by Ann McMan
There were no takers.
“Come on, guys,” Grace prodded. “This is a Catholic college . . . take a wild guess.”
“Could you spell that?”
It was Franny Magill, a legacy admit from Philadelphia. Her grandfather had once been headmaster of a prestigious girls’ boarding school in Chambersburg—Penn Hall. Grace’s mother had been a reluctant student there—years before marrying Johnnie Warner, and moving to Wilkes-Barre to start a family.
Grace sighed. “Sure.”
She hopped off the desk and walked to the chalk board. This building was one of the oldest on the St. Allie’s campus, and the college’s growing endowment hadn’t yet expanded its tentacles to up-fit the teaching aids in these classrooms. Grace picked up a broken bit of chalk.
EUCATASTROPHE, she wrote in big, block letters. Followed by DEUS EX MACHINA.
She faced the class. “Deus ex machina means ‘god from the machine.’ It’s a term describing a literary device employed to bring about an unexpected or unlikely resolution—generally happy, but not always—to a dire or impossible situation. It was originally a theatrical convention that allowed the gods to intervene in human affairs and sort out the messes they created. But it was always a plot convention that was foreshadowed in the text. We’ve all observed it in literature—and in film. Tolkien was talking about a twist on the same idea. Only in his parlance, eucatastrophe was always a turn from a bad to a good outcome—and it was not always predicted or set up in advance. For Tolkien, eucatastrophe was not the product of divine intervention—it was an effect of divine involvement. Eucatastrophe may be deus ex machina by this reasoning, but for Tolkien, God is not a machine—or a device.” Her eyes swept the classroom to see if her students were following. “Make sense?”
Mostly nods. That was progress.
“So, here’s my idea. Any one of you who would like a shot at improving the grade on your theme paper can write a fifteen-hundred-word examination of the use of either eucatastrophe or deus ex machina in Beowulf—because informed arguments can be made for each. I want you to make a case for the author’s use of one versus the other, and discuss the overarching merits of each—with direct—and proper—citations from the text. Clear as mud?”
“How much time do we have?”
Pragmatists to the last . . .
“How about two weeks? That seem reasonable?” Grace asked.
More nods.
“Cool. Okay then.” Grace checked the wall clock. “Looks like we’re about outta time. I’m gonna let you go a few minutes early so I have time to grab lunch before an appointment. Try to control your sorrow,” she quipped. “Okay?”
Her students immediately began to close their notebooks and check their cell phones.
“And don’t forget my office hours if you want to discuss your papers—old or new,” she added as they continued to gather up their backpacks. “Otherwise, I’ll see you all next Tuesday.”
# # #
Grace had just enough time to run home and make a quick sandwich before she had to head back across campus for her showdown with Sharon and the dean. As she approached the house, she was surprised to see Dean’s truck in her driveway.
There were several large appliance boxes on her back porch—all empty. Nothing about that made any sense. Dean knew she was a long way off from having enough money saved to swap out her old fridge and dishwasher. They’d been able to replace the stove at Christmas, and it was a doozy—a dual-fuel gas range with two ovens. That indulgence set her budget for the companion items in the suite back a bit. She didn’t want to go into debt on the renovation project, so that meant Dean was doing the work as Grace had the money saved to pay for it. The rest of her kitchen was in pretty good shape. The new cabinets and flooring were in—and apart from the remaining appliances, she just needed new countertops and a glass brick backsplash. Then this room would be finished.
Seeing the flattened boxes on her porch alarmed her. What the hell was Dean up to?
She hurried inside to find him checking the position of the big, French-door fridge with a level. A new dishwasher and an under-counter wine cooler sat out in the middle of the floor. Grendel was perched at Dean’s feet, watching him work with interest. She was plainly mesmerized by all he was doing because she paid no attention to Grace until she heard her call out to Dean from the doorway.
“What in the world are you doing?”
Grendel dashed over to greet her. Dean whirled around.
“Don’t sneak up on me like that,” he chastised her. “You scared the piss outta me.”
“Dean . . . what the hell are you doing? I don’t have the money for all of this right now.”
