“Fencepost. Absolutely. See you shortly.”
“Thanks so much. Tell Daniel I’ll give him a call tonight to reschedule our coffee meeting. See you soon.”
I leaned across the desk, handing Daniel his phone. “He said he’d call you later.”
Daniel gazed at me contritely. “He’s told you about ‘fencepost’?”
Of all the things I expected him to say in that moment, that was definitely not one of them. I couldn’t help smiling. “Yes, among other things,” I said.
“I see you’ve earned my father’s respect and trust, two things he doesn’t dole out to the undeserved,” he said. “I think I owe you an apology.”
Well, shit. My defiance faltered as a series of images and thoughts collided in my brain—the illicit dreams and idle fantasies he’d starred in, the way I’d shamelessly followed him after class that first day, the phone conversations I’d eavesdropped on, not to mention how close I’d been to ripping open the file in the drawer beside me to pour greedily over its contents. Now here he was apologizing to me for overreacting to what had appeared, for all intents and purposes, like an employee snooping through her employer’s office.
“There’s no need to apologize,” I said. “Your reaction was perfectly understandable.”
“You can’t honestly be that gracious. Five minutes ago, you looked like you were going to spit bullets at me,” he said, the right side of his mouth turning up in that one-dimpled grin that made my knees wobble.
“Well, I’ve decided to forgive you for your father’s sake,” I explained, giving him a wry smile of my own.
“I see. That’s kind of you.” After a brief pause, he scanned my face. “By the way, how are you feeling? No aftereffects from Friday’s illness, I hope?”
“No, I felt fine by Saturday morning. Thanks for asking, though, and thanks for…well, taking care of me and bringing me home.”
He frowned, perhaps aware of the piss-poor job he’d done. I didn’t want to review the events of Friday night, but I didn’t want him to leave yet either, so I quickly leaned forward and picked up the family photo.
“I couldn’t help noticing—this is your family, right?” I asked.
He leaned over to glance at the photo. “Yep, that’s Mom and Dad, of course, and my brothers, Bradley and Jeremy.”
“Hmm.” I gestured to the photo beside it. “They make quite a couple.”
He picked up the frame and looked at the picture, sitting back down as he gazed at it. “Penny and Brad? Yeah, they were made for each other. I’ve known Penny for years. Met her in my first year at Oxford.”
He smiled nostalgically, leaning forward in his chair. “In fact, I met her within my first week at the university. I was new to the country, paralyzed with fear, all that sort of thing. She was a force of nature. Totally intimidating, ballsy and smart. I think she decided right away I needed help and took me under her wing. We’ve been great friends ever since. Brad came over to visit me two years ago—once I started my PhD, it got harder to come home for visits. He met Penny, and within ten minutes, it was pretty much a fait accompli. The rest is history.” He replaced the photo beside the family portrait.
His affection for this Penny, despite his fortuitous lack of engagement to her, was obvious. I was intoxicated by the warmth in his voice as he talked about her, not to mention his apparent failure to remember that he was talking to me, one of the students from class: She Who Must Never Be Spoken to As a Human Being with a First Name.
I had hundreds of questions, but I didn’t want to break the spell that had settled on the room—a spell that seemed to make him feel as if it was all right to finally wear a little piece of his heart on his sleeve.
“So Penny moved all the way here from England to be with Bradley?” I prodded.
“Yes, they got engaged over Christmas, but Brad’s been in Chicago for six weeks on business. Thankfully he’ll be home soon. They’re both inconsolable without each other,” he said, chuckling ruefully.
Isolated snippets of the phone conversation I’d overheard the first day I’d met him replayed in my mind: “Miss you? Ha! Completely inconsolable is more like it.” God, he’d been talking about Bradley all along!
And “love” was nothing more than a term of endearment for a dear friend and future sister-in-law. In the washroom at Canoe, Penny had told her friend on the phone that she was going to be “Mrs. Grant,” but she wasn’t referring to Daniel. I thought about the way I’d tortured myself and almost speared Penny with my stiletto, all because of a non-existent engagement. Not to mention what had almost happened with Matt as a result of my wounded ego. Good God.
I snorted and shook my head, amazed at my own foolhardiness. Daniel misinterpreted my reaction.
“Yeah, it’s nauseating watching them pine for each other, but Penny’s been a great friend. She’s been by my side through some pretty difficult times. I’m doing my best to return the favor,” he explained.
Of course, by taking your future sister-in-law out for dinner on Valentine’s Day while her fiancé is away so she doesn’t sit at home sulking. This was all too good to be true.
“Well, I’d best be off,” he announced, breaking the spell.
“Your dad said he’d be here shortly. If you wait for a few minutes, I’m sure…” What I really wanted to say was, “Please stay. You can help me pick out some books from the bookshelf!”
Ah, the fantasy. Back in full-force. Oh, happy day!
“No, I think I’ll leave you to it. I’m sure you’ve got work to do, and I should probably take advantage of the time to review Professor Brown’s lecture notes from Friday. I didn’t get much done this weekend, what with the play on Friday and family commitments.”
I cast my mind back to Friday again, and the roller coaster ride that had found me sitting beside Daniel in the dark auditorium one minute, then bending over a toilet puking while he stood outside waiting for me the next.
