Mind Change

by T'Gracie Reese

  Rick told her he’d bought the cabin several years ago as a kind of time-share venture with a co-worker or two, his lawyer friend and a computer salesman who’d since moved away. For the first year or two, he explained, the group had spent a good deal of time in it, four or five of them having a boys night out occasionally, playing poker and drinking beer until late on Friday nights, and canoeing off the hangover at whatever time on Saturday they chose to rise.

  They stopped at a grocery store some miles beyond the city limits. Rick went inside and bought dinner for them––ground beef for stroganoff and a bottle of red wine.

  After about twenty minutes more, they turned off the main road and started meandering the van over a rutted gravel lane that led through thick firs and balsams, getting just a glance here and there of the lake.

  The cabin looked inviting. There was a pier leading out to the green glass-still lake, the surface of which was dotted only by a few double-bump bullfrog heads and up-jutting logs that had once been willow trees. The swing and flier-chairs still sat placidly in the screened-in porch.

  “Well, we’re here.”

  “This is nice, Rick.”

  “The guys and I don’t come out here nearly as much as we used to. Somehow we just can’t bear the thought of getting rid of it.”

  They got out of the van.

  The lake, she noted, had begun to make its late afternoon/evening sounds. There were no longer the tree frogs and humming mosquitoes of mid-summer evenings, but the crows still circled and cawed, and some kind of animal––maybe a deer––could be heard crunching quietly over the fallen leaves and decomposing twigs.

  They crossed the porch, which overlooked the lake. Rick unlocked the door and they went inside.

  He took the groceries into the kitchen, saying over his shoulder:

  “Would you open a window?”

  “Sure.”

  The cabin still had the musty smell of a place infrequently occupied, but, as she opened the window behind a green leather sofa, she could feel cool, pine-cone-scented air float in.

  “I might go out on the porch,” she said, “and sit on that swing.”

  “Good idea. Can I bring you a cup of coffee? We always keep some here.”

  “That would be great.”

  She sat down on the swing, slipped her shoes off, and propped her bare feet on a wooden rail that surrounded the porch.

  On the other side of the lake, a hundred yards or so away, a deer walked into a clearing. She could see him stop, raise his antlered-head that was somehow not-brown not-gray but the exact color of the whole surrounding forest, then lower his head and meander away.

  After a few minutes, Rick joined her, and they rocked together, looking out across the water.

  “You going to take the job Lucinda offered you?” he asked.

  She sipped her cup of coffee and watched cream swirl in it.

  “How did you know I wanted cream?” she asked, quietly.

  “I don’t know. I just did. I was right, wasn’t I?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, are you going to take the job?”

  “I don’t know. It’s scary.”

  “Why is it scary?”

  “Because she may be insane.”

  “Well, there’s that.”

  “And even if she isn’t insane, half of the people in town hate her now.”

  “That’s true.”

  “And then of course there’s––”

  “What?”

  She sipped again.

  The coffee was perfect.

  But, for that matter, the lake was perfect.

  “I just––my home is in Bay St. Lucy.”

  He nodded.

  “Yeah. Anybody special there?”

  “Everybody there is special. It’s my home. Has been all my life. Mine and Frank’s.”

  “How long has Frank been gone, Nina?”

  “Ten years.”

  “I see.”

  “Look,” she said.

  “What?”

  “The deer is back.”

  “Is that the same one or a different one?”

  “The first one,” she continued, “was a buck. Horns. This one is the doe.”

  “So I guess they belong together.”

  “Yes.”

  “Would be unnatural for them not to be.”

  She did not answer.

  “Yeah.”

  They swung for a time.

  “What do you think will happen, Rick?”

  He shook his head.

  “I don’t know. I keep thinking, there’s no way she’s going to pull this off. And yet, she keeps pulling it off. Then I think of you, going around the state, rounding up the great teachers, the really fantastic ones, and bringing them all here…”

  “I’m not sure I could do that.”

  “Of course, you could. Not many people could. But you could.”

  “Why me? Why could I and not somebody else?”

  “I don’t know. But you could.”

  They were silent for a time.

  “Okay, so we know all about me,” she said. “What about you? Who is Rick Barnes?”

  He smiled:

  “All right. I was born here and went to a high school. I was kind of a loner. I got okay grades, but wasn’t much of an athlete, so had a mediocre social life. There were a few girls, but no one special.”

  “And there never has been?”

  “No, it just never happened.”

  His cell phone rang.

  “Hey.”

  “Barnes?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Okay, the faculty and administration are striking back.”

  “That figures.”

  “The Provost has just arrived back in town from a conference, on a private jet from Vicksburg. A lot of other suits are pouring in. They’ve been networking with other faculty and research interests, whatever those are. But there’s a lot of them, and there’s big, big money at stake here. Herndon may be crazy, but when she talks about billions of dollars, she’s right on. The hundred or so biggest universities have budgets bigger than the hundred or so biggest corporations.”