“I know,” he said. “But word on the street is that you’re getting that book of yours published. So, I thought I’d help you celebrate.”
Obviously, CK had talked with him.
“Well, that’s a sweet thought,” she said. “But my advance isn’t big enough to cover these and put food on my table for the next six months.”
“Hey, no sweat.” He finished with the fridge and closed its massive doors. “Like I said, we’re celebrating. Besides, your old fridge was for shit and my beer was never cold enough. So, it’s as much for me as it is for you. So, cool your jets and say, ‘Thank you, Dean,’ or I’ll rat your ass out to Agnes for being rude.”
Grace was amazed. “You bought these? For me?”
He nodded. “Why are you so surprised? I’m not a total asshole, you know.”
She crossed the room and threw her arms around his meaty neck. He hugged her back.
“Take it easy,” he said. “I own the fucking store . . . it’s not that big a deal.”
“It is a big deal,” she said into his shoulder. “And yes, you are a total asshole—but you’ve also got about the biggest, softest heart on the planet.”
“Yeah, well don’t tell anybody, okay?”
Grace stepped back and rubbed a hand across her wet eyes.
“When were you gonna tell me about this book deal?” he asked.
Grace sniffed. “It’s not like I was keeping it from you. It only just happened over the weekend.”
“Does Mum know?”
Grace shook her head. “I thought I’d wait until the ink was dry on the contracts. That way, if it goes south, I won’t have to live down her expressions of disappointment.”
He nodded. “Grady was on the ferry with me today. He told me about the cabin. I’m really sorry about that. I know how much you love that place.”
“Yeah. It pretty much blows chunks.”
“Well.” He looked around the kitchen. “We get this room squared away and you’ll at least have one place in your house that’s not ripped to shit. That oughta be worth something.”
“True.” Grace didn’t disagree with him. It would be fabulous to have her new kitchen finished and back online. “What was Grady doing over in Plattsburgh?”
Dean shrugged. “Beats me. He said something about meeting with a real estate attorney. I figured it was about getting the cabin ready to sell.”
“Probably,” Grace agreed. “They’re going to be moving at the end of the semester. I’ll miss him a lot.”
“I wish I could help you buy that place, Grace. If I could run it through the business, it’d be a no-brainer.”
She smiled at him. “I know that. Don’t worry about me. I’m going to be so busy soon that I won’t have any spare time to miss being out there.”
“With the book, you mean?”
“That and other stuff.”
“What other stuff?” he asked.
Grace wondered if CK had talked with him about Abbie, too? Probably not. It would be unlike her to blab about something so personal.
She decided to tell him herself. He’d find out soon enough, anyway.
“Do you want some coffee?” she asked.
“Sure, why not.” He walked to the table and pulled out a chair.
Grace got the pot of coffee started bef
ore joining him at the table.
“So, I have some other news that you’re probably not going to like,” she began. “I’m resigning from my teaching position here this afternoon.”
She saw no reason to beat around the bush.
Dean was shocked. “Why the fuck would you do that? Aren’t you up for a big promotion this year?”
“I was,” she agreed. “But that’s not going to happen now.”
“Why the hell not?”
Grace sighed. “I managed to get myself caught up in something that’s guaranteed to ruin my shot at getting tenure. So, the best thing for me to do is quit before they terminate me.”
Dean’s eyes clouded over. “What the hell did you do? Get caught screwing a student?”
“No.” She reached across the small table and swatted him on the arm. “Of course I didn’t.”
“Well what the fuck did you do, then?” He rubbed his arm. “Shack up with the new president?”
Grace could feel herself beginning to blush. And the more she tried to avoid it, the worse it got.
Dean noticed immediately. “No fucking way? You’re hitting the president?”
She sighed. “I wouldn’t describe it quite that way, but, yeah . . . that’s pretty much the gist of it.”
He laughed. Loudly. “Well, I’ll be goddamned. You go, little sister. That’s one hot commodity. I’m proud of you.”
“Proud of me? For doing something that’s going to cost me my teaching career?”
“Hey. Jobs come and go. But a woman like that . . .” He shook his head. “I’d do her.”
