The elderly woman with snowy-white hair slipped around the piles of clutter like a sprite. When they reached the safe island of peace behind the dividing tables, she handed Eve a stack of forms in triplicate and said, “I’m Pat Crawford. Welcome to your first registration.”
That was how it began. At first she felt as though her mind were a sieve and she’d never digest all the instructions that were tossed at her from three directions in rapid-fire order. In short time, the words coalesced to make sense and she quickly learned how to fill in the registration forms, schedule appointments with teachers and, when the case merited it, an appointment with the mysterious chairman who never emerged from behind his office door. It was her skill in maneuvering grumpy, complaining children, however, that endeared her to Pat Crawford and the rest of the staff of the department. Eve worked right through lunch, pausing only to unwrap the “I love you” messages in her mind from time to time as fortification when the lines of students seemed endless or their complaints too strident.
By three o’clock the lines had dissipated and a peace settled over the office. Eve’s hand ached from holding a pencil and filling in circles with graphite. She stretched her fingers while massaging them.
“This is the eye of the hurricane, so enjoy,” Pat Crawford said, pouring out freshly brewed coffee into three cups. “Another load will be coming in at about five o’clock.”
Eve’s eyes widened with alarm. “Five o’clock? I have to leave promptly at five, I’m afraid. I—I know it’s my first day,” she stammered, “but my children are alone. I have to make dinner and...”
“Oh, don’t worry about that. We have someone on loan from Accounting who’ll be coming in after you leave. They never have the push we do in English and no one expects you to kill yourself on your first day. Here,” she said, passing her a cup of coffee. “You’ve earned a break, don’t you think?”
Eve greedily sipped the coffee, not caring if the surge she felt humming in her veins was a result of the caffeine punch or purely psychological. For her, coffee was comfort food. The warm cup soothed her aching hand muscles as she breathed in the heady aroma.
“You haven’t met the chairman yet, have you? He’s a doll. We all love him. If he seems rather gruff, well, just ignore that. He’s a perfectionist and doesn’t mean it. He’s really very nice.” Pat’s eyes sparkled just speaking of him. “Well, I suppose now’s as good a time as any,” she said, approaching with steaming coffee in a dark-blue ceramic mug that had the word Read emblazoned across it.
“You mean, there’s actually someone behind that door? I thought it was just a facade.”
Pat laughed. “He hates registration and hides out. We try to protect him as best we can.” The other two women nodded in agreement. “But he’s very accessible, really, when he doesn’t have his nose in a book. Then he roars if he’s interrupted. Come on. Let’s enter the lion’s den.”
Interesting analogy, Eve thought to herself. The lionesses protecting the king. She set down her coffee with a reluctant sigh and trotted after Pat Crawford toward the mysterious chairman’s office. Pat knocked almost coyly three times on the door. Eve’s hand darted up to smooth back her French twist. When a deep voice called for them to enter, Pat turned her head and winked at Eve, then pushed open the oak door.
Eve lingered at the threshold, ears cocked, eyes wide, hesitant to proceed. Pat looked over her shoulder and moved her fingers rapidly, indicating that she should follow. Eve’s intuition was tingling and she stepped slowly, cautiously into the open space.
The late-afternoon sun poured in through the enormous gothic windows and spread its light over a wide walnut desk overflowing with papers, books, pens, exam pamphlets and paraphernalia carelessly strewn over every spare inch. Behind the desk a man slouched in a leather chair with his back to them, one ankle crossing the knee, his silver and dark, longish hair tousled and his chin cupped in his palm. He was reading a thick book, oblivious, basking in the afternoon light much like a lion king resting on a high rock overlooking the savanna.
