Which must make me seem ancient, thinks Frankie. But at forty-one, Jack Dorian is still in the prime of life. Mac shows her his smartphone screen, where he’s pulled up Jack Dorian’s photo. She sees an intelligent face, a full head of hair. Yes, he is definitely attractive enough to catch a woman’s eye.
“He should be fired for what he did to her,” says Cody.
But what did Jack Dorian do? Was it merely a flirtation between teacher and student? Did their relationship veer into something dangerous? Or was Cody Atwood so obsessed with Taryn that he couldn’t abide any man showing an interest in her—even if that interest was perfectly innocent?
“Do you think Professor Dorian is the kind of guy who might hurt a woman?” Mac asks.
At this question, Cody goes very still. “Why are you asking that question?”
“Maybe you could just answer it?”
“The school says she killed herself. That’s what they said on the news too.” He looks at Frankie. “Are you saying that’s not true?”
Frankie doesn’t answer, because the truth is still unclear to her. The deeper they dig into Taryn’s death, the larger the cast of characters they uncover. And now they’ve added one more name: Jack Dorian.
“She was my friend,” says Cody. “I want to know what really happened!”
Frankie nods. “So do we.”
BEFORE
CHAPTER 28
JACK
For three weeks, Taryn had stayed away from him, but Jack continued to twist in self-loathing. He had gone to her apartment to end their affair and, in one mindless moment, had yielded again to his goddamn id. Yes, she had wanted it. Yes, she had opened the door already stripped down to her underwear. Yes, she had moaned in delight and said she loved him. Still, he couldn’t help feeling that he was the one who had taken advantage of her, assaulted her.
Since that day, he had seen her only in class and never alone. No more private meetings in his office or strolling together out of the classroom. When she did attend class, she sat in stiff silence, scribbling notes and fixing him with hard looks that set off a frisson of guilt, as if he had betrayed her. But he did not love her, and he’d never suggested they had a future together. He would never leave Maggie for her. And he was determined to tell her this point-blank the next time they were alone. He had led them both astray, and he was the one who would take full responsibility.
He just needed to find the opportunity—and the courage—to say it.
His dread of that conversation overshadowed any sense of celebration when he and Maggie went out to dinner for his birthday. They always celebrated their birthdays at the same restaurant, Benedetto’s in Harvard Square, and their tradition included a champagne toast with Veuve Clicquot and a shared appetizer of calamari. After tonight, he vowed, he would take the first steps back to normalcy. To being a good husband again. Charlie’s failing health had been a burden on them both, and they needed this chance to get away, just the two of them. To remember the Jack and Maggie they once had been.
He ordered his usual glass of champagne and was surprised when Maggie asked for only sparkling Pellegrino.
“What? No Veuve Clicquot?” he asked.
“Not tonight. Not for the next seven months.” Smiling, she handed him an envelope. “Happy birthday, honey.”
Puzzled, he opened the envelope, expecting to find a birthday card inside, but the card he pulled out was decorated with balloons and floating babies. Not a birthday card at all but something else. Something that only slowly dawned on him.
She beamed. “Are you ready to be called Daddy?”
He stared at her, not certain he’d actually heard what she’d said. “Oh God. Really? Really?”
Maggie blinked away tears. “Yes. Really. I didn’t want to tell you until I was absolutely sure everything was fine. I saw my OB this morning, and she said it all looks perfect. The ultrasound, the blood tests. It’s going to be an October baby. Just in time for Halloween.”
Maggie’s face suddenly shimmered out of focus as his vision blurred over. A baby. He wiped away his own tears. Our baby.
“Think of it, Jack. This Christmas there’ll be three of us. Our first Christmas together as a family!”
His chair legs scraped across the floor as he jumped to his feet. He scrambled around the table and threw his arms around her. “I love you. God, I love you.”
“I love you too,” she sobbed. For a moment they forgot they were in a restaurant. Forgot everything except that they were in each other’s arms and this miracle was about to change their lives forever.
“And this time,” Maggie said, “it will be fine. I can just feel it. Everything will turn out absolutely fine.”
But everything was absolutely not fine.
On Monday morning, he found an envelope in his office mailbox addressed only to Jack. It contained a card with an illustration of Abelard and Heloise in a passionate embrace, and handwritten inside was a line from Heloise’s fourth letter to Abelard: Heaven commands me to renounce that fatal passion which unites me to you; but oh! my heart will never be able to consent to it.
It was not signed, nor did it have to be.
In fury, he took the card into the men’s restroom, tore it into pieces, and threw them into the toilet. Standing in the bathroom stall, watching the bits of paper flush away, he tried to steady his shaking hands. He’d hoped the problem would resolve on its own, that Taryn would lose interest in him or find another object of her affection. Now he realized the problem was not going away by itself. He had to end this now, before it blew up his life.
When he walked into the seminar that morning, there she was in her usual seat, this time wearing an alarm-red sweater. Her eyes sparkled as she met his gaze, a look that said: You’d better pay attention to me. He did not acknowledge her but simply scanned the group, feigning normalcy, wishing he were any other place than in this classroom.