  “So what’s happening?”

  “Damage control as much as possible. And then, they’ve called a meeting.”

  “What kind of meeting?”

  “Parents and students. Tonight, eight o’clock.”

  “Where?”

  “The stadium.”

  “The stadium?”

  “Rick, busloads of people have been pouring in all afternoon. Nobody knows what’s going on. They’ll have more than five thousand parents here, some praising Herndon, some cursing her. Once you get the media, the ACLU, the AAUP––the damned AAA for all I know––anyway, the place will be filled.”

  “What are these suits going to say?”

  “What can they say? The whole thing is a horrible mistake. The President is––”

  “Crazy?”

  “They don’t want to say that. But they’re going to say the Board had no idea what she meant to do––”

  “––which is a lie.”

  “––and basically told her not to do it.”

  “––which is a damned lie.”

  “Then they’re going to replace Herndon with the Provost.”

  “Where’s the President now?”

  “Nobody knows. Nobody can get a statement out of her.”

  “So this is basically over, right?”

  “I don’t know. Billions of dollars? Herndon’s got some big politicos on her side, too. And a lot of just plain simple people out there who’re asking if this money is really being wasted, and, if so, why. Oh, and one more thing––”

  “Yeah?”

  “You gotta get here for this meeting, Rick. This whole thing is your baby.”

  “I know.”

  “So my advice is to stay wherever you are for now, and lie low for a few hours. Then make your way back into town. See you at the stadium.”

/>   “Okay, boss.”

  Then he hung up.

  “You heard, Nina?”

  She nodded.

  “You have a loud cell phone.”

  “I have to go back into town and cover that meeting.”

  “I know.”

  “You can stay out here if you want to. It may get ugly.”

  “I can get ugly too.”

  He smiled.

  “I guess I haven’t seen that side of you.”

  “Be glad.”

  “Well. We have a couple of hours. Then let’s make our stroganoff and we’re off, back into town. Want to go out on the pier and fish a little?”

  She shook her head:

  “What I want to do is lie down on the bed for an hour or so and just try to rest.”

  “I can understand that.”

  “These last hours…”

  “Yeah, I know. So. I’ll do the fishing. Maybe get a catfish or two. You take it easy.”

  “Thanks.”

  He went outside, and, after a time, she could hear what she assumed to be fishing gear rattling on the porch.

  She lay down on the small, but neatly made bed in a corner of the living room.

  She stared at the ceiling.

  She was tired. So much had happened since this morning. The brief meeting with Lucy, following her to Grierson Hall, the shocking and impossible announcement, the board meeting, the adjunct meeting, the offer of this incredible job—a job that no one had ever been offered before— ––all of these things had happened.

  But they were not the problem, of course.

  They were not the things that mattered.

  Other things had happened.

  Rick had happened.

  Why was being around him so easy?

  The feelings that she thought might be arising in her no longer existed. Had no longer existed.

  Frank.

  Frank?

  Where was Frank when she needed him?

  And then it was not Frank who came to talk to her, but Nina herself.

  And Nina said to her:

  Frank is dead. You may see him again, in another life. But for now, he is dead.

  Then she thought of those feelings.

  Were they dead?

  Then, finally, she dozed off to sleep.

  When she awoke, the window was open. Had it been open the whole time? Probably.

  The world had darkened, gradually.

  Propped on an elbow, she could see porch lights begin to come on in cabins to the right and left, bordering the lake. She got to her feet, went to the kitchen, and saw that Rick had started the water boiling for the stroganoff noodles.

  In a skillet to the side, the beef browned with sauce simmering with it softly. The kitchen was in a kind of purple half-light that came just before darkness.

  “What time is it?” she asked, a bit groggily.

  “Six-fifteen. We need to leave here in about half an hour. I’m not sure I want to get back into town until after dark.”

  “You’re joking, I guess.”

  He shook his head:

  “No.”

  The lake in near-darkness; a huge orange moon coming up over the black tree line—

  He dished up the stroganoff and poured a glass of wine for each of them.

  They ate on the porch.

  “I hope you take the job,” he said.

  “Yeah.”

  “I know you think it would be scary, but it would be nice to have you in town.”

  “That’s the scary part, Rick.”

  “Am I that scary?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why? What about me is scary?”

  “Nothing. And that’s what frightens me.”

  They ate, drank their wine, and said nothing more.

  CHAPTER NINE: THE STADIUM

  There was something sentimental, she mused, about driving into town on a Friday night and seeing the lights of the football stadium. Something intimate about the enclosed darkness of the car, the glittering evening star in the west, where the sky was still a kind of darker than royal, royal blue––and the lights themselves announcing like a huge carnival that our town is showing itself tonight!

  They drove straight to The Gazette office to find Penn Robinson standing in the door, wearing a suit. She thought it seemed strange to see him wearing a suit. It was a dark brown suit, covering a light yellow shirt bisected by a dark brown tie, not quite—disastrously, fashion-wise––the same color of the suit.

