Only someone who knew could have told him.
Only someone who hated me would have told him.
…
Thursday May 4th 7:35 a.m.
K: Where are you? I’m just pulling into the lot now. Going to your office.
…
Thursday May 4th 7:38 a.m.
K: Drew, you’re really starting to scare me. You’re not in your office or the classroom. You should see the looks I’m getting… Holy fucking shit. Please call me! Going to check with Dr. Morgan.
Chapter Forty-Six
Kate
His office is dark when I get there at seven thirty, but Tessa Morgan’s isn’t. And I don’t know what else to do.
“Uh, Professor Morgan?” I ask quietly from the door.
When she looks up, I know she knows. Her jaw is set, her face is stone.
“Kate.”
“I was just wondering if you’d seen—Dr. Markham?” I make a concerted effort not to call him Drew. She notices and her lip curls up with the hint of a snarl.
“Why yes, Kate. This morning. Right after Maureen told him he was no long under consideration for tenure and that he would very likely be fired for sleeping with a student.”
Oh my God. This is so much worse than I thought.
“I—uh—wonder if you know where he is?”
She leans forward across her desk and narrows her pretty green eyes. The snarl isn’t a hint anymore, it’s a full-blown, living, breathing part of her face now.
“I don’t believe that’s any of your concern, Kate. And, even if it were, I can tell you that Dr. Markham has no interest in seeing you.”
“But why?” I ask before I can help myself. “I didn’t do anything!”
“Didn’t you, Kate?” She sneers. “He has money, he has connections, he has a lot of things that a girl like you could use to her advantage. And then, when you’re done with him, how convenient he is to throw in your father’s face. Well played, Kate! Well. Played.”
As she says this last part, she actually starts to applaud.
Horrified, I turn around and run. And run. And Run.
…
Thursday May 4th 7:45 a.m.
K: You know I’d NEVER do anything to hurt you, right?
…
Thursday May 4th 7:47 a.m.
K: Okay, enough of this shit. I’m on my way to your house. Why won’t you answer my calls or texts? You KNOW I could never do this to you, Drew! Don’t you?
…
I can’t get to him fast enough. Every second that ticks by with him believing I’ve betrayed him is a second of suffering I can’t bear for him to have. I run to my car and drive to his house as quickly as I can. When I get there, I ring the bell until he finally comes to the door. But I see immediately that this isn’t right. He isn’t right. His face is hard, his eyes are chillingly vacant.
“Drew…” I begin breathlessly.
“Go home, Miss Brenner,” he says flatly. “I don’t want you here.”
“Please, just listen to me. This isn’t my fault…”
“You’re right, it’s not your fault. It’s mine. I should’ve known better than to trust you in the first place. What were you going to do after you graduated, huh? Once you’d gotten what you wanted from me. Were you just going to disappear? Or did you think you’d just hang around to use me for a while longer, maybe see if you could get a few bucks out of me while you were at it?”
“You can’t possibly believe that I would do that to you,” I whisper.
“Oh, but I do, Miss Brenner.”
“Please stop calling me that. Please. I’m Katherine.”
“What did you think I could do for you, Katherine?”
“Drew…”
I reach out my hand to touch him but he pulls his arm away as if I’m a poisonous snake about to bite him.
“Don’t touch me. Don’t you ever touch me again,” he spits with such acridity that I take half a step back.
“What? What did I do? Just tell me and I’ll make it right!” I say, fighting against the inevitable spiral that I see coming.
“Oh, please. You played me. I know it, you know it, and soon everyone else will know it, too.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about!”
He just smirks and shakes his head.
“I’m such a fool,” he says, his voice filled with self-loathing. “You are so good. You had me convinced that you cared for me. And, my God! The act you put on! Tell me, did you somehow make yourself sick on purpose? Or was it just a happy coincidence that I was forced to take care of you? Tell me, Katherine. Tell me all of it. And then tell me what you stood to gain from it. Really. I want to know—what’s worth ruining someone’s life over?”
“I love you!” The words feel like a roar in my mind but they come out sounding more like a squeak. “I would never hurt you. I swear to God, Drew, you’ve got to believe me!”
He looks up at the ceiling, stroking his chin and pretending to consider. “Hmm, now let’s see,” he begins, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You somehow convinced me to sleep with you; to trust you. Then you used me to get to my connections at the New York Conservatory. Then you showed me just how much you care by tipping off a reporter about the consensual relationship that is about to end my career. Oh yes, Miss Brenner. I believe you.”
I start to fight him, but suddenly, I can’t fight anymore. The hatred in his eyes is so much worse than the disdain that used to be there. This man will never believe I haven’t done something to sabotage his life and his career. And I will never forgive myself for allowing him to get close enough to hurt me.
“You’re going to think about this,” I say in a voice barely above a whisper, “and you’re going to realize the mistake you’ve made.”
“Oh, believe me, Miss Brenner, I am well aware of the mistake I’ve made,” he returns in a tone as cold as ice. It robs the breath from my lungs.
I’m not sure how long the tears have been streaming down my face, but I can taste them in my mouth. They accentuate the morning chill as they run down my neck and under my collar, reminding me that I’m not wearing a coat. Again.
