The Cursed Canoe

by Frankie Bow

  It was time for class to start, and I was barely a third of the way through with erasing the board. This was unacceptable.

  Every problem is a gift.

  Well. Maybe what I needed to do was leave Rodge a nice thank-you note for his gift. I knew he had a class in here right after mine. Maybe this time I could “forget” to erase the whiteboard. Then Rodge would have to waste the first few minutes of his class erasing, and he’d realize what he’d been making other people put up with.

  Reckless with tragedy and too much caffeine, I made a fateful decision. I would leave class today without erasing the board. See how Rodge likes it. As I scrubbed off Rodge’s purple scribbles I realized I was humming Khachaturian’s Masquerade Waltz.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  DESPITE THE MISGIVINGS I had expressed to Emma earlier, I was enjoying dinner with Donnie. A good night’s sleep had helped me to put things into perspective, and the delicious cooking smells filling his house enticed me to forget my doubts about the distant future. I preferred to focus on the immediate future, which was going to include Donnie’s delicious spaghetti Bolognese.

  One time, it must have been about a year ago, I had fixed dinner for Donnie at my house. Since that one dinner date, for some reason, he’s never been able to coordinate his schedule with mine so we could do that again, and we always end up having dinner at his place. He insists on doing all of the cooking. Tonight I’d tried to pitch in by picking up some of the groceries.

  I deposited my reusable rice-bag shopping tote on his kitchen counter and started pulling things out.

  “I got grass-fed beef,” I said. “Beef from grass-fed cattle, I mean. That’ll be nice for the sauce, won’t it?”

  “Perfect. It’ll give the sauce a richer flavor than the grain-fed would have. Good job.”

  “Donnie, I’m feeling a little guilty about you doing all of the cooking. I mean, you run the restaurant all day, and when you finally get home—”

  “No worries, Molly. Cooking at home isn’t anything like running a restaurant. Running a restaurant is like managing a factory. Cooking is art.”

  “Huh. I guess that’s one way to look at it.”

  To me, cooking is more like chemistry than art. I was never any good at chemistry.

  “Creating a meal for you is very rewarding for me, Molly. I can tell you really enjoy eating.”

  I pulled a tub of hydroponic lettuce from the bag, popped it out of its clear plastic container, and started rinsing it in the sink. That, I can do.

  “So, what’s been going on since the last time I saw you?” Donnie asked.

  “Oh, nothing too out of the ordinary.” Except for the part where your ex-wife murdered two people and skipped town. “My afternoon class went well today.”

  “How so?”

  “We’re covering persuasion and charisma. So I showed them a movie about Nazi propaganda.”

  “That’s what I like about you, Molly. Always looking on the bright side. What inspired you to show your students a film about Nazis?”

  “It turned out to be interesting for the students.” I didn’t feel like explaining about it being Pat’s suggestion. “Goebbels pioneered the modern use of sound bites, so after we watched, I had the students try to remember some of the bits of propaganda from the movie. They were able to remember a lot of it.”

  “Like what?”

  “For example, Goebbels got people all stirred up with the idea of endless war. Totaler Krieg. He got the public clamoring for it.”

  “For endless war?”

  “I know, it doesn’t appeal to me either. At all. But I guess he knew his audience. And tell me if this sounds familiar: Effective propaganda is confined to a few simple points, and these points are repeated over and over. Talking points, right? I bet we could turn on your TV right now and see Goebbels’ legacy in action.”

  “My TV?”

  “Oh right. I forgot you don’t have a TV.”

  “There’s one in Davison’s room.”

  “Well, we don’t have to go in there. Anyway, what’s new with you?”

  “Good news, I suppose. Do you have the onions?”

  I handed him the bag of sweet Maui onions.

  “Perfect, thanks. Merrie Musubis is discontinuing their Mexican food line.”

  “Already? That was fast.”

  “I understand it was popular the first week, but their sales started to decline after that.” Donnie placed an onion on the cutting board and started chopping.

