As the house lights dimmed, he noticed the couple to his left was holding hands. Others in front were whispering last-minute thoughts, one woman leaning into her mate and kissing him on the cheek.
God, how he wanted Maggie there. He wanted her to be holding his hand, whispering in his ear, kissing his cheek. Instead she was across town, huddled over a patient who needed her. But I need you too. And I miss you.
The hall burst out in applause as the conductor walked onto the stage. Jack could not focus on the music. He scarcely registered the performance and was only aware that the Schumann concerto was over when the audience again applauded.
He grabbed his coat and pushed his way out and up the aisle for the exit.
It was nearly eleven o’clock when he pulled into his driveway and parked beside Maggie’s Lexus in the garage. The house was dark except for one dim light in the kitchen. She was no doubt already in bed, he thought, so he was surprised to find her sitting at the kitchen counter with a glass of wine. She looked exhausted, her face ashen, her eyes sunken deep in shadow.
“Are you okay?” he asked. “What happened?”
She swallowed more wine. “One of the residents was too ill, so I had to pinch-hit. The patient’s fine, but I really couldn’t get away. So how was the concert?”
“It would have been better with you there.”
“Sorry.” She took another sip of wine. “Feel like snuggling?”
Her code for lovemaking. “You mean now?”
“Yes, now.”
He squeezed her hand, and together they walked up to the bedroom.
Afterward, when Jack lay beside his sleeping wife, he wondered if this was how it would be from now on. If sex was something they did instead of dealing with the real issues between them.
He stared up into the dark, listening to her breathe softly beside him. And an image floated into his mind. A woman with tawny eyes, her windblown hair streaked with sunlight.
CHAPTER 10
TARYN
Liam must have ratted her out. That was the only reason she could think of for why she’d been asked to visit room 125 in Dickinson Hall, where the placard on the door read: OFFICE FOR UNIVERSITY EQUITY AND COMPLIANCE, DR. ELIZABETH SACCO, TITLE IX COORDINATOR.
The email Dr. Sacco had sent her yesterday hadn’t mentioned why Taryn needed to visit her, but of course it was about Liam. One of his neighbors, probably one of the blondes, must have told him she’d been slipping into his apartment while he was out. Or he’d gotten tired of all her phone calls and texts, so he’d filed a complaint about her. It hadn’t had to come to this. All he’d had to do was sit down with her, talk to her. She’d remind him of all their years together, their good memories, the many ways their lives were joined. They’d wrap their arms around each other, and everything would go back to the way it used to be between them. This was just a misunderstanding; that was what she’d tell Dr. Sacco.
Taryn knocked on the door and heard: “Come in.”
The woman sitting behind the desk greeted her with a neutral expression, and it bothered Taryn that she could read so little in that face. Dr. Sacco was in her forties, with neatly clipped blonde hair and a navy-blue blazer that would look at home in a bank or a corporate boardroom.
“Taryn Moore, right?” Dr. Sacco said, brisk and businesslike.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Have a seat.” She gestured to the chair facing her desk, and Taryn sat down. Lying on the desk were half a dozen file folders, and Taryn quickly scanned the labels, searching for Liam’s name, but Dr. Sacco swept up the files so quickly that Taryn couldn’t get a look at them before they went into the out-box.
“Thank you for coming in today, Taryn.”
“I’m not sure why I’m here. Your email didn’t say.”
“Because we need to keep this matter confidential. I’m the coordinator for Title Nine Equity and Compliance. Are you familiar with what my office does?”
“Sort of. I looked it up online before I came.”
“Title Nine prohibits discrimination based on gender, and my office enforces those standards. Whenever there’s a complaint alleging sex discrimination or harassment involving students or staff, it’s my duty to investigate. If I find the complaint has merit, we take disciplinary action, which can mean anything from counseling to outright dismissal. If the matter is serious enough, we refer it to law enforcement.”
Dismissal. Was she about to be expelled? She thought of all the student loans she’d taken out, all the double shifts she’d worked every summer to pay for tuition. And she thought of her mother dragging herself home at dawn after another exhausting night of changing bedpans at the nursing home, just so her daughter could attend Commonwealth. It had to be Commonwealth, because she needed to be with him. Would you really do this to me, Liam?
“We take every complaint seriously,” said Dr. Sacco. “I need to hear what both sides have to say, and I document everything. So after you and I have talked, I’ll ask you to sign a statement.”
Taryn’s hands were trembling. She kept them below the desk so Dr. Sacco couldn’t see them and know how scared she was about the possibility of expulsion. She’d sneaked into Liam’s apartment only half a dozen times—well, maybe it was a dozen times—but she never took anything of value. She took only things he’d never miss, things that mattered only to her. Or was this about all the phone calls and texts? She thought back to the times she might have gone too far, all the things she probably should not have done, like reading his mail or stealing his pillowcase or following him around campus. Merely minor infractions, really.
“. . . so far I’ve interviewed two other students, but I’ll be checking with the rest of the class to see if they experienced the same issues with him.”