“Please,” I repeat in a voice that I can barely hear, “I’m Katherine.”
“No. What you are is a callous, immature little girl who used me to get what she wanted at the expense of my career. Of my life. Were you laughing at me, Katherine?” he asked with a cruel emphasis on my name. “Were you making fun of my grief for my fiancée, Katherine? Were you telling all your little friends how you were screwing around with me, Katherine?”
I shake my head.
“Please!” I beg.
“Go home, Katherine. And then go to hell,” he hisses and slams the door in my face.
I stand, staring at the spot where he just was, shaking with the sobs that are rising from my chest. I ring the bell again and again until it finally just stops ringing. He must have found a way to disconnect it so he wouldn’t have to hear it. I start pounding on the heavy oak door with my fists.
He’s got to hear me. He’s got to listen to me. I bang and bang until blood runs from my knuckles. I don’t know how long has passed when I finally slip to my knees on his doormat, the word “welcome” screaming up at me in its irony. I weep openly, sobbing his name and begging him to open the door.
There’s another temperamental mountain storm set to roll through the area and even as the early sun gives way to clouds, I sit there. I can feel the plummeting temperature around me, but I sit there. I’m still sitting on the floor of his porch when the police cruiser pulls up in the driveway and a middle-aged woman in uniform gets out. She walks up to where I am, shaking with grief and cold.
“Hey there, sweetie,” she says gently as she squats down to my tear-blurred eye level. “It’s freezing out here. Where’s your coat?”
The question makes me sob even harder. The woman’s eyes are filled with compassion, as if she understands exactly what she is looking at: a broken heart.
/>
“Katherine? Is that your name?” she asks. He must have told the dispatcher who I was when he called in the complaint to the police.
I nod dumbly, crying until the hiccups rise from my chest.
“Katherine, you need to go home now, sweetie. You can’t stay here any longer.”
I cry harder and the officer looks down at the ground, as if the answer is written there in front of her. Finally, she meets my eyes and takes a deep breath.
“Katherine, I’m so sorry, but if you don’t go on your own, I’m going to have to bring you into the station and book you on trespassing charges. He wants me to do that, but I think maybe you just need to go home. Do you think you can drive?”
Drew wants to have me arrested? There it is. He really and truly believes that I could do something like this to him. No. There is no coming back from this. Not for him. Not for me. And with that realization, I can finally stand up on my shaky legs. I wipe my tear-stained face and nod my assent to the officer.
“You know what? I’m going to follow you home, okay, honey? I know you’re going—I just want to make sure you get there safely. Okay?”
I nod again and allow her to take my elbow and lead me gently back to the Corolla. In a few minutes I’m headed back down the hill for the last time, my tears falling on the steering wheel just as they did the day he found me in front of his house.
…
Thursday May 11th 8:45 p.m.
D: I’m glad you’ve finally stopped texting and calling. I was about to have my number changed. This is not an invitation to contact me, it’s just a suggestion that we keep things professional tomorrow when you come in for your exam. Making a scene by crying or complaining is only going to make it harder for you. I’m getting on with my life and I suggest you do the same. After tomorrow we’ll never have to see one another again. Please DO NOT respond to this message.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Drew
The rage has been steadily building in me all week, and now that I’m finally allowed to go back to work, I’m ready to let it loose. I stomp into the kitchen and start pulling bottles down from the cabinets. I need a drink and wine is not going to cut it tonight. Brandy? Scotch? Vodka. Yes, that bottle I have stashed in the subzero will do quite nicely. I pour myself a shot and knock it back. Another one. Then another, and I feel my body start to uncoil just a little.
In my absence, Maureen has arranged for a teaching assistant to conduct the review sessions for my classes and that suits me just fine. I have no desire to be the butt of jokes in my own classroom. By not being there, I’ve missed the smirks and snickers of my students and colleagues. I can’t even bring myself to take Tessa’s calls right now. What I cannot get out of, however, are the orals.
First thing tomorrow the Graduate Oral Examinations panel meets in the small conference room. Barry Green will handle the Music History questions. I’ll take Orchestration and Theory. Maureen is in charge of all general music topics including Research and Music Education. One by one, my grad students will come before us and answer questions culled from every class they’ve taken. Among them will be Miss Katherine Brenner.
At first, the thought made me uneasy. I wasn’t sure how I’d react to being so close to her. Seeing her at my door had been hard enough. But then again, I hadn’t really been prepared for that. I was still confused and uncertain about her role in all of this. But now I know. I’ve had enough time to work it all through and there’s no doubt in my mind that she did this. And, when she stands before the committee tomorrow, I plan to be ready. More than ready, in fact.
I pour myself one more shot and take it with me to the kitchen table, where I’ve spread out my old exams and set up my laptop. I’ve been poring over all my notes going back four semesters, digging out the most obscure questions I can find. Policies stipulate that all students receive test questions from the same semesters. They do not, however, stipulate that each student receive the exact same questions. So special little Katherine Brenner will have an entirely new special little oral exam I’ve created just for her.