The week’s assignment was Romeo and Juliet, and he plunged straight into his prepared comments about the Montagues and Capulets, how their enmity led to the tragic deaths of their children and how love could transcend even the most stubborn of hostilities. As he ended his comments, his gaze passed over Taryn, and he had a sudden flash of her face gasping in orgasm.
Quickly he looked away and asked, with a note of desperation in his voice, “Was this tragedy preordained by fate? What’s the role of free will in the story?”
To his relief, Jason picked up the thread. “The prologue says the lovers are star crossed, which implies their fate is already decided.”
“Okay.”
“And in act one, Romeo talks about fearing some consequence hanging in the stars from the night’s revels. So Shakespeare seems to say that fate rules their lives. That it was all predestined.”
He glanced at the wall clock, wishing it would move faster, but he also dreaded what would follow. Today, he’d tell her. Today this would end. And he had no idea how Taryn would react.
Beth raised her hand. “Romeo says he was ‘Fortune’s fool.’ He knows he has crappy luck. So a lot of what happens in the play does seem fated.”
Taryn spoke up. “So you both think Romeo did nothing out of his own free will? I can’t imagine Shakespeare actually believed that.”
“What do you think he believed?” Beth asked.
“Shakespeare might have believed that some things are meant to happen. That two people are fated to fall in love.” She aimed a look at Jack that made his stomach drop.
Taryn, don’t.
“But if you believe entirely in fate,” said Taryn, “then you believe we have no control over our futures. That some higher power decides everything for us, good and bad. That means there are no coincidences in life, no accidents, no laws of nature, and no free will.”
Jessica gave a bored sigh. “We’re talking about a play. Not real life.”
“But it’s a reflection of real life. Even if lovers are destined to meet, even if they’re destined to fall in love, what they do next
is of their own free will. People are ultimately responsible for their own actions.” She looked straight at Jack. “And for the consequences they suffer because of those actions.”
“Why did you want to meet out here?” Taryn asked as they walked together down a path winding through the frozen marshes of the Fenway. It was late afternoon, an icy wind was blowing, and no one else was nearby to overhear their conversation. It was the perfect place for him to finally tell her the painful truth.
“I wanted to talk to you in private,” he said.
“We could have talked in your office. At least it would’ve been a lot warmer.”
“My office isn’t private enough.” Because even a closed door would not muffle any shouts or sobs. He had no idea if she’d take this calmly or if he’d have to endure a hysterical outburst. No, this needed to be said far away from anyone who knew him.
“What’s going on, Jack?”
He pointed to a bench. “Let’s sit down.”
“Ooh. This sounds serious,” she said, but the playful note in her voice told him she had no idea how serious the conversation was about to become. She sat and smiled expectantly. What did she think he was about to say? That he’d fall to his knee and propose marriage? That he’d pledge his undying love? How the hell had he let a simple fling grow into this uncontrollable monster?
He sat down on the bench beside her and sighed, and his breath puffed out in a cloud of steam. As she watched him, he struggled to recall the speech he’d planned to deliver, but under her expectant gaze, all the pretty words vanished. So he simply said what needed to be said, ruthless though it was.
“I have to end this, Taryn. We can’t see each other anymore.”
She shook her head, as if not certain she’d heard him. “You don’t mean this, Jack. I know you don’t.”
“I absolutely do mean it.”
“This isn’t you. This is your wife, isn’t it? You told her about us. And now she’s forcing you to—”
“This is my decision and mine alone.”
“I don’t believe that. I don’t believe you’d choose to throw away what we have. Did she threaten to tell the school? Are you afraid of losing your job—is that it?”
“This has nothing to do with my wife. I haven’t told her a thing. This is just not going to work between us.”
“Yes it will.” She reached out and clutched his sleeve. “I’m ready to be whatever you want me to be. We could be so happy! I could make you happy.”
“Taryn, you are beautiful and brilliant, and someday you’ll find the man who deserves you. Someone you will make happy. But that man isn’t me. It can’t be me.”
“Why?” Her voice rose to a hysterical pitch. “Why?”
“Because my wife is pregnant.”
CHAPTER 29
TARYN
He continued to speak, but she was unable to hear anything he said beyond that one sentence.
My wife is pregnant.
She thought about what that meant. She pictured them together in bed, making love. How long ago had the wife conceived? Had it happened after the start of the semester, after he’d met Taryn? These past few weeks, she had imagined him unhappily married to a woman who no longer excited him, a woman he no longer desired. She had imagined him fantasizing about her, wanting her, yet all this time he’d been living with his wife, fucking his wife. Even though he was married to the woman, to Taryn this felt like a betrayal.
“. . . what you and I had was beautiful, but it was also very wrong. It never should have happened. I take full responsibility, and I’m sorry.”
Suddenly she focused on him. “You’re sorry?”
“For letting it get out of control. For hurting you. I’m a married man, Taryn. And my wife needs me.”
“But you said I’m the one you want.”
“I never said that. I never would have said that. Anyway, everything has changed.”