Eve’s gaze darted about the room, picking up clues. His tastes leaned toward the classic, she mused, sighting a worn, muted Oriental rug spread over the floor, the two gothic wood chairs upholstered in tapestry fabric and an imposing gargoyle perched on the windowsill. A graduation gown was draped across the back of one of the chairs, a wilting arrangement of flowers sat neglected on a side table and more registration forms were piled up in a corner beside a dusty slide carousel. The overwhelming influence in the cozy lair, however, was the presence of books. One entire wall was bookshelves, crammed full of leather-bound volumes in muted colors. Books were stacked on the floor in the corners, under tables and on tops of tables. Eve sniffed the air, catching the heady scent of knowledge. It drew her in. She let down her guard.
“Dr. Hammond?” called Pat in a gratingly cheery, friendly voice. “Coffee! And there’s someone you should meet.”
Eve took a cautious step forward into the light.
The chairman raised his head from his hand as though startled, slipped his glasses off, then turned to look over his shoulder. His blue eyes were as piercing as lasers and made a dramatic contrast to the glowering, dark expression of his face. He obviously was annoyed at the interruption.
Eve pulled up short, unprepared. She’d expected some crusty old vulture or a soft-fleshed, benign professor. Dr. Hammond fit neither stereotype. He was clearly a lion of a man, all large, chiseled bones and majestic bearing. He was elegantly appointed and outwardly poised, but she could sense a wild fury within held taut by a will of iron. Intelligence shone in his large, deep-set eyes and sensuality teased in his full lips, pursed now in inspection. Streaks of silver at the temples and deep lines carved at the corners of his large eyes placed him somewhere in his mid-fifties, and he had that grace of movement and reserve that was a blessing in men as they aged.
His chair squeaked and he brought his long fingers together to steeple under his chin. He had enormous hands, she noted, and strong, heavy bones, unexpected in an English professor. He did not wear a wedding ring. His eyes grew smoky with curiosity, then appreciation. She might have felt unnerved by the perusal, but instead, quite to her surprise, she felt a resounding punch of attraction. Unexpected—and all the more powerful.
“I’m Dr. Paul Hammond,” he said, his voice articulate in a mild British accent. He offered his hand.
She hesitantly took it. His long, strong fingers closed over hers, engulfing her hand, and with a searing flash her whole mind and being focused on that small expanse of skin making contact with his. She ordered her foolish body to relax and breathe normally. Her response was silly, ridiculous, she scolded herself, feeling the torch of a blush touch her cheeks. This was precisely what she thought might happen if she touched him.
“Welcome to the department, Eve Porter,” he said with enviable calm, holding her hand for a fraction of a second too long. He offered her a smile so deliberately ravishing she felt her knees turn to jelly.
“Thank you, Dr. Hammond,” she replied quietly. They were both, it seemed, being exceedingly polite. Then, as though turning off a switch, the gleam in his eye went out. He released her hand suddenly, looked away, then leaned back in his chair and picked up his book. “I’m sure Pat will get you anything you need, won’t you, Pat?”
Pat, seemingly disappointed at having her petite fête cut short, set the cup of coffee down on the desk before the chairman and picked up a few papers from his desk in a delay tactic. “Of course I will! We’ve had a fine start already. Eve caught right on.”
“Very good then.” Slipping his glasses back on, he looked down at the pages, instantly engrossed. He dismissed them with a swivel of his chair.
Pat accepted the humiliation with a hum of acceptance and turned to leave. Eve, however, felt slapped. She raised a brow and straightened her shoulders, then after missing a beat, followed Pat
from the room with cheeks aflame. As she concluded the final hour of her first day’s work, Eve stubbornly refused to even entertain in her mind the dangerous thoughts that were bubbling beneath her calm facade. As she filed the student registration forms in alphabetical order, she reminded herself that Dr. Hammond was not her neighbor, or her colleague, or her friend. He was her boss. This was a new type of relationship for her and she couldn’t react emotionally. She might want to harrumph, announce to the world that the chairman of Saint Benedict’s English department was an insufferable boor and kick up her heels and quit. But she had to face the fact that he didn’t care if he was rude—at least not to her—and if she wanted to keep the job she’d have to set up a new strategy for dealing with her injured pride. Tom wasn’t here to make it better anymore. She couldn’t just quit. At this point, she needed Dr. Hammond more than he needed her.
