“Huh?”
“Your hat. I never see you without it.”
“It’s the Red Sox.”
“Well, you should at least wash it.”
He pulled it off, leaving a hat-shaped indentation in his baby-fine blond hair, and smiled down at the brim. “My dad bought this for me when we went to a Red Sox game. They lost that day to the Yankees, but it was still pretty great, being in the stands. Eating hot dogs and ice cream. Having my dad there with me.” Cody caressed the grease stain on the brim, like Aladdin rubbing his magic lamp, hoping for the genie to appear. “It was the last day we spent together. Before . . . you know.”
“Where’s he living now?”
“Somewhere in Arizona. I got a card from him at Christmas. He said maybe I could come visit him one of these days. Said he’ll take me camping.”
No, he won’t, she thought. Because dads who left their families never kept any of the promises they made. They didn’t want visits. They didn’t want to be reminded of the kids they’d abandoned. They wanted to forget they even existed.
Cody sighed and mashed the Red Sox hat back onto his head. “You ever see your dad?”
“Never. Not in years. He doesn’t care, and I don’t either.”
“Of course you care. He’s your dad.”
“Well, I don’t.” She stuffed her books and papers into her backpack and rose to leave. “Neither should you.”
“Taryn, wait.”
By the time he caught up with her, she was already out of the building and walking so fast across the quad that he was panting hard just to stay apace.
“I’m sorry I mentioned your dad,” he says.
“I don’t want to talk about him. Not ever.”
“Maybe you need to talk about him. Look, I know he walked out on you, but so did my dad. It’s something we just have to live with. It hurts, but it also makes us stronger.”
“No, it doesn’t. You know what it makes us? Damaged. It makes us rejects.”
She halted in the center of the quad and turned to face him. He flinched, as if she were about to strike him. As if he were afraid of her, which he probably was, on some level. Afraid of losing her or infuriating his one good friend on this campus.
“When someone says they love you, it should mean forever,” she said. “It should be something you can count on, something you can stake your life on. But my dad, he couldn’t be bothered to stick around. He left the people he was supposed to love. I hope he burns in hell.”
Cody stared at her, taken aback by her fury. “I’d never do that to you, Taryn,” he said softly.
The breath suddenly whooshed out of her; so did the rage. “I know.”
Cody touched her arm, tentatively, as if she might singe him. When she didn’t pull away, he put his arm around her shoulder. His touch was meant to be comforting, but she didn’t want him to get the idea there could ever be anything between them, not in the way he hoped.
She pulled away. “I’m done studying for the night. I’m going home.”
“I’ll walk you there.”
“No, I’m fine. See you tomorrow.”
“Taryn?” he called, so plaintively that she couldn’t just walk away. She turned to see him standing alone under the lamppost. His hulking body cast a mountainous shadow. “Liam’s not worth it,” he said. “You can do better. A lot better.”
“Why are you talking about him?”
“Because that’s what this is really all about, isn’t it? It’s not about your dad leaving you. It’s about Liam ignoring you. Shutting you out. You don’t need him.”
“You don’t understand anything about him and me.”
“I understand more than you think. I understand he doesn’t deserve you. What I don’t understand is why you won’t let him go, when there are other guys who’d be better for you. Who want to be with you.” She couldn’t see his eyes in the shadow of his baseball cap, but she could hear the longing in his voice. “I know you’ve been with him forever, but that doesn’t mean it’s going to last.”
“It’s what we planned. It’s why I’m on this campus. Because we promised to stick together, no matter what.”
“Then why isn’t he here? Why doesn’t he answer when you call?”
“Because he’s studying. Or he’s in class.”
“He’s not in class now.”
She pulled out her cell phone and dialed Liam’s number. The call went straight to voice mail. She stared at the screen, and a possibility dawned on her, one she’d refused to consider.
“Give me your phone,” she said to Cody.
“Is something wrong with yours?”
“Just give it to me.”
He handed his phone to her and watched as she called Liam. It rang three times, and then she heard: “Hello?”
