By the Book

by Julia Sonneborn

“No,” Emily said, shaking her head. “I don’t believe it. He’d never do that. He knew how much I respected you, so he was trying to protect me.”

  “Protect you from what?” I asked.

  “From this,” Emily said, standing up. “From retaliation. I shouldn’t have said anything. He knew you’d try to get back at me if you found out.”

  “Emily!” I said. “Stop! Don’t do this. I only said something because I care about you. I don’t want you to get hurt!” I tried to keep her from leaving, but she recoiled from me, grabbing her bags and storming to the door.

  “You know,” she said. “I used to look up to you so much. You were my role model. What was I thinking? I don’t want to be like you at all.”

  After she left, I sank to the floor. She’d responded just the same way I’d responded when Adam tried to warn me about Rick—with rage and disbelief. I wanted to kill Rick. He’d seduced me and he’d seduced Emily, and he’d told us both the same lies. How stupid could I be? Emily had an excuse. She was twenty-one and hopelessly naive. But what was my excuse? I was a grown-up, yet he’d known exactly the right things to say to me, told me exactly what I wanted to hear.

  You’re a fucking idiot, Anne, I told myself.

  But the worst part wasn’t that Rick had lied to me or led me on. It wasn’t that he’d stolen other people’s work and passed it off as his own. It wasn’t even that he’d preyed on an innocent undergrad girl. It was that I was partly responsible for all this. Emily had been my favorite student, the younger, better, more hopeful version of myself. I was supposed to protect her. Instead, I’d delivered her right up to Rick’s doorstep. And I would never forgive myself for that.

  From: nesahc_drahcir@gmail.com

  To: Anne Corey

  Subject: salutations from Rick

  Date: April 3

  Dearest Anne,

  I’m so sorry I didn’t have a chance to speak to you before checking into treatment. My doctor placed me under a 5150 involuntary psychiatric hold and wouldn’t let me contact anyone until I was safely here in Arizona. It’s been a tremendous relief to escape from the immense stress of recent events. I’ve been practicing transcendental meditation, doing individual and group therapy, and adhering to a strictly organic, gluten-free, raw-food diet.

  I’ve realized I need to focus on myself and work on healing my mind and body. I’m sorry I couldn’t finish off the semester at Fairfax, but I’m sure the department understands my situation. Thank you for always being there for me. If you could collect my mail and forward any bills to me here, I would appreciate it.

  Love,

  Rick

  PS This is my new e-mail address. I’ve shut down my author website.

  *

  From: nesahc_drahcir@gmail.com

  To: Anne Corey

  Subject: It’s Rick—DO NOT DELETE

  Date: April 4

  Anne,

  I’m not sure if you received my e-mail from yesterday. I’m worried it might have ended up in your spam folder or that you deleted it because you didn’t recognize the e-mail address. It’s me and I’m in a treatment center in Arizona, doing the hard work of putting myself back together. Please drop me a line just so I know you are doing ok. I miss you dearly.

  Love,

  Rick

  *

  From: Lawrence Ettinger

  To: Anne Corey

  Subject: Ruh-roh

  Date: April 6

  Just got this e-mail from Rick. Is he stalking you???

  BLOCK HIM.

  I just did.

  ---------- Forwarded message ----------

  From: nesahc_drahcir@gmail.com

  To: Lawrence Ettinger

  Subject: Salutations from Rick Chasen

  Date: April 6

  My dear Larry,

  How are you doing?

  As you’ve probably heard, I’ve entered inpatient treatment for anxiety and depression and am focused on getting my mental machinery sorted out. I’m writing to see if you might pass a message along to Anne. I’ve been trying to reach her for the last several days, but she’s either not receiving my e-mails or has decided to ignore them. If the former, could you please give her my new e-mail address and ask her to contact me? If the latter, perhaps you could apprise me of the reason for her sudden aloofness.

  I confess my feelings are hurt. I didn’t expect her to be so inconstant in my time of need.