  “I’m not surprised. Unexpected flavor combinations aren’t always a good thing. Like Spam and refried beans.”

  I involuntarily wrinkled my nose at the pasty, flavorless memory of the Carlos Spamtana burrito.

  “Speaking of unexpected combinations. Guess who’s unexpectedly back in Davison’s life. His mystery woman.” The speed and force of Donnie’s onion-chopping increased noticeably.

  “What? She’s in California already? I mean, she’s in California now? How did that happen? How do you know?”

  “I called Davison this morning. He was on his way back from the airport.”

  “Are you sure it’s the same person? You mean the one he met here, right? Before our trip across the island?”

  “He’s supposed to be concentrating on his schoolwork. This is the last thing he needs right now.”

  “I thought she—I thought he said they were done.”

  “Well, it’s her. No doubt about it.”

  “Wow.”

  “She dumped him. Now she snaps her fingers and he comes running back. I don’t like it.”

  I wondered if I should tell Donnie what I knew—or suspected—and decided I should not. If Donnie found out all about Sherry and Davison now, the Sumo Saimin would really hit the fan. Donnie would wonder why I hadn’t ever said anything to him.

  Why hadn’t I said anything to him? Well, maybe I could have shared my suspicions with Donnie earlier, but what would I have told him? I hadn’t been sure myself, not until that conversation with Sherry. So I’d kept my mouth shut, and now it was too late.

  And I had something else to worry about. What if Davison got on Sherry’s bad side, and ended up mysteriously dropping dead the way Glenn and Kathy had? I would have a lot of explaining to do.

  “No. I don’t like it either,” I agreed. “Not at all.”

  Donnie paused his chopping and turned to smile at me.

  “I like your maternal instinct, Molly. You’re protective.”

  “Hm. Maternal instinct. There’s that.”

  “Did Davison ever tell you anything about her? Confide in you?”

  “Confide in me? No. Davison hasn’t confided in me,” I answered, truthfully. “I honestly couldn’t tell you anything about this,” I added, pushing my luck.

  “Molly, maybe you should talk to him.”

  “What? Me? Why?”

  “He won’t listen to me. He thinks he can party his way through college, and everything will turn out fine. I think if he had to live my—I think he doesn’t understand why his education is so important.”

  “Well, he is going to inherit a successful business. If you were heir to Donnie’s Drive-Inn, schoolwork might not seem so urgent. Anyway, if he doesn’t listen to you I don’t think there’s a chance he’d listen to me.”

  “I think you’re underestimating yourself. I know Davison thinks very highly of you. He always asks about you.”

  “Oh. That’s very nice.” I shuddered a little.

  “Let me give you his contact information,” Donnie said. “You should have it anyway.”

  I finished spinning the lettuce dry and reluctantly went to retrieve my phone.

  “I appreciate it, Molly.”

  I opened a new contact and at Donnie’s prompting typed in Davison’s phone number and email address. I hoped taking Davison’s information down was enough of a show of good faith. I certainly did not intend to call him.

  “I think he’d enjoy hearing from you,” Donnie said. “Just a quick
call, tell him you’re rooting for him. You’re the closest thing he has to a mom right now.”

  I had no answer for that.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  I ARRIVED AT MY OFFICE the next morning to find a note on my door from Dan Watanabe, our interim dean.

  Please come see me ASAP. Dan

  This was obviously not going to be good news. But what bad news was there that Dan hadn’t already handed down? Salary cuts. Overcrowded classes. No money to replace the doors on the bathroom stalls. Last year, the administration had floated a proposal to save money by turning off the air conditioning everywhere on campus except for the administration offices. Fortunately, our librarian had pointed out it would only take a couple of weeks’ exposure to the sweltering damp to reduce all of the books and computers on campus to moldy doorstops. Was the air conditioning back on the chopping block now? It had never worked that well, but still, I’d be sorry to see it go.