“I’ve been calling you all day. You never called back.”
There was a long silence. Too long. “I can’t talk now, Taryn. I’m in the middle of something.”
“In the middle of what? I need to see you.”
“What’s this number you’re calling from?”
“It’s my friend’s phone. I haven’t been able to reach you. I thought maybe you accidentally blocked me.”
“Look, I have to go.”
“Call me? Call me later, no matter what time it is.”
“Yeah. Sure.”
The connection cut off. She stared at the phone, stunned by how abruptly Liam had ended the conversation.
“So what did he say?”
Cody had been watching her the whole time, and she didn’t like his knowing look. She slapped the phone into his hand. “None of your business.”
CHAPTER 9
JACK
“I’m still guessing this back pain is nothing but a strained muscle,” said Charlie as Jack drove him to his hospital appointment. “I don’t know if these x-rays are necessary. And you sure didn’t need to drive me there, boyo.”
“No problem. It’s my day off.”
“On a Friday, huh? Nice schedule you got there.”
“The perks of being a university professor.” Jack glanced at his father-in-law, whose face had suddenly tightened with what he had to assume was pain. “You hurting?”
“A little.” Charlie gave a wave. “Nothing Tylenol can’t fix. Anyway, aches and pains come with the age. Wait till you’re seventy; you’ll see how hard it is just getting out of bed in the morning. Maggie says maybe all I need is physical therapy or a massage or two. I’m just hoping she doesn’t insist I go to a yoga class or some fool thing.”
“Yoga’s good for you.”
Charlie snorted. “Can you see me in one of those tighty-tight outfits, doing the downward beagle or whatever they call it?” He looked at Jack. “This summer if I’m feeling better, maybe we can all go on a biking trip out west.” He reached into his jacket pocket and unfolded a glossy travel brochure. “Look at this. Backroads has a trek in Bryce Canyon. That’s something I’d like us to do together, while I still can. After all, I’m now a card-carrying septuagenarian.” He drew out the syllables as if pronouncing the word for the first time.
“Yeah, but a young sep-tu-a-gen-ar-ian.”
“When I was with Cambridge PD, I didn’t take nearly enough vacations. I spent too much precious time with the goddamn scum of the earth. Assholes you’d never miss if they got popped in the head with a bullet. Instead I should’ve taken more trips with Annie. Gone on that Alaska cruise she always wanted to take. Jesus, I regret that. Now I’ve gotta make up for lost time.” Charlie looked at Jack. “So see if Maggie can get that time off in June. About ten days.”
“I’ll ask her.”
“And the trip is on me. All expenses paid.”
“Really? How come?”
“Because I’d rather enjoy my loot while I’m still alive and not have you spend your inheritance on memorial gutters.”
“That’s very generous of you. But we still need new gutters.”
“You work on getting her to take some time off.�
�� He looked at Jack again. “Getting away together would be good for both of you.”
“We could certainly use a vacation. A chance to unwind.”
“And do other things.”
“Other things?”
He winked. “I’m still hoping to see a grandchild one of these days.”
“I’m hoping so, too, Charlie.”
“So when’s it going to happen? I hope while I’m still young enough to throw him baseballs.”
The subject of children was so painful that for a moment, Jack didn’t respond. He just kept driving, wishing he could avoid even thinking about the question.
“She’s still shook up about that last miscarriage, isn’t she?” Charlie said.
“She took it pretty hard. We both did.”
“That happened a year ago, Jack.”
“Doesn’t make it hurt any less.”
“I know, I know. But you’re both still young. You’ve got plenty of time to have kids. My Annie was almost forty-two when she finally had Maggie. Greatest gift God could’ve given me. You’ll know what I mean when you’re holding one of your own.”
“I’m working on it,” was all Jack could think of saying.
“Then think about Bryce Canyon, okay? The two of you in a romantic hotel room. It’d be a great place to start.”