  Sincerely,

  Rick

  *

  From: RF_Chasen722@yahoo.com

  To: Anne Corey

  Subject: Please respond

  Date: April 15

  Dear Anne,

  I see that my last few e-mails have bounced back as “undeliverable,” so I’m writing to you from a different account in the hopes this message will make safe passage to your inbox.

  It has come to my attention that you might be under the misapprehension that I had a “thing” with Emily Young. Emily is a young, impressionable young girl who, like many of my students, developed “feelings” for me. Unlike my other students, however, Emily avidly pursued me—indeed, entrapped me. She would dress provocatively and flirt outrageously with me. She frequented my office hours. She enrolled in my workshop a second time. In sum, she seduced me.

  Emily is a silly girl who has never meant anything to me.

  Rick

  *

  From: Pamela Mitchie

  To: Anne Corey

  Subject: Flowers in the lobby?

  Date: April 20

  Dear Anne,

  I believe you’ve left for the day, but a huge bouquet of flowers was delivered to you just now. I took the liberty of peeking at the card and it looks to be from Rick!!!!!!!!! Are you guys back together???????

  I’ll leave the arrangement on my desk for now, and you can pick them up whenever you’re in next.

  Big hugs,

  Pam

  * * *

  “How do you spell love?”—Piglet

  “You don’t spell it, you feel it.” —Pooh

  *

  R. Chasen

  Miraval Treatment Center

  Sedona, Arizona

  Dr. Anne Corey c/o

  Department of English

  Murphy Hall 217

  Fairfax College

  Fairfax, CA

  April 25

  Dear Anne,

  By the time you receive this letter, I will have left treatment. I beg you to give me a chance to speak to you face-to-face. I understand you’ve blocked my phone number and various e-mail addresses, so please forgive me for employing traditional US Postal Service to reach you.

  I have thought long and hard about my life during this past month, and I’ve come to the realization that I have hurt and betrayed many of the people I love most deeply through my own selfishness and fear. As part of the process of taking moral inventory, I am making amends to each person I have wronged. Please forgive me, Anne.

  I’m planning to spend the summer at the American Academy in Rome, where I’ve secured a Writers in Exile fellowship. I would be honored if you joined me. You have been my muse for the past year, and without you, I am rudderless. Think of it—an entire summer spent in an ancient villa, like a modern-day version of the Brownings!

  With all my love and respect,

  Rick

  chapter nineteen

  I TOSSED RICK’S LETTER INTO the paper shredder and listened to its satisfying munching. I’d already tossed Rick’s novels into the garbage, along with his yoga mat and an old concert T-shirt he’d left at my place. I’d purged my inbox of all his e-mails, blocked his number on my phone, deleted the messages he left on my office voicemail. The bouquet of flowers I told Pam to keep, much to her ill-concealed delight.

  “Are you sure?” she asked, sniffing one of the blooms. “They’re gorgeous. He clearl
y spent a pretty penny on them.”

  “Take them,” I said, making a face. The arrangement was identical to the one he’d sent me after my father’s death, down to the “Thinking of You” card stuck to a plastic prong. I felt nauseated even looking at it.

  “If you insist,” Pam said, taking the bouquet and placing it more prominently on the reception desk. “You know, maybe you should give him a second chance—you two were a cute couple.”

  I shot her a death stare, and she laughed nervously. “Or maybe you need more time?” she ventured.

  As I walked away, I could see her picking up her phone.

  I tried to be on campus as little as possible, going in only to teach my classes and hold office hours. I strictly avoided department meetings or any school-related events, finding them intolerable. In the beginning there were the pitying looks and the well-meaning greetings—“How are you?”—that I didn’t know how to answer. Were they talking about my father? About Rick? Both? After the initial show of concern, people didn’t know how to act around me. My colleagues began skirting by me in the hallways, avoiding my eyes, smiling at me wanly. I felt like a campus ghost, a harbinger of bad luck. I began to keep my office door closed, both to detract visitors and to contain my bad mojo.

