THE TRAGEDY
Rumi comes to Ford tonight without texting first, ravenous. He doesn’t say anything, just smiles that come-hither grin, slams the door behind him, and takes her in his arms, kissing her deeply.
“Good day?” she asks when they come up for air, but he whispers “No talking,” grabs her hand, and leads her to the bedroom, where he flips her on her stomach and takes her from behind.
While he makes sure she’s fully satisfied, tonight is clearly about him. When he finishes, shuddering against her back, he simply pulls up his jeans, gives her another long, soulful kiss, and starts for the door.
“Wait. Don’t you want a cocktail?”
He grins and shakes his head. “I only wanted you. Goodnight, Ford.”
He saunters off into the night. Ford closes the door behind him with an exaggerated sigh of pleasure.
Good grief. He certainly knows how to push her buttons and leave her wanting more. Where did he learn all his tricks? For someone so young—it has to be online porn. She doesn’t think he’s sleeping with anyone else, but what does she know? She’s never asked, and he’s never offered.
Besides, dating is reimagined now. With Tinder and Grindr and swiping, sex is free, built to resist commitment and responsibility, often completely disengaged from the act of love. It plays well for her purposes, it’s not like she wants a true relationship with him, for heaven’s sake, but she feels sorry for the girls of Goode as they make their way out into the world. They won’t know any other way. They will let strangers into their bodies and call it freedom.
Ford has had a few serious boyfriends and a few romping partners. She knows the difference between lust and love. She’s resisted marriage, fearing that inexorable slide into the status quo. She was not built for two point three kids and a dog, a house in the suburbs, a nanny for her children. She prefers the writer’s isolation, the romantic aloneness that will allow her observational access. One needn’t experience things firsthand to be a writer, one must only be a keen observer of setting and human nature.
She pours herself another whiskey—it might help her sleep, and she needs her rest to face the alumni association meeting tomorrow. The usual agenda was amended this afternoon to include a fund-raising update. She hopes to hear that a new endowment has been made.
Despite Rumi’s ministrations, she’s still upset about her meeting with Ash. She needs to get it off her mind and move on.
Something about the girl makes her uncomfortable.
She sits down at her desk, reads the few pages she’s written since term started. She hasn’t been working enough. At what point is she going to have to consider a sabbatical to finish the book?
Her phone begins to vibrate. She gives the screen a dirty look, then sighs heavily, pressing the speaker.
“Hello, Mother.”
“Ford, darling! How are you? Not in bed, I hope?”
“Why would I be in bed? It’s past eleven on a school night.”
“Sarcasm has never become you, Ford.”
“Sorry. What’s the matter?”
“Nothing’s the matter, darling. I’m in town and I thought we could have lunch.”
Ford sets her whiskey down with a thump. “You’re in Marchburg? Why?”
“Do I need a reason? I wanted to see you.”
“Are you staying at the house?”
“Where else would I stay? It’s my house.”
Perhaps that explains Rumi’s sudden appearance. The house sits on the edge of town quite near his cabin. He must have seen the lights. He could have warned her, though.
“I thought it would be fun to come for Odds and Evens weekend. I haven’t been here for an event in a long time. I miss it.”
“Really? That might not be the best idea, Mom.”
“Of course, it’s a good idea. I am a Westhaven, and I am still an alumnus of this institution, if you recall. It’s always been open to any alumnus who wishes to join in. Unless you’ve changed the rules?”
“No. We’d be delighted to have you.”
“Excellent. Now, there’s a little something I’ve been wanting to discuss with you. I’m sure you saw the new agenda item for the meeting tomorrow? A vast sum has been left to the endowment by Pearl George, class of ’42, who just passed away. But there’s a stipulation.”
“How vast a sum are we talking about?”
“One hundred and eighty million.”
“Holy cow. Seriously? That will push us over the billion-dollar mark. We’ll be at Exeter’s level. And how do you know about this?”
“Oh, you know how these things go. Little birds. I thought you’d want to know.”
“It’s fabulous news. What’s the stipulation?”
Jude sighs heavily. “The money is contingent on the school going coed.”