“You’d do a hole in a tree.”
“Hey.” He held up his hands. “Insulting me doesn’t minimize the mess you got your ass into.”
She had to agree with him. “I know.”
“So, what’s this chick’s name? Annie?”
“Abbie.”
“Abbie,” he repeated. “That’s it. Mum was asking me if I knew anyone over here named Abbie. Now I know why.”
Grace was incredulous. “When did she ask you that?”
“Sunday morning when she called.”
Grace rolled her eyes. Good ol’ Agnes. She really had a nose for it.
Hell. Grace ought to just start calling her “Agnes ex machina.”
“I’m really in over my head this time, Dean.”
“You mean like with Denise?” he asked.
“No. Not like Denise. Not like anyone before.”
“In so far you’re willing to give up something you’ve worked seven years for?”
She nodded.
“Well, I’ll be damned. She must be something else.”
“She is.”
It was his turn to sigh. “Wish I could find somebody like that.”
Grace smiled at him. “Maybe you’ll have a shot now that you’re branching out to other letters of the alphabet.”
He looked confused. “What do you mean?”
“CK?”
Dean still looked clueless.
“Her name doesn’t start with a D,” Grace explained.
“Yes, it does,” he said. “Her first name is ‘Doctor,’ right?”
Grace sighed and started to respond, but before she could, the coffeemaker beeped.
Thank god . . .ˆ
# # #
Bryce Oliver-James was coming out of Franklin Hall just as Grace was climbing the outside steps to enter it. As usual, he threw the door open so hard it made the glass rattle. She was glad he didn’t see her before he roared down the steps and hurried away from the building.
What an asshole.
Grace entered the building more sedately and made her way to the dean’s office on the first floor. She had her neatly typed letter of resignation tucked inside her messenger bag. She hoped the meeting would be short and sweet. She didn’t want to belabor the point. She just prayed that Eddie and Sharon would be understanding enough to allow her to be the one to tell Abbie.
That conversation would be a lot of fun. Not.
She passed Lucretia Fletcher on her way to Eddie’s office.
“Hello there, Lucretia,” she said.
The prune-faced woman nodded coldly, and kept walking.
What a mean-spirited old battle-axe. I wonder if Abbie will keep her on?
She didn’t see how the two women could possibly work together. Lucretia was an old-school, old guard, dyed-in-the-wool, by-the-book, capital C-conservative Catholic. She was a charter member of what the newer and younger staff at St. Allie’s called the “papal mafia.” Abbie, the college’s first woman president—and a lesbian, to boot—represented everything Lucretia feared. And that collision of values would be especially pronounced once the news of Abbie’s relationship with Grace leaked out—as it surely would, no matter how hard Eddie and Sharon tried to keep it under wraps.
Sharon was already in with Eddie when Grace arrived. Eddie’s assistant told Grace to go on in, after asking if she’d like anything to drink—which seemed like an odd request, considering the purpose of the meeting. Grace thought about asking for a cup of coffee laced with hemlock, but opted not to. She thanked the young woman, and said she was fine. Then she tapped on Eddie’s door.
“Come on in,” he called out.
Grace opened the door and stepped inside. Eddie and Sharon were both seated in comfy chairs around a small meeting table. They each had cans of Diet Coke. Eddie indicated that Grace should join them.
“How are you, Grace?” Sharon asked. “I’ve heard good things about the next issue of Borealis. Is it true you got a piece by Ann Patchett?”
Sharon was a great department chair. She was an actual alumna of St. Albans, who had gone on to get her master’s and PhD degrees at Cornell before coming back home to Vermont to teach at her alma mater. Grace liked her a lot, and she understood that Sharon was probably not enjoying the errand she was forced to undertake today. That being the case, Grace didn’t understand why Sharon was bothering to make small talk instead of getting right down to the point. But she decided just to roll with it.
At least, Sharon was being cordial.
“It’s true,” Grace explained. “I’d like to say she did it as a favor to me, but that’d be a lie. The journal has a good reputation, and she’s wise to want to appear in it.”