  Dan was hunched over his desk in the dean’s office, looking like he’d aged about a decade since the previous year. The furniture in the office was still fairly new, but the wood grain desktop was already separating at the seams, and the particulate filling was bulging out. Next to Dan stood a sweet-faced young man in a security officer’s uniform, about seven feet tall and measuring nearly as wide across the chest.

  I knocked and entered. “Hi, Dan.” I peered at the security officer’s little brass name tag, but I wasn’t close enough to read the name.

  Dan heaved a deep sigh. “Come in, Molly. Sit down.”

  I had encountered many different sorts of paperwork in my short time as interim department chair, but I had never seen the form Dan was holding now.

  “Molly, first of all, I want to thank you for stepping up to serve as interim department chair.”

  “No problem,” I said. “It’s a delight.”

  “I know. You have a lot on your plate and this might not have been your first choice. But I’ve appreciated your efforts. You’re dedicated and passionate, and you’ve been a tireless advocate for your faculty.”

  “You’re speaking in the past tense. Am I being demoted?” I asked hopefully.

  “No. Sorry. No such luck. But I have to ask you some questions, okay?”

  I glanced over at the security officer. The young giant quickly averted his eyes. He looked like he was about twenty. He’d probably attended high school with some of my students.

  “Molly. Did you participate in a Student Retention Office faculty development session on the thirtieth of August?”

  “If they had one, I must have. I don’t think I’ve missed any sessions so far. I’m very diligent about SRO re-education camp.”

  Dan cleared his throat.

  “Do you think your comportment or demeanor at that session could be described as unusual or alarming in any way?”

  “Oh. That session.” I felt a stab of pain in my right temple. “It’s possible. Rumor has it I actually smiled at one of the Student Retention Officers. I guess if you knew me, you might find it unusual and alarming.”

  The corner of Dan’s mouth briefly twitched upwards. He pulled another piece of paper from the stack in front of him and examined it.

  “This week, you held classes at the scheduled times in your assigned classroom, correct?”

  “Uh, yes.”

  “You were the one teaching. You didn’t have anyone substituting for you.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Did you have any guest speakers or other visitors?”

  “No, why?”

  “What did you do during your last class section?”

  “We were discussing persuasion and charisma. I showed them excerpts from a movie called The Goebbels Experiment. It’s all about propaganda—”

  Dan nodded. “Mm-hm. I saw the movie. Very interesting.”

  “I’ll admit, the material is kind of dark. Did one of my students complain?”

  “No. And it seems like an appropriate choice, given the topic under discussion.”

  Dan looked up at me over his reading glasses.

  “But when Rodge Cowper’s class came in afterward, they saw a whiteboard covered with Nazi propaganda slogans. In your handwriting.”

  “Oh. I see. Well, that’s, hmm.”

  “Social Media Monitoring has counted several instances of pictures of the whiteboard appearing in online venues.”

  “Social Media Monitoring? What is Social Media Monitoring?”

  “It’s a new department in the Student Retention Office. They just came online over the summer. Molly, you picked a heck of a day to forget to erase the board.”

  Of course, this was Rodge Cowper’s fault. He’s the one who started with not erasing the whiteboard. You couldn’t blame me. Unfortunately, I couldn’t explain this to Dan without coming off as a little childish.

  “One thing I don’t understand,” Dan said. “I know ‘Totaler Krieg’ was Josef Goebbels’ call for total war. But you, or someone, apparently wrote ‘in it to win it!’ right underneath. Why was that?”

  “That wasn’t me!” I protested. “‘In it to win it!’ was already on the board in permanent ink. Dan, you know me. I would never write ‘in it to win it!’ ”

  “Look, Molly. As interim department chair, you’ve been working hard. And doing a great job, I think, considering everything that gets thrown at you. I appreciate it, believe me. But as the interim dean of this college, I have to make defensible personnel decisions. And as a friend, I don’t like seeing you burn out. I’m going to have to recommend temporary administrative leave.”