“You have to be kidding. An alum from that era wants a coed school?”
“Her husband inherited her estate, and he’s attached this condition.”
“Absolutely not. I will not bend on this matter. I will not allow Goode to go coed. It’s a shame, but we’ve turned down more before.”
She can hear the tick, tick, tick that signals her mother is flicking her nails against the table. “Here’s the thing, Ford. The alumni association wants the money. They want to surpass Exeter and Andover, you know that’s been on the ten-year plan.”
“The plan is to have an all-girls school at the top of the private school endowment list.”
“The goal, though, is to be first on the list. Goode could not only match but overtake Exeter with this bump.”
“No way, no how, Mother. I can’t believe they’ve sent you as their emissary on this. You, of all people, who drilled into me and anyone else who would listen the vital nature of an all-girls environment. You know we’ll lose more than we gain if we go coed. We’d lose every endowment that specified all-girls.”
“Actually, no, we won’t. There are ways to keep the system intact and still go coed. We’ve been—”
“‘We’? Who the hell is ‘we’?”
“Now, Ford, there’s no reason to get upset. The South needs a win. We must overtake the East Coast schools. This is our chance. The alumni—”
“You aren’t a part of the school anymore, Mother. And trust me, the board will not allow it. I’m shocked you’re even entertaining the thought.”
Jude sighs again. “The alumni association disagrees. Unlike the board, they haven’t cast me aside.”
The recrimination is clear.
“I just didn’t want you to be caught off guard, darling.”
“Thanks for the heads-up. I should go, I’ll need to prepare some numbers.”
“Do that. You’ll see how this can work. One more thing. I saw one of your girls in town today. She was talking to that boy. I trust you were informed?”
Oh, Mama, if you only knew. And fuck you, Rumi. You really could have given me a heads-up.
He’d met up with Ash? Neither of them had bothered to mention this.
“She’s already been disciplined. It won’t happen again.”
“If you don’t keep control of them, Ford, they will continue to walk all over you. I’ve told you time and again you’re much too loose with these girls.”
“No one is walking all over me. I handled it.”
“I see you still have that boy on staff. You would do well to get rid of him, Ford. No good will come of your charity.”
“Mother, this entire school was founded on charity for those who are in trouble. Rumi certainly counts. He wasn’t responsible for his father’s actions. He was only ten, for heaven’s sake. Why you’ve chosen him to blame when it was your negligence that got the girl killed astounds me. If you’d told the sheriff that Reynolds was harassing—”
Her mother’s voice is colder than ice. “How dare you? You listen to me, little girl. I most certainly did tell the sheriff. He chose not to do anything, which is why that idiot lost his job. Just like you took mine.”
Ford’s heard this all before. “It’s late. Do we have to do this now?”
“You started it, Ford. I suppose I’ll just go back to New York. You don’t want or need me. You’ve made that abundantly clear.”
“Wait, Mom,” but the call has ended, the phone is back to the home screen.
Since when does her mother speak for the alumni? There’s something bigger going on here.
Ford starts to dial Jude back, then changes her mind. She sends a text instead.
You could have warned me.
The reply comes almost immediately.
I gave you the strength to deal with her.
Strangely, she recognizes the truth in his statement. She’d gone into the call relaxed instead of tense and furious, her usual approach to her mother—and Jude to her. The bad blood between them is never going to be resolved. At least this argument has ended in passive-aggressive nonsense. No harm, no foul. What ridiculousness, to think of taking the money and going coed. It goes against everything Goode is.
Still, next time...a little heads-up would be nice. Also heard you met one of my girls today?
Three dots greet her. She waits. And waits. Then the screen clears, and there’s nothing. She shoots the rest of the whiskey.
“Thanks for nothing, Rumi.”
It takes ages to fall asleep, but she finally drifts off, only to be jerked awake by a scream, loud and piercing, over before her heart beats again.
The concussion carries, sounding for all the world like a cantaloupe dropped from a height. Whump. It is a sickening noise, and Ford, not knowing exactly what she’s heard but fearing the worst, is out the door and sprinting toward Main Hall before the glass she is holding crashes to the flagstone tiles.