Taryn blinked, suddenly registering her words. What was she talking about? She’d missed something. “The class? Which class?”
“Star-Crossed Lovers.”
Taryn shook her head. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what this is all about.”
“Professor Jack Dorian. What has been your experience with him?”
All at once a breath whooshed out of her, and for a moment all she could do was sit without speaking, too relieved to say a word. So this was not about Liam at all. This was about something else entirely.
Dr. Sacco frowned at Taryn’s silence. “Do you have anything to say about him?”
“Why are you asking about Professor Dorian?”
“Because there’s been a complaint filed against him, by one of his female students.”
“Who?”
“I can’t reveal her name, but she’s in your nine-fifteen seminar. You probably witnessed the interaction she’s talking about.”
“What did she say happened?”
“She said Professor Dorian made comments that were sexist and demeaning. She said he targeted her in particular, but other women in the class were just as upset about what he said.”
“I never witnessed anything like that.”
“Maybe you missed class that day, so you didn’t see it.”
“I haven’t missed any of his classes. He’s my favorite teacher.”
“So he didn’t say anything that offended you?”
“No.” Taryn paused. “What would happen to him if he had done something like that?”
“It depends how offensive the comments were. A simple warning might suffice. But if it were serious, I might recommend disciplinary action.”
“Could he actually lose his job?”
Dr. Sacco hesitated. Picked up a pen and rocked it between her fingers. “For truly serious infractions, yes. It’s happened. In this day and age, the university tries very hard to be sensitive to our students’ needs. In the past, bad behavior might have been overlooked, but not now. We take every complaint seriously.”
“Who made this complaint?”
“As I said, I can’t give you any names.”
“Was it Jessica?”
Dr. Sacco’s lips pres
sed together in a tight line. That was all the confirmation Taryn needed.
“So it is her.” Taryn snorted. “Well, I’m not surprised.”
“Why do you say that?”
“She’s been a total jerk in class, and he called her on it, in front of everyone. Plus he gave her a C-minus on her last paper. You don’t do that to girls like Jessica. There are consequences.”
“She told me that Professor Dorian made sexually denigrating remarks that made her feel personally attacked. Did you witness such behavior?”
“No. Never.”
“She claims he said, and let me quote from her complaint, ‘that he could understand a teacher having an affair with a student.’” She looked up at Taryn. “Did he say that?”
Taryn hesitated. “Well, maybe he said something like that. But it was in the context of the theme we were discussing. It was in reference to the characters in our assigned reading.” She shook her head in disgust. “You know what? This is a bullshit complaint. I’m the reason Jessica’s going after him.”
Dr. Sacco frowned, bewildered. “You?”
“Jessica and I got into an argument in class. It became pretty nasty, and Professor Dorian stepped in to defend me. That pissed her off, so she turned on him.”
“I see.”
But did she see? She thought of the tight clique of girls that always surrounded Jessica, girls who trailed in her wake like simpering ladies-in-waiting. Would any of them dare to contradict her, or would they all corroborate Jessica’s version of the truth? She might be the only student to defend Dorian, and suddenly it seemed vital that she did. He’d stood up for her, and now she’d stand up for him.
“Professor Dorian would never harass a student. I don’t know what she thinks she’s doing, but Jessica certainly didn’t tell you the truth. And I’ll sign a statement.”
“In his defense?”
“Absolutely. I’ve never met a teacher who’s so passionate about his material. When he talks about Romeo and Juliet or Aeneas and Dido, you feel their pain. He’s one of the best teachers you have in this university. If you fire him because of what some spoiled bitch says, then you’re everything that’s wrong with the Me Too movement.”
Dr. Sacco was clearly taken aback by her ferocity, and for a moment she couldn’t muster a response. Staring at Taryn, she tapped her pen on the desk like a jittery metronome. “Well,” she said, “you’ve certainly given me an alternative viewpoint. I’ll take that into account.”
“Do you need me to sign a statement?”
“What you’ve just told me is sufficient. But if I receive any more complaints about Professor Dorian, I’ll need to talk to you again.”
Taryn was about to walk out of her office when she stopped and turned back. “Are you going to tell him what I said about this?”
“No. This conversation was confidential.”
So he’d never know that she was the one who’d defended him. This would be her own little secret.
For now.
CHAPTER 11
JACK
Over the weekend, Charlie sent Maggie and Jack yet another brochure for the Bryce Canyon biking trip he’d been urging them to join. It featured alluring photos of visitors riding in tandem through the canyons and raising their glasses of wine at group dinners. There was a wide spectrum of ages, from millennials to people who looked Charlie’s age, and he’d scrawled across the page: We can be in these pictures too! At seventy, Charlie was in great shape, biking and working out regularly at the gym. “Why the hell not do this?” he said over the phone. “I’m ready to sign on when you are. Let’s carpe the diem while we still have the diem to carp.”
That Tuesday, Charlie’s diem began to cloud over. Because of his back pain, he couldn’t do any heavy lifting, so Jack stopped by his place to fill the log hoop for his wood-burning stove.