“Well, I think you get a lot of the credit for that, Grace,” Eddie said. “You’ve done an exceptional job as editor these last several years.”
Grace was beginning to feel like this was an awfully strange run-up to getting canned.
“Thanks, Eddie,” she said. “I love my work on the journal, and I’m glad you think it’s gone well the past few years.”
“That’s partly what we wanted to discuss with you today, Grace,” Sharon said. “That, and your standing in the department and community at large.”
Here it comes, she thought.
“As you know,” Eddie continued,” the board of trustees are meeting here this week. And tenure recommendations were part of their agenda. The committee presented its recommendations to me on Friday, and those have since been presented to the board. You’re also aware that one of the decisions concerned an open tenure-track position in the English department.”
“I’m going to stop you right there, Eddie,” Grace said. “I know what you’re about to say, and there’s really no need for you to go to any lengths to defend the board’s decision. I accept it. In fact, I’ve already anticipated it.” She reached for her messenger bag and withdrew her letter of resignation. “Here you go.” She handed the letter to the dean.
He seemed surprised. “What is this?” he asked.
“My letter of resignation,” Grace explained. “It’s effective at the end of the semester—unless you’d like me to leave sooner. In which case, I can redraft it to reflect that.”
“What are you talking about, Grace?” Sharon was looking at her with concern. “You’re resigning?”
Grace nodded. “Isn’t that what you wanted to discuss with me today?”<
br />
Eddie and Sharon exchanged glances. Eddie cleared his throat.
“Grace, I think you may be under some misapprehensions about a few things.”
“I don’t imagine I am,” Grace replied. “You are both aware of my . . . personal . . . relationship with President Williams, I suppose?” she asked.
“Well . . .” Eddie began.
“I assumed as much,” Grace said. “Isn’t that why you asked me to meet with you today?”
“Wait a minute,” Sharon interrupted. “Grace, we asked you to meet with us to tell you the board has formally accepted our recommendation that you be awarded tenure in the English department.”
“What?” Grace was stunned.
“That’s right, Grace.” Eddie handed the unopened letter back to her. “Under the circumstances, I think you may wish to keep this.”
“And, hopefully, put it into the shredder,” Sharon added.
“I don’t understand. Bryce Oliver-James told me he was meeting with you to shed light on the inappropriateness of my interactions with Abbie—President Williams,” Grace corrected. “I assumed that meant you’d need to take—corrective action. It matters to me that Dr. Williams does not have her reputation or her prospects tainted by any hint of scandal.”
“That’s very noble of you, Grace.” Eddie nodded. “If the circumstances were different, I’m sure the board would’ve appreciated your sacrifice. Don’t you agree, Sharon?”
“I do,” she said. “But the circumstances weren’t different in this case, thankfully—so there was no reason or motivation for us—or the board—to act differently.”
Grace’s head was spinning. What was happening here?
“I don’t know what to say,” she said, for lack of anything more coherent.
“Let me try to clarify things for you.” Eddie got up and walked over to his desk. He opened a drawer and withdrew a file folder. “I’d like to share something with you, Grace.” Eddie rejoined them at the table. He withdrew a small stack of papers. “I think this will set your mind at ease.” He lifted the top sheet. “This is a copy of the acknowledgment that Élisabeth Abbot Williams made to the Chair of the Board of Trustees, the Chair of the English Department, the college general counsel, and to me on the morning of the day after she was introduced to the community as the President-Elect of St. Albans College. I won’t bore you by reading it aloud—the gist of it is that she disclosed the existence of a prior romantic relationship with a current member of the St. Albans faculty. She offered immediately to recuse herself from any role or involvement in decisions related to that faculty member’s evaluation, compensation, reassignment, promotion or tenure discussions. Additionally, she offered to resign her own position immediately if the board or senior academic officials, after consideration, felt her role or effectiveness as president would be compromised or viewed as illegitimate in any way by the community at large.” He lowered the paper. “She hand-delivered these letters to each of us, Grace.” He shook his head. “It was quite a demonstration of integrity and leadership—and, might I add—attachment to the individual with whom she hoped to continue a relationship.”