A short while later, the chairman’s door swung open and he rushed out, coattails flying and briefcase in his hand, reminding her so much of Tom that her heart leaped to her throat. Pat and the two temps fluttered around him, wishing him goodbye, accommodating his every need, giggling. His very presence turned them on like lightbulbs. Eve remained seated in the dark corner bent over an open file drawer, watching the display from under half lids. She noted that his gaze searched the room for her, and once finding her, he offered the slightest nod of his head.
She reciprocated in kind.
He left without a word.
It was character building, she decided with a sigh. She finished the tedious filing, washed out the coffeepot in the ladies’ room down the hall and collected the trash from the office. Then, having completed the most menial chores, she gathered her belongings. It was five o’clock on the button. Eve was uneasy that she appear to the others to be a clock-watcher. Nonetheless, she was determined not to shortchange her time with her children. As it turned out, no one expected her to. Pat stepped forward to warmly thank her for a wonderful first day and they all waved a cheery goodbye, calling out a heartfelt chorus of, “See you tomorrow!”
* * *
“There’s no rest for the weary,” Eve muttered with a yawn as she stopped at the local grocery store to pick up some last-minute supplies for dinner. Thunder rolled in the sky, promising a much needed rain. The humidity was oppressive, hitting her like a wall as she stepped from the air-conditioning of her car into the street. She could barely put one foot in front of the other she was so tired, yet now she had to rally to prepare a meal. Her children were hungry and there was no one else.
Pushing her cart down the aisles, Eve carefully checked the prices, selecting in most cases the generic brands instead of her usual favorites. How cavalier she’d been in her old lifestyle about money! Back then her biggest concern was time. She was always in a hurry and it didn’t matter how much something cost. If she needed it, she bought it. No worries. Such a luxury was unthinkable now. Ironically, she was much more pressed for time but now she had to be frugal. Each dollar counted. Money was tight until her first paycheck. As she waited in line at the cashier she mentally calculated the cost of her groceries. When she was finished ringing up and laid out dollar after dollar into the cashier’s palm, her hands trembled slightly. For the first time in her life she didn’t know if there’d be enough in her purse or whether one can of peas or a box of cereal would have to be set aside.
She sighed in relief when she had enough...but barely. All the euphoria of her first day at work dwindled as she counted the four dollars left in her wallet. When did groceries start costing so much? My God, she thought, closing her wallet as a numbness spread through her body. Would she make it until payday? There were no cushions to fall back on if she made an error. No one to step forward with a few extra dollars if she ran short.
The rain came with a sudden swelling of wind that brought angry streaks against her windshield. As she drove the final few blocks to her home through rush hour traffic, she counted her worries in time with the clicking of her wipers. While driving around her block three times hunting for a parking space, it hit her how every aspect of her life was a struggle now. She finally found a spot three blocks away from her building, which meant she’d be soaked by the time she ran inside. After squeezing her Volvo in, she yanked up the parking brake, then pounded the steering wheel to vent her anger against the fates that had forced her into such a position—at this point in her life.
She’d worked hard for years, being the good wife and the good mother. She’d had her turn counting pennies and saving toward a better future. Now should have been her time to sit back and reap the rewards. Instead, she was thrust back out onto the streets to start all over again. To get her nose rubbed into it again by proud, arrogant men like Dr. Hammond and unsympathetic clerks. Only now it was worse. She wasn’t young anymore. She didn’t have the same energy. She expected more respect. And now she also had her children to care for. Lightning flashed outdoors and thunder rumbled as the rain came down in torrents.
Tears began to pool, the first tears since she’d sold her house. She let them flow down her cheeks unashamedly. It wasn’t Dr. Hammond she was angry at. It wasn’t the high cost of groceries that brought tears. In her heart, she knew the pain that had been growing inside her since early that morning when she’d said goodbye to her children. All day the kernel had burrowed deep like a thorn under the skin. Eve knew who she was really angry at: Tom.