“The doctor called me this morning,” Charlie said, trying to sound casual as Jack tossed another log onto the stack. “He wants to do more tests on me.”
Jack clapped sawdust from his hands. “What kind of tests?”
“An MRI scan, to start with.”
“How come?”
“He said the x-rays showed some anomalies in my spine. But he won’t tell me what it means.”
Jack felt a nugget of ice pass through his heart. “Does Maggie know?”
“I’m not sure I want to bother her about it. She’s got enough things to deal with.”
“It could be just scarring from your fall off the bike a few years ago. You did crack your spine then.”
“Whatever. I’m scheduled for Thursday.”
Rarely had Jack pondered Charlie’s inevitable mortality. In the fifteen years he’d known him, Charlie had been the picture of health, and his eventual death seemed abstract, some event in the vague future. As Jack drove back to campus, he didn’t want to consider the possibility that something was seriously wrong with Charlie. Nor did he want to think about how it would devastate Maggie.
His phone chimed with a new email.
As he waited at a stoplight, he glanced down at a message from someone named Elizabeth Sacco. He didn’t recognize the name, but he saw she had a university email address. He opened the message and read it with mounting alarm:
Dear Prof. Dorian:
In my role at the university, I am responsible for looking into all reports of gender discrimination, including sexual harassment and assault. My office was recently made aware of a report that alleges you violated the University’s Title IX Policy.
Incident Summary: A student alleges that you made inappropriate comments in English 3440 “Star-Crossed Lovers” during a discussion about male teachers in various literary texts having affairs with their students.
This university takes these allegations seriously, and I would like to schedule a meeting to discuss the allegations.
Please know that you are welcome to have an adviser or advocate accompany you. Additionally I would greatly appreciate your not discussing this matter with anyone so as to preserve the integrity of the inquiry.
I look forward to hearing from you soon.
The instant he was back in his office, he checked the university website, and there she was: Dr. Elizabeth Sacco, Title IX Initiatives Office. He only vaguely recalled that the university even had such an office, dedicated to sexual harassment claims.
These charges were ridiculous. Never before had he been accused of impropriety. For several minutes he sat trying to compose himself before he responded. If he sounded defensive, it could antagonize Dr. Sacco. If he sounded dismissive, she might be offended that he didn’t take the charge seriously.
He forced out a neutral response and told her he was free to meet the next day, at her convenience.
For the rest of the day, he was weighed down by an indefinable guilt, wondering if he had indeed committed some awful offense. His mind kept spinning awful possibilities, creating an apprehension that the complaint would snowball, take on a life of its own. What if Sacco chose to side with the student, who he assumed was female? What if they made him the sacrificial lamb at the altar of political correctness? How ironic, since he’d always been a proud defender of women’s rights. Now he might be lumped in with the likes of Harvey Weinstein. Or maybe he was overreacting. Maybe this was just a misunderstanding and Elizabeth Sacco was simply doing her job, following up on unfounded rumors.
But the next morning, while he stood outside the door labeled OFFICE FOR UNIVERSITY EQUITY AND COMPLIANCE, he felt as if he were about to step into Kafka’s The Trial, where Josef K. woke up one day to discover he’d been arrested for an unknown crime and faced his own execution.
He opened the door, and the receptionist flashed him a cool smile. “Professor Dorian?”
“Yes.”
“Dr. Sacco’s expecting you. Come this way.”
. . . to the chopping block.
He’d been expecting an ogre, but the woman who greeted him seemed pleasant enough, in her early forties and dressed in
a somber gray pantsuit. With her short hair and owlish glasses, she reminded him of a clergywoman.
He settled in the chair across from her, suppressing the urge to blurt: Why the hell am I here? This was the office that dealt with claims of sexual discrimination, harassment, and abuse. Last year, it had investigated the rape of a female student by a drunken hockey player. The complaint against him seemed absurd by comparison, and he wondered if this was simply a student’s revenge for a bad grade he’d given.
They exchanged a few tense pleasantries about the recent snowstorm and the miseries of New England weather. She told him she was from South Florida and, until a few years ago, had seen snow only in movies. Then a few beats of silence told him the pleasantries were over.
“I understand how unsettling this may be for you,” she said.
“‘Unsettling’ doesn’t come close. I thought at first your email was some kind of hoax, because I’ve never been accused of anything like this. This is not me.”
“I’m simply trying to determine the facts, and I hope to resolve this in a way that satisfies everyone. As I wrote in my email, a student in your Star-Crossed Lovers class complained about comments you made.”
“What comments?”
“You made this student uncomfortable when you spoke approvingly about teachers having affairs with students. Is that an accurate assessment of what you said in class?”
“Absolutely not! My comment was only in reference to characters in novels. I think I used as examples The Human Stain and Gone Girl. Are you familiar with those?”
“I saw the movie Gone Girl.”
“Then you remember that Ben Affleck’s character took up with one of his students.”
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