  “What about my classes?”

  “Rodge has taught both BP and IBM in the past. I’ve asked him to take over for you temporarily.”

  “So Rodge has to teach my classes while I’m out on leave?”

  “We’re a small college with no resources, Molly. People have to pitch in. I’m sure my giving Rodge extra teaching probably offends your sense of justice.”

  “No, no. It actually sounds pretty fair to me.”

  “Here. I need to give you this.”

  It was a handout describing our Employee Assistance Program. We get those in our mailboxes at the start of every school year. I’d probably thrown mine away already. I’d always thought it looked like a great resource. For other people.

  “Dan, if this is on my record, will it affect my application for tenure?”

  “No. It shouldn’t. In fact, if your tenure bid is turned down, the burden is on the university to show you’re not being targeted for discrimination because of this.”

  “Oh. Well, that’s a relief. So what do I do now?”

  “Go home. Read over the EAP flyer. Decide which program or programs might meet your needs at this time. Make sure you understand your options for now. Anything else you need to do, any phone calls or appointments pertaining to your obtaining the help you need, I suggest you put all of it off until tomorrow.”

  “So I should finish up my Student Retention Office paperwork at home?”

  “You shouldn’t be doing any work. Of course I’m not there to police you, so use your best judgment. Officer Medeiros here will accompany you to your car. If you need to pick anything up from your office, do it on the way down.”

  Dan meant right now, apparently. The young security officer stepped to my side and walked me down the hall to my office, which was now occupied by Pat and Emma and fragrant with (my) brewed coffee.

  “Are you related to the other Officer Medeiros?” I asked him. “The head of security?”

  “He’s my cousin.” Young Officer Medeiros held the door open for me as I stepped in and hastily scooped up every book and piece of paper on my desktop. Emma and Pat stared.

  “Can’t join you for coffee right now,” I said. “Come by my house after work?”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  I WOKE UP ON THE FLOOR next to the couch. I’d been dreaming about earthquakes and collapsing buildings. The sounds of thunderous destruction quickly resolved to someone
banging on the door. I was still struggling to stand up when the door clicked open, and Pat and Emma pushed their way in.

  I blinked stupidly and looked at my wrist, which didn’t help, as I wasn’t wearing a watch. I’d fallen off the couch and barely missed cracking my head on the coffee table, upon which sat a heap of still-ungraded papers and a half-empty mug of coffee.

  “It’s five-thirty.” Emma plumped down on my couch. “Cocktail hour. Yes, I would like a glass of wine, since you asked. Hey, I brought a video for us to watch.”

  “It’s already five-thirty? I slept through the whole afternoon. I was hoping to get through this stack of papers.”

  “Why?” Pat asked. “Aren’t you on administrative leave?”

  “I’ll have some of your Cabernet,” Emma said. “The one in the purple and pink box.”

  “You’ll drink that? Sure. Pat? Coffee?”

  “No thanks. No, on second thought, yeah. I’ll have coffee. Thanks.”

  I got our drinks and the three of us settled on the couch. Emma took a few healthy gulps and put down her nearly empty wine glass on my coffee table. I quietly lifted her glass and slid a coaster underneath.

  “So Molly,” Pat asked, “What happened?”

  “Did they let you keep Officer Cutie Pie?” Emma chimed in. “Where is he? Is he here?”

  “Emma, gross. He was like sixteen years old.”

  “Did you get fired?” Pat asked.

  “No, I did not get fired. Thanks for assuming that, though. No, it’s because, I don’t know, Dan thinks I’m getting burned out. He’s concerned about my well-being, I guess.”

  “What did you do?” Pat asked.

  “Yeah,” Emma echoed. “What did you do?”

  “Nothing major. I forgot to erase the whiteboard after class. So Dan put me on administrative leave and arranged to have my classes covered.”

  “Dan’s pretty efficient,” Emma said. “You know he already got a replacement for you on our committee. Are you not supposed to come to committee meetings?”