“Just because she’s pregnant? How does that change anything?”
“It changes everything. Can’t you understand that?”
“But I love you. And you want me. I know you do.” Desperately she reached out to him, but he took hold of her wrists, trapping them.
“I will always care about you, but we have to move on. You have your whole life to look forward to. You’ll be going to grad school. You’ll be working with Dr. Vogel, collaborating on that paper—”
“I don’t give a fuck about that paper. I only care about us!”
“There is no ‘us.’ From now on, we are teacher and student, nothing more. You have to accept this.”
She yanked free of his grasp. “Accept that I’m just a fling? That you’re going to just fuck me and forget me?”
“I’ll never forget you.”
“But I’m not good enough for you to love, am I? Am I?”
He flinched at the rage in her voice. For a moment he just stared at her, as if she’d transformed into someone, something he’d never encountered before. When at last he spoke, his voice was both quiet and desperate. “You are beautiful and talented, and someday you’ll meet a man who’ll give you all the love you deserve.”
“But that man won’t be you.”
“It can’t be.”
“Didn’t I . . .” She choked back a sob. “Didn’t I make you happy?”
“This has nothing to do with being happy. It’s about what needs to happen now. What I did was wrong.”
“I wanted it too!”
“But I’m the one who’s married. And I’m your teacher, which makes it even more wrong. I need to end this before it gets any more difficult than it already is.”
“Difficult for you, you mean.”
“For both of us.”
“You don’t care about me. You used me, Jack. You’re just like those so-called heroes you talk about in class. Jason and Abelard and that fucking Aeneas.”
“Please, Taryn. Let’s not have it end this way.”
“Which way?”
“With you angry. Let’s be reasonable about this.”
“Oh, I can be reasonable.” She rose to her feet, but he did not stand up. He remained seated on that ice-cold bench, staring up at her. She glimpsed fear in his eyes, and at that moment she realized who was actually in control. Who held all the power. This time when she spoke, she was chillingly calm. “You’re about to find out just how reasonable I can be.”
As she walked away, he didn’t call after her, didn’t follow her. She could feel his gaze on her back as she crossed the road, as she kept walking, back to campus. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her glance at him one last time. She refused to look backward at all, only forward, to what came next.
By the time she reached the university library, she knew what she was going to do. She would not be like tragic Queen Dido, falling on a sword, or Heloise, locked away to wither and rot in a convent. She sat down at one of the library computers and pulled up the website she’d looked at only a few weeks ago: Mount Auburn Hospital, in Cambridge.
She pulled out her cell phone and dialed.
CHAPTER 30
TARYN
The clinic waiting room was filled with old people. On her left was a silver-haired man with a rattling cough; on her right was a woman with hands so gnarled by arthritis she could barely zip up her purse. Taryn was the youngest person in the room, and as she dutifully filled out the health questionnaire, marking no to every question, she noticed glances from the other patients, who were no doubt wondering why someone so obviously healthy was here to see the doctor.
She signed the completed form, handed it to the receptionist, and sat down to wait.
The old man with the cough went in first, then a man with a cane, then the woman with the gnarled hands. By the time the nurse finally emerged and called out, “Taryn?” she was the last patient in the waiting room. The nurse led her down a short hall into the exam room and handed her a paper gown. “Everything off except your underwear,” she said.
Taryn would r
ather not meet her rival while half-naked, but she undressed as instructed and once again sat down to wait. On the wall hung a framed diploma from Boston University School of Medicine and, beneath it, a certificate from the American Board of Internal Medicine, proof that Margaret Dorian was a woman to be reckoned with.
But Taryn was the one her husband lusted after.
There was a knock on the door, and Dr. Dorian stepped in, carrying a clipboard with Taryn’s patient questionnaire. Even though it was nearly five in the afternoon and she had probably been seeing patients all day, she looked relaxed and unhurried, her hair neatly swept back in a ponytail, a stethoscope casually draped around her neck.
She greeted her patient with a smile. “Hello, Taryn. I’m Dr. Dorian. You’re here for a physical?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She turned to the sink and washed her hands. “Is this for a job?”
“For school. I’m hoping to start a graduate program this fall. English lit.”
“Good for you.” She dried her hands and glanced at the clipboard with the questionnaire. “From what I see here, it looks like you’re pretty healthy. Any current medical problems? Complaints?”
Taryn shrugged. “I’m a little stressed. You know, senior year.”
She smiled. “Take the time to enjoy it. I guarantee, when you get older, you’ll look back at this year with nostalgia.”
As Dr. Dorian leaned in close to peer into her eyes and ears and palpate her neck, Taryn took a close look at her, noting the strands of silver streaking her red hair and the laugh lines creasing the corners of her eyes. Though she was somewhere in her late thirties, she was still pretty; in her twenties, she must have been stunning. If she really was pregnant, as Jack claimed, it didn’t yet show. Had he lied to her? Was it merely an excuse he’d invented to break things off between them?
Dr. Dorian pressed the stethoscope to Taryn’s chest. “Take a deep breath.”
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