  The only person I really saw was Larry, who came by regularly to keep me company in the evenings. He would mop up my tears and urge me to eat something besides Nutella out of the jar, and then the two of us would lie on the couch and get drunk, having competitions to see who was more pathetic.

  “I’m a middle-aged follicularly challenged loser,” he’d begin.

  “I’m a frigid bitch.”

  “I’m a flaming douche nugget.”

  “I’m an orphan.”

  “My boyfriend dumped me for his career.”

  “Mine cheated on me with a student.”

  “Hey, Anne?”

  “Yes, Larry.”

  “What does ‘flaming douche nugget’ mean anyway?”

  One night, Larry pulled up a picture of himself on his computer and, using Paintbrush, started drawing in hair.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “It’s called poor man’s art therapy,” he said. “I’m trying to work through my issues.”

  “I think you’re going to be in therapy for a long time,” I said, getting up to head to the kitchen. “Hey, do you want more wine?” I asked, checking the empty bottles that now covered my kitchen counter.

  “I think we just finished the last bottle,” Larry called out from the living room.

  “No—I think there’s a little left in one of these,” I said, inspecting some red wine I’d left out, uncorked. “Oh, wait,” I said, raising it to my eye and squinting inside. “It looks like some fruit flies drowned in it overnight.”

  “Retch,” Larry said, gagging.

  “Maybe I could just sieve the flies out.”

  “OK, stop,” Larry said. “We’re pathetic, but let’s not stoop to new lows.”

  *

  I WAS IN MY office one afternoon, getting ready to leave for the day, when I heard a knock on the door. The only person who ever knocked now was Larry. Even Pam had started to avoid me after she suggested I join her church singles group and I told her I’d rather date Satan.

  “Come in!” I called out.

  The door opened and a man in sunglasses and fedora slipped inside, shutting the door behind him quickly. He pulled off his hat, revealing a full beard and a man bun.

  “What the—” I said.

  It was Rick, incognito in his new facial hair and disguise.

  “Are you kidding me?” I said, snorting. “You look like an idiot.”

  Rick looked stunned, then hurt.

  “I’m a broken man,” he said. “I’m nothing without you.”

  “God, you really are a one-trick pony,” I said. “Did you steal that line from a book? You’re pathetic.”

  Rick put his hand to his heart, like I’d wounded him physically.

  “I know you’re mad,” he said. “I know I betrayed your trust. I’ll never forgive myself.”

  “Ugh,” I said, getting up from my desk. “You’re shameless. Get the hell out.”

  “I’m still in love with you.”

  “You’re in love with yourself! Look at you with that . . . that lame man bun and beard! Who do you think you are? Jared Leto?”

  “Let’s run away to Rome and start over. We’ll find a romantic little pensione and hide from the world.”

  “Are you high?” I asked. “Is this what you told your other girlfriends? That you’d whisk them away to Rome? No, thank you. I’m perfectly happy where I am.”

  “I can take care of you, Anne—help you with your writing, be your editor and first reader, build your confidence. You look tired, Anne. I’m so sorry—I’m sorry I’ve made you suffer.”

  “I can take care of myself! God, you really are a raging narcissist, aren’t you? Get out of here or I’m calling campus police.”

  “You wouldn’t do that, would you?” Rick said, coming closer to me, his voice suddenly threatening.

  I stepped back and reached for my phone. Most people had left for the day, but I knew Larry was still in his office.

  “” I typed.

  “What are you doing?” Rick asked. “Who are you calling?”

  I ignored him, mashing my fingers against the screen.

  “”

  “Give that to me,” Rick said, reaching over to grab my phone. I pulled it out of his reach.

  “Don’t you dare touch me,” I said. “I’ll scream, I swear I will.”

  Rick moved toward me, and I dodged from his grasp, my heart pounding in my chest. Where the hell was Larry?

  “Don’t you dare say anything,” Rick hissed. “That would be a huge mistake.”

  “Get the hell away from me!” I said, my voice rising.

  The door suddenly burst open and there was Larry, phone in hand, panting from his mad dash down the hall.

