One More Time

by Deborah Cooke

  Leslie sat down in her astonishment. “You think I’m having an affair? Already?”

  “What am I supposed to think? You come running down the hall to take his call, looking like a young girl hearing from her lover—”

  “He’s a headhunter, Beverly. He’s trying to entice me to interview for a job at another university.”

  Beverly sat down slowly, her expression watchful. “I thought you had tenure.”

  “I do.”

  “I thought you had always wanted to teach at your alma mater.”

  “I did, for a long time anyway.” Leslie sighed. “But they keep changing the rules, moving the focus to giving the students what they want instead of encouraging them to work for it.”

  Beverly harrumphed. “And this other place is different?”

  “Apparently. They’re establishing a new department in medieval studies, to which faculty from many departments will be cross-appointed. It will allow a kind of interaction of specialties that is really exciting. And they want to shift the balance, so that their senior faculty focus on research, not so much on teaching. They insist that faculty take a sabbatical every third year, just to pursue their research.” Leslie shook her head, unable to imagine such an opportunity. “I haven’t been able to do much research for the past couple of years, because of the burden of class size and the raw number of students I’m teaching and advising.”

  “You could, if you were a less conscientious teacher.”

  Leslie glanced up in surprise.

  “You’re a good teacher, Leslie. You’re committed to it. I’ve seen it and Matt has told me about your dedication. I knew that you spent most weekends marking and composing lectures, but I never realized how much it was costing you.”

  “Well, how you teach is not something easily rewired.” Leslie shrugged. “But I miss the research. I miss the thrill of discovery. And it’s very tempting to consider the merit of having so much expertise integrated, just for sake of discussion and direction.”

  “So, what are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know. I said I’d let him know Thursday whether I wanted to interview or not.”

  “It sounds as if you have some reservations.”

  “Well, I have to think about the mortgage and the future, costs like Annette’s education. I want her to be able to go to college and not have to work while she’s doing so. I’ve been there and done that and it takes a lot of the experience away.”

  Leslie held up a hand when Beverly might have protested. “The compensation is commensurate and Graham said there’s a good chance that the successful candidate will be tenured immediately, so it’s not that.”

  “What is it then?”

  “I’d be leaving my safety net, leaving everything familiar. I thought I would teach where I am for my whole career. I never considered that I would have a home office, or that I would travel to do my research and present papers.” She paused and frowned a little. “And it’s a bit scary to be part of a new initiative, because there’s nothing to guarantee that they won’t decide in several years that it was a bad idea and that the program needs to be dismantled.”

  Annette reappeared and took her seat at the table. Beverly served out pizza and Leslie poured drinks and once they were all seated again, Beverly gave Leslie a glance. “So, because there are no guarantees, you’re afraid to take a chance.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “Isn’t it? You’re not happy. Someone is offering you exactly what you want, but you’re afraid to take it, because it doesn’t come with a lifetime guarantee.” Beverly shook her head. “The thing is, though, Leslie, that nothing does.”

  Leslie considered her mother-in-law, a woman who had probably expected an amiable marriage, a life without alcohol dependency, an easy retirement in her family home in Rosemount, and no dogs ever. Annette was watching the pair of them, her eyes wide even as she chewed pizza.

  “Excuse me for a moment.” Leslie got up from the table and referred to the number she had scribbled on the notepad beside the phone. “Hello, Graham? I’ve been thinking about this, and discussing it with my family, and I’d like to interview if you can arrange it. Early next week would be perfect, thanks.” She glanced back to the table and smiled as Beverly nodded approval. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  It was raining Wednesday morning.

  It had turned warmer and the rain shrouded the world in gray, melting the snow to slush and turning everything to shadow. They drove separately to Rosemount because Beverly wanted some time alone. The girls sat at the living room window, sadly watching everyone leave, but Leslie promised Annette that she could take them for a romp when they got home.

  Assuming the rain stopped.

  It was a long drive to Rosemount, longer in the rain because there were a few accidents along the way. Leslie and Annette arrived in time to hear the bell tolling in the old church. Men from the funeral home, dressed in somber black, directed Leslie where to park for the procession, then escorted the pair of them to the church steps under large black umbrellas. Annette was visibly awed and Leslie realized that her daughter had never been to a funeral before.

  And this one would be something.

  The Episcopalian church in Rosemount was a magnificent piece of Gothic Revival architecture, with a high-pointed spire and a cavernous interior. Candles burned in quantities at the glittering altar of the church and the coffin reposed there. Robert’s framed picture, the one that had been in the paper, stood on the closed coffin.

  Organ music filled the sanctuary and a small group of mourners was gathered at the very front of the church. There were some flowers arranged around the coffin, though Leslie supposed that the scale of the church alone would make any display look modest.

  Beverly stood by the door, chic, trim and elegant. She greeted those who attended, but Leslie was surprised to find her mother-in-law—who was always composed—looking shaken. Further evidence of this was James’ presence beside his mother, his fingertips on her elbow. Leslie thought it probably wasn’t her imagination that Beverly seemed to lean slightly toward, if not on, her eldest son.

