, his glistening brown arms covered with triangular Polynesian tattoos.
“It looks like a plug for our automotive repair program,” I said.
“What’s this mean, right here?” Davison pointed.
“I have no idea.” I turned back to my computer and pulled up the course assignment page. “You’ll have to ask Pat.”
As soon as Davison was back on the couch, I pulled my phone out of my bag.
Are you trying to get fired? I texted Pat.
I didn’t get a response. He was probably back up the mountain already. I sure wouldn’t want to live off the grid, far from modern conveniences like county water and reliable phone service, but Pat really loved his place. It occurred to me that if Pat was really attached to the place, he might have killed Randy Randolph for it, but I quickly dismissed the idea.
I tried to tune out the TV noise (Davison had turned on some kind of sporting event) and pulled up the list of uploaded papers from the Intro to Business Management class. This week’s assignment had been a gimme—or so I’d assumed. I’d asked my Intro students to find and describe an instance of an unsuccessful product launch from an otherwise successful company. I thought it would be an easy, fun project. Back in class, we’d have fun picking apart Colgate frozen dinners, McDonald’s hotels, and Smith & Wesson bicycles.
Unfortunately, fewer than half my students had done the assignment. Well, as Emma liked to say, “You can lead your students to water, but then you have to restrain yourself from holding their heads under the surface until they stop struggling.” On the bright side, tonight’s grading workload was half of what I’d thought it would be.
I was interrupted by my ringing phone.
“Is Donnie there?” Emma’s voice squawked on my speaker.
“Dad’s not home,” Davison bellowed over the sound of cheering on my television. I considered telling him to turn it off, but if I did, he’d just grump around the house, complaining about how bored he was and pestering me to drive him somewhere.
“Let me take you off speaker. No, Donnie’s not here. What’s up? Do you need to talk to him?”
“No, I want to talk about him, so I gotta make sure he’s not standing right there. Molly, I’ve been thinking about it, and I’ve decided Donnie is not having an affair.”
“Looks like I took you off speaker just in time.”
“I know, not a lot of privacy in your little house, ah? I dunno how you can stand it. Anyways, if Donnie was really screwing around on you, he’d be sneaking out to a hotel all secret, not sitting in a classroom where everyone could see him.”
“I hope you’re right,”
“I am right. Seriously, think about it. What are him and Nicole Nixon gonna do in an unlocked classroom, where anyone could walk in? I mean, I guess if they really wanted to they could bring in a blanket and—”
“Emma, have you been watching the Mahina State feed?”
“Nah. Why would I? I get enough propaganda in my email.”
“Well, you should take a look. I think Pat’s livened things up a little.”
I heard quiet clicking, and then a whoop of laughter.
“Well, they did want to get people talking about Mahina State.” Emma chuckled. “Remember what Pat was telling us at that donor dinner? He said his new boss wanted him to be his quote ‘edgy’ self.”
“I’m not sure they really meant it.” I lowered my voice, annoyed because I was unable to have a private conversation in my own home. “I hope Victor Santiago doesn’t clap him into the iron maiden over this. I sure wouldn’t want to get crosswise with the guy.”
“Victor seems okay. I don’t think he’s so scary.”
I heard the bathroom door close and lock, followed by the sound of water running. Davison had decided to take a shower, which meant I was shut out of my own bathroom for the foreseeable future, but on the plus side, I could speak in a normal voice again without being overheard.
“You don’t think Victor Santiago is scary?” I asked Emma. “You’re the one who said he looked like the Grand Inquisitor.”
“That wasn’t me. It was Pat. I think you’re both racially biased.”
“Oh no, I remember. You were the one who said he had a devil beard.”
“To describe is neither to endorse nor to condemn,” Emma declared.
“Uh-huh.”
“You think Victor looks scary ’cause he’s not all-American white bread, like you and Pat. Have you ever noticed in the movies? The bad guy’s always brown.”
“That’s not true. A lot of Hollywood villains are blonde Aryan types. Besides, I am not biased. My own husband is swarthy.”
“And you think he’s a bad guy.”
“Only because he’s having an affair with Nicole Nixon.”
“Anyway, Donnie’s not swarthy.”
“What? Of course he is.”
“No, he’s not. He’s totally smooth.”
That stumped me.
“Emma, what do you think swarthy means?”
“It means hairy.”
“It does not. It means dark-skinned. Why would I say Donnie’s hairy?”
“I don’t know why you’d say it ’cause it isn’t true.”
“I know it isn’t true.”
“Geez Molly, you don’t hafta shout.”
“All I’m saying is hairy is not at all the same thing as swarthy. Donnie is swarthy. He is not hairy, and I am not shout—”
I heard Davison emerge from the bathroom. At least he’d kept his shower short this time. The last time he was in there for so long, he’d emptied out my entire hot water tank.
“Whoa. I just scrolled to the last thing on Pat’s feed.”
“The shirtless guy working on the car?” I confirmed.
“Come for the open admissions, stay for the rough trade?”
“I know. I texted him and asked if he’s trying to get fired.”
“He’s pushing it. Hey, so are you gonna ask Donnie what he was doing on campus with Nicole or what?”
“I’m not up to any kind of confrontation right now. I think I’ll wait until Davison’s gone back to school before I decide how I want to deal with this.”
“So you’re just gonna simmer and stew while Donnie tries to guess how come you’re so grumpy?”
“Something like that. Emma, I have to go. It’s my call waiting. Pat’s calling me back.”
“Okay. Ask him what he was thinking, and then call me back and tell me.”