Maybe I can’t fail her, but she sure as hell can fail herself.
…
I’m in an excellent mood as I take my seat at the conference table with Barry and Maureen. There’s a fresh carafe of coffee and a tray of pastries. The students are much too nervous to even look in my direction, let alone snicker or sneer about what they’ve read in the papers.
I don’t ask to see the roster because I want to be surprised when she walks in the door. The anticipation builds so much throughout the morning that I barely touch the sandwiches they’ve brought in for our lunch break.
“What’s the matter, Drew, chewing up all those students spoiled your appetite?” Barry jokes with a snort.
“Something like that,” I mumble as I pick at some potato salad.
Maureen has been careful to stick to business with me today. She hasn’t said a word about my situation, and I’m thankful for that. For today, at least, I can pretend that everything is back to normal. Now, she’s skimming her clipboard of names.
“Well, so far not one fail in the bunch this year. That’s very impressive, gentlemen. A testament to how well you’ve taught these students,” she says with a smile.
“Day’s not done yet, Maureen,” I mumble.
“That’s true, Drew, but we’ve pretty much hit all of your students. Anyone who fails this afternoon is on Barry’s watch,” she says, teasing my colleague.
Wait. She’s forgotten something. Or, rather, someone.
“All except for Katherine Brenner,” I correct her. “I have her questions ready to go.”
Maureen turns to me with a confused frown.
“What? No, her orals have been postponed,” she says.
I feel myself grow warm with anger. So, she’s found a way to wiggle out of it? I should have seen this coming. She’s probably trying to find a way to get around having me on her panel because she knows I’m going to make it a living hell for her.
“And how exactly did that happen?” I ask with an irritated huff.
Maureen is staring at me, uncomprehending.
“Drew, don’t you know what happened?” she asks.
“What? Did Daddy manage to get her excused or something? Or does getting one of your teachers fired get you a pass on your orals?” I snort derisively and catch a flash of irritation cross her face. She’s about to comment when Barry pipes up from across the table.
“Kate’s in the hospital,” he says through a mouthful of pastrami.
I feel the breath leave my chest, unbidden. This has to stop. I have to stop caring about whatever it is she’s involved in now.
“Well that’s a little convenient, isn’t it?” I ask, snark dripping from my words.
Maureen stares at me, clearly surprised by the outburst. And why wouldn’t she be? I’ve done a total one-eighty since the last time we spoke. When I was a drooling, sniveling, lovesick cuckold.
“Drew, I hardly think she’s faking a broken wrist,” Maureen says dryly.
I scoff. “It’s an oral exam, Maureen. The state of her wrist is irrelevant. What did she do? Slip on the ice in those ridiculous sneakers she’s always wearing?”
Now my boss’s gaze hardens. Her eyes squint a little as her brows draw together. She’s pissed. Something’s not right here.
“Drew, Kate was attacked Tuesday night. Some overzealous reporter from DC. She had him arrested on assault charges and he lost his job. When he got out on bail, he decided to come back for a little revenge.”
My mouth is now grazing the linoleum floor. “What?” I gasp. “Is—is she all right?”
“Well, yes. And no. She managed to give the guy a good swift kick where it hurts, if you know what I mean. He was still balled up on the ground, crying and shoving snow down his pants when the police arrived. But when Kate went to the hospital to have the cast put on, the doctor noticed she was having trouble breathing. The poor thing’s got double pneumonia on top
of everything else. When they couldn’t get an acceptable oxygen level on her, she was admitted. I understand it’s gotten quite serious. I’m sorry, I assumed you were…in touch with her.”
She says this last part pointedly.
Suddenly, all I can see is Katherine sitting on my front porch with her back against the door, sobbing my name over and over again. No coat. No hat. Not even a fucking pair of gloves.
“Where?” I whisper, my voice filled with concern I didn’t know I still felt.
“He followed her to—”
“No,” I cut in. “Where is she now?”
Maureen stares at me curiously.
“All Saints.” She pauses, considering me carefully before she continues. “Barry, would you please excuse us for a few minutes?” she asks, her eyes never leaving mine.
“Huh? Oh yeah, sure,” Barry mutters as he gets up, taking his lunch with him.
When he’s gone, Maureen takes off her glasses and rubs the bridge of her nose.
“What the hell, Drew? Just last week you were telling me how much you care for Kate. Now, all of a sudden, you seem to hate her again. What on earth is going on with you?”
“I did care about her. But she played me, Maureen. It was her. She told the reporter. She used me to get back at her father. She took advantage of my grief for Casey and she—”
I stop short because I don’t see what I was expecting in Maureen’s face. It’s not sympathy for what I’ve gone through. It’s not relief that I finally understand what I’ve done. It’s rage. Pure, unadulterated fury.
“Are you out of your goddamned mind?” she yells at me.
I’m so stunned that I can’t say anything. I have never seen Maureen this angry. Or heard her this loud.
“Good lord, Drew! And here I thought you couldn’t muck this up any worse.”
“W-what?” I finally venture.
“Could you be a bigger idiot?”
Solo (Symphony Hall) Page 24