Jack did think about it. That afternoon, as he sat grading papers in the Garrison Hall Dunkin’ café, the Bryce Canyon brochure kept calling to him. He set aside the stack of student essays and stared instead at the brochure’s tempting vistas and suntanned faces. A week together in a beautiful place was exactly what they both needed. Maybe Charlie was right; maybe it was time to try again for that baby.
“Professor Dorian?”
Through the noisy buzz of conversation in the café, he almost missed the greeting. Only when she repeated it did he finally look up to see Taryn standing beside his table, backpack slung over her shoulder. She flicked a strand of hair off her face, a gesture that seemed more nervous than casual.
“I know it’s your day off, but they told me in your office that I might find you here,” she said. “Do you have a few minutes to talk?”
He slipped the brochure into his briefcase and gestured to the chair across from him. “Sure, have a seat.”
She draped her parka over the chair and sat down. Although they regularly met in class and had on occasion chatted in passing, this was the first time he’d sat and studied her closely. Tawny eyes shone from an open, intelligent face. She wore no makeup, making her appear both innocent and vulnerable. A hairline scar above her full lips made him wonder how she’d been injured—perhaps a childhood spill off a bicycle? A tumble from a tree?
She took out her laptop and set it on the table. “I’ve just come up with a topic for my final paper, and I want to run it by you,” she said, getting straight to business. “I’m thinking of writing about Dido and Aeneas, because it’s their story I keep coming back to. Well, her story, anyway.”
“Yes, it was apparent in class that you felt a connection with Queen Dido. What will be your focus?”
“They’re clearly both passionate characters, but their passions are at odds with each other. He cares more deeply about his public duty, and he betrays her to fulfill his destiny. She’s completely invested in her love for him, and she makes the ultimate sacrifice for that love.”
“Public duty versus private desire. Duty versus love.”
“Exactly. In fact that might be a good title—Duty versus Love.” She tapped out some notes. “I’ve read what other scholars have written about The Aeneid, and I hate how so many of them view Dido as a stereotypical female—irrational, emotional, even pitiful. They believe her femininity threatens Aeneas’s masculine ideals of power, virtue, and order.”
“And you don’t see it that way.”
“Not at all. And I suspect Virgil agreed with me. He portrays her as a complex woman, a proud and powerful queen, right up until the moment when Aeneas betrays her. And then she takes her fate into her own hands. Even directs the construction of her own funeral pyre.”
“You think Virgil’s sympathies lie with Dido?”
“Yes, she was seduced and abandoned. It’s also obvious in the difference in their speeches. Dido’s are filled with emotion. Aeneas is all about authority and destiny. He lacks the very passion that makes Dido so human, so real. Virgil shows us that she’s the true hero.”
“Interesting premise. If you can link this with your Medea paper, you could even turn this into a graduate thesis someday. If you decide to pursue a doctorate.”
Her eyes lit up at the possibility. “Wow, I hadn’t thought about it as a thesis, but yes! A paper about how women pay the price when their passions threaten men. We see that theme with Abelard and Heloise. We see it with Hemingway. When a woman’s need for love becomes too great for her man.” Her face clouded over. “We see it in real life too.”
Before he could catch himself, he said, “Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”
She nodded as her eyes suddenly filled up. She looked away to recenter herself.
He didn’t know what real-life experience had fueled her focus on this theme, but he recalled Jessica’s comment that Taryn seemed obsessed with men who betrayed women. “Sometimes writing can be a healing experience. You know, empowering yourself to deal with hurt and doubt.”
She nodded and wiped her eyes, making her look all the more vulnerable—and making him want to comfort her. But he caught himself. “It sounds like a fine topic. I’m impressed by how deeply you’ve thought about these themes,” he said. “Are your parents academics?”
She gave an embarrassed shrug. “Hardly. My parents divorced when I was ten years old. And my mom works as a nurse’s aide. We live in this little town called Hobart, up in Maine.”
“Hobart? I’ve been there. It was years ago, when my wife and I went white-water rafting.” Back in the days when he and Maggie had still taken vacations.