  Making him look ridiculous.

  He waved them into his inner sanctum, the same room where they’d been several hours before.

  She noticed, as they walked past the various alcoves, booths, and cubicles, a great may new faces.

  Reporters.

  Important reporters, who were talking non-stop on cell phones, and had no time to look up as they passed.

  Robinson closed the door behind them.

  The room was in semi-darkness, probably the way he wanted it.

  “All hell is breaking loose,” he said.

  “So, is she fired?”

  “Not officially, yet. The Board is going to make that announcement tonight. I think it will be in a press conference outside the stadium. Then the Chairman of the Board of Regents will introduce the Provost as the new president, and they’ll all speak publically to the parents––and God knows who else––inside the stadium. It’s like I told you on the phone, Rick: they’re going to say it was a huge mistake. The Board was misquoted at their meeting today. By you. And they’re going to imply that the president has lost her marbles.”

  “Where,” asked Nina, “is she?”

  “Still in the Residence.”

  “Has anybody been able to get to see her?”

  He shook his head.

  “It’s like a police state over there. There have been all kinds of threats against her. Bomb threats, even. I mean, you just can’t fire twelve hundred people and go walking around like nothing’s happening.”

  “Have you tried to call her?” I asked.

  “Sure. Everybody’s trying to get through. The campus police aren’t letting anybody in. My guess is they’re following orders by the Board and the Provost. Tomorrow, they’re probably going to tell us she’s under some kind of medication. Treatment for stress, that kind of thing. She’s probably going crazy over there, but we’ll never get through to her.”

  Then Nina remembered.

  “I have a phone number,” she said. “Lucinda gave it to me this morning. She said I could always reach her at this number, no matter what else was happening.”

  She took out her cell phone, found the card with the private number that Lucinda Herndon had given her this morning, and dialed it.

  The president answered immediately.

  “Nina!” she said, gleefully. “How wonderful to hear from you! Isn’t it a marvelous day!”

  Robinson and Barnes stared open-mouthed, first at each other, then at Nina.

  “Nina,” the president continued, “we’re going to be unveiling some incredible programs in the next two or three hours. I want Rick to publicize them to the world.”

  “She is,” Robinson whispered, “absolutely insane. Doesn’t she know she’s going to be fired in the next two or three hours?”

  “I wouldn’t bet on it,” said Rick, quietly.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. It’s just––this woman––I just wouldn’t bet on it.”

  “Lucinda,” Nina continued on the cell phone, “are you all right?”

  “Of course! Why do you ask?”

  “It’s just that––at the meeting tonight––”

  “And isn’t that a lovely idea! I do so appreciate the outgoing faculty and the provost for getting such a nice crowd together. It’s predominantly parents, you know. I so look forward to talking with them.”

  Robinson through up his hands and whispered, almost in desperation:

  “They’re not going to let her out of the Residence!
She’s gone completely out of her mind!”

  “Lucy,” Nina continued, “we’re getting word that the Provost––”

  “Yes,” they could all hear her say through the cell phone, “he’s back in town. The dear man. Well, it’s nice of him to come. We shall make him feel very welcome. The crowd will be appreciative. Now I must hang up, for there are so many other things to prepare!”

  “Lucy––”

  “Good bye, dear!”

  She hung up.

  Penn Robinson shrugged his shoulders.

  “Crazy as a loon.”

  “So, what do you want me to do now, boss?”

  “It’s like this afternoon. You’re still the damned story. Every reporter in town wants to talk to you, to get you to admit you made up the whole thing.”

  “That’s what the Board is saying, is it?”

  “That’s it. And they’re going to say it publically.”

  They finally reached the stadium and made their way through Gate 24. The thing Nina was to remember most vividly was, with all the sounds, the blaring bullhorns, the clattering of horses’ hooves, the tumult of usually normal voices now getting louder and louder simply in an effort to be heard––with all these things, plus the helicopters roaring over the stadium, manned by police with spyglasses, reporters with laptops, and politicians with microphones––the thing she was to remember most vividly was thinking, “this is the State Fair on Opening Day, or it’s the Biggest Game of the Year, or it’s the World Series!” but without any fun attached, and with no food.

  There were a few reporters, especially clustered around a large open area to the north of the stands, which was covered now with electric wires that matted over it like yellow, plastic-covered fibers of a huge electronic video spider’s web. It was ringed by lights and suits, and more lights and suits, with policemen and national guardsmen.

  A platform had been set up. Ringing this platform were the Board members. The Chairperson of the Board of Regents tapped once on the microphone, making it squawk successfully for silence: “My name is Barbara Richardson. I serve as Chairperson of the Board of Regents. I want to make a few remarks to some of you, though our official statement will be made later, out in the stadium. At that time I shall apologize on behalf of the Board of Regents for the distressing, not to say frightening, events of today. Our hearts go out to the families of the faculty members and administrators whose lives have been shaken by this morning’s announcements from the Office of the President.”