  “Hey, Anne, so sorry to interrupt! Uh, FERPA, I mean, uh, there’s a student I need to talk abou—”

  He suddenly recognized Rick. “OMG,” he gasped.

  “Larry,” Rick said, moving toward him, his voice oozing charm. “It’s good to see you.”

  “Slow your roll,” Larry said, entering a kung fu crouch. I looked at him in shock. Larry had never taken martial arts in his entire life. I suddenly realized he was imitating Keanu from The Matrix.

  Rick laughed outright in Larry’s face.

  “Are you serious?” he said. “What is this? Kung Fu Panda?”

  “At least I’m not a fraud and a coward like you are,” Larry said.

  “You really want to do this?” Rick said, advancing toward Larry. “I saw hand-to-hand combat in Fallujah, you know.”

  “I’m not scared of you,” Larry said, rocking back and forth on his legs. He crooked his finger at Rick.

  “Get out,” I told Rick, my voice sounding eerily quiet and composed. While Rick had been laughing at Larry, I’d grabbed my office scissors from my desk drawer. They were the only thing I had in my office that remotely looked like a weapon.

  “Oh shit,” Larry said. “Watch out. She’s gonna Bobbitt you.”

  I pointed the scissors at Rick. “Don’t test me,” I said. “I will cut you.”

  Rick looked flabbergasted. Between me and my scissors and Larry in his kung fu crouch, he couldn’t tell which of us was crazier.

  “Get out,” I spat at him, menacingly opening and closing the shears.

  Rick moved toward me, and I sliced the air between us, coming uncomfortably close to his belt buckle. He jumped back, his eyes wide. Without waiting for me to say anything else, he spun around and scurried out, clapping his fedora on his head like some cartoon criminal.

  Larry slammed the door after him and locked it, then turned to me, breathing heavily. “That was awesome, Anne,” he said. “That was so Edward Scissorhands!”

  In the days following the incide
nt, I filed a restraining order against Rick, and the Department of Campus Security posted a couple of officers outside the building as a precautionary measure. Larry insisted on walking me to my classes and standing sentry while I taught, and for a week, he slept over at my apartment, armed with a badminton racket in case Rick was lurking in the bushes or hiding in my closet. I threw myself into my teaching, distracting myself from my father’s death and Rick’s betrayal by filling my days with student conferences and writing workshops. I told myself that while I’d failed Emily, maybe I could redeem myself with my other students, and I spent many late nights fine-tuning my lectures and grading essays.

  As the days passed with no further sign of Rick, I began to relax. I knew, deep down, that he would never bother me again. He was a coward, through and through.

  *

  THE SEMESTER WAS FINALLY coming to an end. I’d been left alone for the most part, allowed to hide out in my office, so I was surprised when Steve poked his head in and cleared his throat.

  “Do you have a minute?” he asked.

  “Sure,” I said. “Come in.”

  “I haven’t seen you around much,” Steve said, settling into my chair. “What are you working on?”

  “Just finishing up some copyedits,” I said wearily. “The press wants them by Friday.”

  “Still on track with your publication date?”

  “Yes—so far so good.”

  “Well, congratulations,” Steve said. “That’s excellent news. And now I have even more good tidings to deliver.”

  I looked at Steve, puzzled. I’d already signed my employment contract for the following year, and everyone already knew my book was coming out.

  “I’m pleased to let you know that you’ve won this year’s Distinguished Teaching Award,” Steve said.

  “I have?” I said, incredulous. People like Larry won the college Distinguished Teaching Award. They were considered legends. I couldn’t imagine myself in the same category as them.

  “Your students nominated you last fall, and we found out the results today. I heard you were the unanimous choice.”

  “Wow,” I said. “I’m speechless.”

  “It’s a tremendous honor. You’ll be receiving a special medal and certificate at graduation, plus a tidy little sum of money to purchase books. We’re all very proud of you, Anne. It’s rather nice to have a bit of good cheer to spread around after the, ahem, events of the last month. The college will make an announcement in the next few days, and you’ll receive an invitation to an honorary luncheon afterwards.”