  Matt stood on her other side, his gaze fixed steadily on Leslie.

  He was shaved and trimmed, his dark suit immaculately pressed. He wore a white shirt and a dark tie, one that she didn’t recognize. Her sense that he was a stranger was emphasized by the remains of a shiner around one eye and the shadows lurking in his gaze.

  Leslie’s heart stopped, plummeted, then began to palpitate. She stood back, uncertain, while Annette hugged her father.

  “Look,” Annette said to Beverly. She opened her jacket to reveal an orange Hermès scarf tied like a halter top. “What do you think?”

  “Annette!” Leslie whispered, outraged that her daughter would wear orange to a funeral. She could see the child’s nipples! (And she hadn’t even thought about Annette having nipples before this moment.) “That’s not appropriate…”

  But Beverly fingered the silk and smiled slightly. “No, you’re wrong, Leslie. It’s absolutely perfect.” She met Annette’s gaze, then the two hugged in a decidedly unexpected manner. “I don’t know where the joy went, but I think I can find it again,” Beverly seemed to say into Annette’s hair, though that made no sense to Leslie.

  “I’ll stay with Grandma,” Annette said in a whisper, nudging her father aside. “You go with Mom.” She put her hand into Beverly’s and visibly gave the older woman’s hand a squeeze.

  “Go,” Beverly murmured when Matt might have hesitated. Her gaze met Leslie’s then flicked away, as if to provide some encouragement when her own stores were dangerously low.

  Leslie gave Beverly a hug herself, something she had never done in all the years of knowing Beverly. But then, she’d never known Beverly to show so much raw emotion either.

  The embrace apparently wasn’t unwelcome.

  Matt offered Leslie his elbow in silence.

  She thou
ght she might faint when she felt the strength of his arm beneath her fingertips. She could smell his cologne and the familiar heat of his skin and that old black magic was working as it never had before.

  They both acted as if it was perfectly normal for him to escort her down the aisle of a church. In fact, she was reminded of the day they had married, in this very church.

  Maybe that was why her knees were weak.

  Maybe she was never going to get over this man. Leslie had a heartbeat to realize that, to fear its portent, before Matt lifted his right hand to interlace his fingers with hers. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  Leslie looked toward the coffin at the front of the church and wondered how difficult this was going to be for him. “I wasn’t sure you would be.”

  “I had a session with a counselor yesterday afternoon who insisted that it was imperative.” He took a ragged breath. “And she must know something about what she’s doing because I almost slept last night, even though James and Maralys have a lumpy couch.”

  So, he had gone to his brother, instead of coming home. That didn’t seem to be a very good sign.

  But then she was the one who had told him not to make assumptions about coming home.

  They reached the front of the church then and a flurry of muted exchanges with family. Philippa and Nick were there with their toddler and Leslie would have bet good money that Philippa was pregnant again. It was more than the way she stood; it was the way Nick stayed close. The display of their affection made tears rise in Leslie’s eyes.

  Maralys was dressed with dramatic flair, of course, even with a baby on her hip and two boisterous teenage boys in her company. Jimmy, James’ older son, made a murmured joke to his brother and got a sharp word from his stepmother Maralys, a word that had him standing straight and silent in no time.

  “I want to know what you said to him,” Leslie murmured to Maralys when they greeted each other.

  “It would cost you big,” Maralys said with a wink.

  To Leslie’s surprise, Matt stayed by her side, his fingers laced with hers. She decided that he had need of her strength for this ordeal, and she knew that she couldn’t deny him whatever he wanted of her.

  For now.

  She held fast to his hand and let their shoulders brush, wondering all the while whether he would break her heart before the day was through.

  * * *

  The service wasn’t as bad as Matt had feared it might be. He was glad that his mother had insisted on trying to keep it private, for the family, although a few old friends had attended as well. He was glad, too, that the coffin was closed, though in hindsight he wondered how he could have ever imagined that it would be otherwise.

  It was James who the minister invited to give the eulogy for Robert, and he took his place with a slight frown. He had prepared something, but only referred to it a couple of times. He showed his usual courtroom flair and an enviable comfort with public speaking.

  “We are here today to mourn the untimely passing of Robert Coxwell,” James said. “I don’t doubt that I’m the only one here with mixed feelings about my father’s death. He was a demanding man, one with little patience for compromise. His moral code allowed no room for negotiation, something that my brothers and sister and I all discovered for ourselves. For Robert, there was right and there was wrong and there was no in-between. He was not the kind of parent who would applaud any one of us having done our best, independent of the result. If you were right, if you gave your best, you would win. Victory was the only achievement worth celebrating. It was that simple for him.”

  James removed his glasses and considered the group assembled. “I would imagine that every one of us could tell a story about ending up on the wrong side of my father’s accounting, and as you all know, I have one of those stories, too. But you know, that’s not the only thing we should take away from having known him.