“Then you know it’s in the middle of nowhere. Just a little mill town.”
“But it appears to have produced a budding scholar.”
She smiled. “I’d like to be. There are so many things I’d like to be.”
“What other English courses are you taking?”
“Eighteenth-century lit, with Professor McGuire.”
He tried to keep a poker face. Ray McGuire’s office was next to Jack’s. At the beginning of the term, he had complained to Jack that the current crop of female students was distinctly unattractive. “But keep your eyes out for this girl named Taryn Moore. She’s the stuff wet dreams are made of.”
Now he understood what Ray had meant.
Taryn got up and put on her jacket. “I’m going to dive right into this paper. Thank you.”
“And if you’re thinking of grad school, let me know. I’ll be happy to write a letter of recommendation.”
Together they walked out of the building. The breeze ruffled her hair, and with the sunlight streaking it in shades of red and gold, she looked like a Pre-Raphaelite siren.
“See you in class,” she said and gave a little wave.
For a long moment Jack stood on the sidewalk, and as he watched her walk away, he felt like a sad cliché. Here he was, just another married college professor coveting a female student. How needy. How pathetic.
No, he wasn’t just another professor. He was the youngest full professor in the English Department, and someone who loved his job and who last year had been honored with an Excellence in Teaching Award. Moreover, he was privileged to teach in Boston, the most collegiate city in America and most desirable venue for college teaching. For every opening in English departments throughout eastern Massachusetts, hordes of PhDs rained down applications. Also, Jack had tenure, so coveted because no other profession granted employees lifetime contracts—and the only way to lose it was to get caught doing something illegal or profoundly stupid.
Like romancing your student.
He pulle
d out his phone and texted Maggie. He’d managed to snag two tickets to tonight’s Boston Symphony Orchestra performance, and he asked where she wanted to meet for dinner beforehand.
Five minutes later she texted back: No time for dinner. I’ll see you at the BSO. Meet me outside the entrance at 7!
Even though they wouldn’t dine together, at least he’d be spending an evening with his wife. A night at the symphony was just what they both needed.
On that cold February night, only a few people were standing outside the Massachusetts Avenue entrance to Symphony Hall. The program tonight was Schumann’s cello concerto, one of Maggie’s favorites, and she’d been looking forward to this concert for weeks. Almost as much as Jack had been looking forward to a date with his wife.
He stood curbside, waiting for a glimpse of her, but at 7:15 p.m., there was still no sign of Maggie.
At 7:20 he spotted Ray and Judy McGuire hustling up the sidewalk from the CU garage.
“Are you panhandling?” Ray said.
“I should be, given my salary.”
Ray laughed and shook Jack’s hand. “So where’s that beautiful bride of yours?”
Jack glanced at his watch. “She should be here any minute now.”
“Great. See you at intermission.” They climbed the steps and disappeared inside the building.
Ten more minutes passed. Jack’s face was numb, but he stayed at the curb, bouncing up and down to keep warm, fingering the tickets in his coat pocket. Now he was worried. Had she been in an accident? He dialed her phone but got only her voice mail.
He left a message: “Are you okay? Where are you?”
At 7:45, his cell phone rang at last. Maggie. Thank God.
“Jack, I’m so sorry! I have an emergency here, and I really can’t leave right now.”
“Isn’t there anyone else who can cover for you?”
“No. Not for this patient.” In the background, Jack could hear the ominous beeping of a medical alarm. “I’ve gotta go. I’ll see you at home.” She clicked off.
He stood there in disbelief, shivering in the cold and hollow with disappointment. He thought about calling it a night and just heading home, but that would be a waste of an expensive concert ticket. He walked into the building just as the lights blinked, announcing that the performance was about to start. As he followed the usher down the aisle, Jack was acutely aware that he was the only patron still not seated. The usher pointed him to a row with every seat occupied, except for the conspicuous gap of two. Jack sat down and laid his coat on the empty seat. The woman to his right glanced at him, no doubt wondering why his seatmate was an overcoat.
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