“How could you die and leave me like this?” she cried, clenching her fists and pounding the wheel again. “How could you die before I said goodbye?” Her heart felt torn in two, one part lonely for him and one part angry, oh so angry, at him. Guilt tumbled with regret and anguish that he hadn’t said goodbye, either.
“God, it was cruel of you to take him like that!” she cried. “At such a time... We’d had so many good times. We had things to settle. Words to say. Didn’t you know? You must’ve known.” She held her forehead in her palm. Remorse was the greatest burden, greater than the burden of making ends meet. If only she’d had five more minutes with Tom, she wept, wiping her eyes. Just five more minutes to tell him that she loved him.
She lowered her head, and in the solitude of her car, released a maelstrom of tears that shook her slim body like a willow in the roaring wind and washed away a year of pent-up sorrow from her soul.
* * *
A short while later Eve collected herself and ran the few blocks to her condo, grateful at least that the rain would mask all signs of her tears. She could not yet bring herself to cry in front of the children. They needed her strength now, not her hysteria.
“Yum, what’s that I smell?” she called out in forced cheer, stepping into her condo and sniffing the scent of garlic in the air.
“Dinner,” called Bronte, coming down the long hall from the kitchen to greet her. She was wiping her hands on the apron tied around her waist and her face was beaming with pride. “You’re just in time. I’m ready to take the noodles off.” Then, seeing her mother shake off the rain from her coat, she handed her a towel. “Hey, you’re soaked.”
Children loved to state the obvious. “You made dinner?” Eve was hesitant, conjuring up macaroni and cheese. “But I bought...”
“What?” Bronte asked, snooping inside the grocery bag. “Chicken? Good. I’ll cook it tomorrow. Those cookies look good, too. But tonight it’s spaghetti. It’s all we had in the cabinets but I added extra veggies and I thought we could pile on lots of cheese. Oh yeah, and salad. And I bought this great loaf of bread with that money you left us.”
“You made all that?” Eve felt as though her daughter had just removed a heavy burden from her shoulders. To think, Bronte could prepare dinner.... In fact, Bronte could do so much more. As she walked toward the kitchen, she saw that the condo had been tidied, laundry had been washed and folded into neat stacks, fresh flowers decorated the table and Finney slouched in his usual position in front of the television. All was in order
. Finney and Bronte were getting along just fine without her.
“Go wash your hands for dinner,” Bronte ordered Finney in a tone that Eve recognized as her own.
Then, in a sweeter tone, Eve too was ordered to take her seat. She complied, feeling as though she were eating in a restaurant rather than her own kitchen. During the meal she shared stories of her first day at work in between compliments and exclamations of astonishment at Bronte’s talents. So grown-up! So dependable! Even as she spoke these truths, she felt a wrenching tear in her soul’s fabric, realizing that she indeed was not indispensable to her children. She felt as if she were floating between two worlds, somewhere in limbo.
“Aren’t you eating, too?” Eve asked as Bronte hustled between table and kitchen. Now she was serving a cake that she’d baked from a box.
“Oh, I’ve been eating all day. Tasting and nibbling. I couldn’t eat another bite.”
Eve understood that feeling and smiled, amazed once again at how very grown-up her little girl was becoming. So very much a woman.
* * *
After the dishes were done and they all collapsed on the sofa to watch television, the telephone rang. It was Doris.
“How’d it go today?”
“Oh boy, I’m pooped.”
“I can only imagine. No, maybe I can’t. Going back to work... Honestly, I’m so proud of you.”
“I’m just muddling my way through. I’ll tell you who I’m proud of, though. Bronte. When I came home she had the house all cleaned up and dinner on the table. She even baked a cake.”
“You’re kidding.” There was a note in Doris’s voice that Eve recognized as squelched jealousy. Doris was always competitive when it came to their girls. “I’m not even sure Sarah knows how to turn the oven on.”
“I didn’t know Bronte could either, but apparently she can—and a whole lot more. We shouldn’t underestimate them. I feel I can really depend on her now.”
The Book Club Page 14