  “My father believed in things that should be precious to us. He believed in nobility and honor. He believed in serving one’s country and upholding the law. He believed in supporting his family and tithing to his church and offering support to the community around him. He believed in setting an example, and he did that. We have to look at both sides of that legacy.

  “It’s not so bad to teach your kids right from wrong; it’s not so bad to learn that you have to work hard for whatever you want; it’s not so bad to be told that failure means an opportunity to try again, to try harder, to refine your game.

  “The fact is that Robert taught us all to demand a lot from ourselves, to expect a lot from ourselves and from those around us. He taught me to make the right choice, even if it was a hard choice. He taught me to not flinch from what had to be done, whatever it might be or whatever it might cost me. He taught me that doing what’s right is what’s important, is what constitutes the measure of a man. He taught me that a moral man is a noble man.

  “My father had a conviction in his decisions that I only wish I could emulate. He served three tours of duty in Vietnam when many people didn’t even serve one. He did it initially because he believed it was his responsibility to his country to do his military service, but he stayed. I believe that he stayed because he believed that he could make a difference, not maybe to the war overall but to the men and women who also served there. There’s nobility and honor in that choice, a nobility and honor that can inspire each of us to make choices for the greater good.

  James cleared his throat and spared a glance to the coffin. “My father taught me also that his chosen path, the straight and narrow one, is a hard one to follow. Today, we stand witness to the fact that perhaps Robert’s high standards make a path that is impossible to navigate alone. I had no idea that he was so distraught as to do this, and I doubt that any of us did. He did not believe that a man should be so weak as to show his emotions, but we can all see what that cost him.”

  James straightened. “My father, Robert Coxwell, believed that everything that happens in life provides a lesson. So, I think it’s appropriate to consider the moral of this story, of his story, as he’s not able to do so for us.”

  Matt saw James’ eyes glitter with unshed tears, but there was no change in his brother’s voice. “I suggest to you all that the moral of Robert’s story is to live your life fearlessly, to adhere to your own moral code even if it’s hard to do, but that if you falter, to not be afraid to reach out. It is noble and honorable to be stoic and strong, but that doesn’t mean it’s weak to recognize and acknowledge your limitations. There is strength in numbers: my father told me that a thousand times, but in a critical moment, he just forgot.” James’ voice faltered ever so slightly. “So, I ask you to remember that today, to find a lesson in tragedy, because I believe that Robert would have approved.”

  James returned to Maralys and she held his hand tightly, even reaching to kiss his cheek. James lowered his head and Matt wondered what it had cost his brother to take the high road. Only James knew—and maybe Maralys did too—just what Robert had said in their bitter dispute. Matt felt a surge of admiration for his brother, so different from him and yet similar on some level.

  That had been one of the most honest eulogies that Matt had ever heard and brought tears to every eye. He was glad to be beside Leslie, glad to have caught her sidelong glance. They had history together and he sincerely hoped they had a future.

  But there were walls between them, words that one or the other of them had said. It wasn’t that different from before he had left, even though so many things had changed, and it was harder to find the place to start in person than on the phone. Leslie seemed both brighter and more subdued, and he didn’t know what to make of the change in her. He wanted to know what she thought of him, of his book, of the future, of everything, but she seemed closed to him in a way. Even the ease between her and Annette was both obvious to the casual eye and unexpectedly new.

  Everything had changed in his absence, maybe because of his absence, and he didn’t know where to begin.

  H
e didn’t know how to ask, how to explain, how to establish a connection with his wife again.

  Though he desperately wanted to do so. Matt wasn’t sure what he had expected to happen when they met again, but it wasn’t this. Was she already prepared to be rid of him?

  A funeral maybe wasn’t the best site for a reunion, as it led to the obvious conclusion that the relationship was dead, too.

  That was when Matt remembered that Leslie had avoided this ritual with her own father. Was this particularly painful to her? Was she thinking about her own past? She held fast to his hand and kept her gaze lowered so he couldn’t tell whether she was crying.

  But she was breathing quickly.

  The minister led them all in the final prayers and last hymn. The music swelled and James stepped forward, leading the way for the pall bearers. Matt gave Leslie’s hand a last squeeze and went to take his place opposite James. He was surprised to find his own bitterness losing its sting, maybe because of James’ words, maybe because time dulled the wound, maybe because he was wishing that he had had more time to get to know his father.

  Nick took the place behind James and four more cousins took their places. They were seven, and a bit uneven for a procession, but his mom had insisted on leaving one pallbearer’s place empty.

  Matt hadn’t asked why, even though it was the space behind him. He figured it was some kind of tradition or family symbol.

  He hefted his share now and at James direction, the pallbearers lifted the coffin to their shoulders in even stages.

  Matt’s first surprise was that the coffin wasn’t as heavy as he’d expected it to be. They might actually make it all the way to the hearse without missing a step.

  His second surprise was that his mother was crying, something he had never seen her do.