Chapter Four

WITH STUDENTS BACK and classes starting the following day, Isaac attended his first faculty meeting with Meeks at the helm. He knew the gist of how these things went, having been an English Department head himself for seven years at Broad College in Charleston before—well, before everything went to hell.

Usually, there were boring discussions of administrative tasks and vague talks about “goals.” After all his morbid research into the shooting, Isaac expected this particular faculty meeting to be different, though. He expected his coworkers to relive the shooting, bemoan the absence of Dr. Abby Blake, who’d been at Hambden for over a decade before Chris Frank had shot her in the head. Instead, her replacement, Meeks, discussed code of conduct as if nothing horrible had happened.

Isaac needed to talk to John. More than talk, really; he wanted to lock the guy in a basement to ensure he never did something foolhardy again. This protectiveness over an almost stranger was unusual for Isaac, but there was no use questioning its existence. Already, John inspired in Isaac a need to shield, like a wolf protecting its cub. Mess with him; mess with me. Maybe because he looked so frail, or maybe because Isaac couldn’t get the image of John with a gun to his throat out of his head.

They sat across from each other in the circle of desks and chairs, arranged in the middle of a large classroom on Ellis’s third floor. Tommy was to John’s right and Cleo to his left. Slouched in his seat, John resembled a high school cool kid—the one who smoked cigarettes and took virginities. It was the hair that did it, added that touch of devil-may-care, along with the full mouth and hooded gaze. Cleo leaned to the side and wrote something in John’s notebook. He read and mouthed, “No.” Tommy whispered until John leaned closer, heads almost touching, and smiled.

“Now, I know we’ve been through a lot together,” Meeks said, voice suddenly louder as if she knew Isaac hadn’t been paying attention. “We all miss Abby and Demi. We need to lean on each other in this difficult time. We need to seek comfort in each other—but not too much comfort, if you get my meaning. You all remember what happened to Dr. Lancaster and Ms. Brown. Just because people are dead doesn’t mean rules go out the window.”

Isaac tried to swallow down his shock over her insensitivity, but no one else seemed surprised. Apparently, Meeks wore callous well.

She crossed her arms over her business suit, worn at the elbows. “We do still have counselors in place for students who need them—and faculty too. Those services are free for all of you. You’ve been trained to look for warning signs. If you think a student is having trouble, report it immediately, and—”

John’s deep voice interrupted. “What’s that going to accomplish? You want us to throw kids off campus if they seem twitchy?” He glared at her, waiting, and she glared back. No love lost between these two, evidently.

“No,” Meeks said. “Just trying to be aware.”

Isaac bit the insides of his cheeks and frowned around futility.

After the meeting, Isaac had to chase John out to College Green—the guy moved so fast from the classroom and down the steps. John had really long legs, so Isaac took a few jogging steps to catch up. “Hey, John.”

He stopped walking and smiled. “Remember how to teach yet?”

“Not in any way.”

John seemed so happy, gazing up at Isaac. He almost hated to ruin it.

“You were relieved I didn’t know anything about the shooting.”

As expected, John’s face fell.

“Hambden hero.”

John tucked some hair behind his ear, but a breeze immediately blew the strands free, along with a whiff of John’s scent. “Someone’s been googling.”

Isaac stepped a little closer so people passing couldn’t hear. “I know you don’t think you’re a hero, but you are. What you did was incredibly brave.”

John exhaled loudly through his nose and closed his eyes. When he opened them, dark in the dim morning light, his gaze studied the brick sidewalk in the direction of downtown. “Coffee?”

They walked side by side to a coffee shop on Union called Donkey. The walls were painted dark brown to give the appearance of wood, while the floor was bright cedar. Everywhere floated the scent of coffee beans. They both ordered tall French roasts at John’s insistence—“It’s the best coffee outside my kitchen”—and sat on opposite ends of a long, purple couch. With one knee pulled up, John might as well have been lounging around at home. Isaac sipped the scalding coffee and winced at its strength.

John snorted. “You’ll only be wide awake for a couple days.”

“No kidding.”

“Chris came to my office the week before it happened.”

John’s change in topic was even more shocking than the coffee.

“I knew something was wrong, but it was finals week, and I was so fucking busy. Too busy to listen.” He sipped from his huge mug and stared at the floor.

“Do you blame yourself?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“You couldn’t have known.”

“No. No one expects…that. Maybe we should, though.”

Isaac wrapped his palms around his scalding mug. “What did you say to him that day on College Green?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Liar.”

John smiled and hid behind his hair. Isaac was beginning to wonder if he kept it long solely for that purpose.

“He was a good writer. Chris. Really good.” He poked and tugged on a frayed couch cushion. “Of course, nobody’s going to remember that now.”

“You will.”

John cleared his throat. “Why did you come here for work anyway? From what I’ve heard from Meeks, we couldn’t get qualified faculty within twenty miles of this place. What are you, an ambulance chaser?”

“No.” There was so much he could have said about his old life, his own tragedies. He could have been open to John as John was being open with him. Instead, he shrugged and said, “I just didn’t know.”

John lifted his other leg onto the couch and practically curled into a pretzel. “How did you not know? Been living under a rock?”

Keep it vague. “I was busy dealing with personal things.”

“Personal things. Sounds very hush-hush. Mob put a price on your head?”

Isaac thought of his cell phone. The constant texts and calls from Simon had stopped recently, but that didn’t mean anything was resolved. The quiet was more warning than relief. He sucked in a breath when John snapped his fingers in front of his face.

“Oh, my God, the mob did put a price on your head. How much? I could really use the extra cash.”

Isaac laughed. “No. No, I’m sorry. I think this coffee is melting my brain.”

“It’s supposed to have the opposite effect.”

To distract any and all attention from himself, Isaac said the first thing that came to mind. “Is Tommy in love with you?”

John’s eyes widened. “Shit, man, uh, no. I mean, he’s straight. He loves the chicks. We love each other like brothers do.”

“He seems worried about you.”

He leaned his head back against the couch. “Well, I did almost use my neck to catch a bullet last year, and Tommy had to sit there and watch. I assume that fucked him up a bit.”

Isaac replayed the images of that day in his head again and shivered, suddenly cold.

John put his hand on his knee and gave it a quick, friendly squeeze. “See, ‘don’t be awkward.’ Totally failing today.”

“You’re fine.”

“That’s what all the boys say.” He waggled his dark eyebrows.

Isaac sputtered around a sip of coffee. Not a dull moment with John Conlon.