“So I’ll see you in a few hours?” he asked, interrupting my thoughts and standing up.
“Absolutely.” I followed him across the room. I closed the door behind us and locked it before returning the keys to the filing cabinet.
“I’d rather you didn’t tell my father about my abysmal behavior here this morning,” he said.
“Fencepost,” I said, locking my lips with an imaginary key.
He bit his lower lip contemplatively and gave me a quick parting smile. Beaming like a thirteen-year-old who’s been asked to her first school dance, I watched through the large front windows of the office as Daniel walked away. Heart thumping and knees wobbling, I dropped into the chair behind my desk.
In reality, not a lot had changed between us, although I certainly had a tiny bit more background information to go on. However, most importantly, one of the seemingly insurmountable obstacles I’d wrongly imagined between us had evaporated into thin air. Damn it, I couldn’t help it—I giggled.
And I may or may not have clapped my hands.
Chapter 13
This Petty Pace
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time…
(Macbeth, Act V, Scene 5)
LATER THAT AFTERNOON when I was in class with Julie, Daniel sat at the front of the room, cool demeanor in full force. I refused to let myself scrutinize every expression that crossed his face. Besides, I was still busy mulling over the events of that morning. Daniel had been livid with me, which was definitely not without its strange appeal. Angry-Daniel was something to behold. But then he was Tail-Between-His-Legs-Daniel, followed shortly afterward by Tiny-Piece-of-Heart-on-His-Sleeve-Daniel. The episode was rounded out nicely by Dimpled-Smile-and-Lip-Biting Daniel. Smorgasbord, right? Was it too much to hope that we might begin working toward a comfortable friendship? Now if only I could get some benefits to go along with that friendship.
I tried not to let my over-active imagination amplify
the significance of the court case file either. For all I knew, he might have challenged a speeding ticket or been arrested for being drunk and disorderly at Oxford. On second thought, that one was hard to believe, but the speeding ticket? Certainly plausible. Regardless, I pushed the whole issue to the farthest recesses of my mind, determined not to make a mountain out of a molehill.
My decision to stop overanalyzing everything made for a much more relaxing and productive week. I handed in a couple of English papers, wrote two tests, and delivered a seminar in my French class. Everything was going swimmingly.
By the time Friday’s tutorial rolled around, everybody was in high spirits and anticipating the spring break. Now that we’d been in class for three weeks and spent several tutorial sessions together, we were bonding as a group. For the most part, we’d settled into the habit of reclaiming the same seats. On Friday, Julie and I were in “our” seats halfway down one side of the table, chatting about her plans for the break, when Daniel arrived.
“Well, ladies and gentlemen, I can see you’re all excited to get started on your vacation,” he said. “One more hour and you’ll be free, so let’s get to work and you’ll be on your way before you know it.” He pulled his copy of Macbeth out of his bag, along with a pen and some note paper. “I thought we’d try something a little different this week. I’d like everyone to take a few moments to flip through the play and jot down one of your favorite lines. Each of you will have a chance to share your line and explain why you like it or why it resonates for you.”
Right away, everyone started scanning the play. I, on the other hand, wrote down the line from Act I that I’d always found to be a most poetic explanation for King Duncan’s obtuseness. Finished, I leaned back to watch my peers.
Julie was scribbling frantically, but I resisted peeking at her page. As I looked around, my eyes met Daniel’s. He glanced at my page, which of course he couldn’t see, but I made a big show of covering it up protectively anyway, like a third grader trying to hide her answers on a spelling test. He smiled.
Oh, how I love thee, one-dimpled smile.
He cast his eyes around to see how everyone was progressing. Cara was chewing the end of her pencil like a gerbil. I actually found her less irritating since I’d decided to laugh at her stupidity rather than see it as some sort of personal affront.
Finally, Daniel rubbed his hands together and said it was time to share. He turned to his left. “Miss Langford, care to start?”
Sweet Mary. She was beginning to come out of her shell, but being the center of attention still pained her.
“You’re going to laugh,” she said, her neck already flushing with embarrassment. “Okay, my favorite line is in act three, when Banquo’s ghost comes to haunt Macbeth at the banquet and Macbeth says to the ghost, ‘Never shake thy gory locks at me.’ Every time I read that scene, it reminds me of Thanksgiving when I was twelve and my Uncle Bernard fell into the woodpile in the backyard after drinking too much Southern Comfort. We were waiting for him at the dining room table, and he came in with all this blood in his hair. My Aunt Joan almost had a coronary. She thought he’d chopped a limb off or something. He’d actually planned to cut wood for the fire. It was pretty funny.”
Mary was right. We did laugh. Poor Uncle Bernard, but what a great cautionary tale. See, kids—never drink and chop wood. Danger lurks!
“Thank you, Miss Langford,” Daniel said. “It never ceases to amaze me how Shakespeare’s imagery can connect with the simplest things in our lives. Okay. Next? Any volunteers?”
He looked at Cara. She was still flipping madly through her book.
“Having some difficulty deciding, Miss Switzer?” Amusement danced at the edges of his eyes.
“Well, I can’t find the one I want. It’s, like, Lady Macbeth talking about sex and stuff. You know, when she’s, like, talking about her breasts. God, where is it?” She was rifling around frantically.
“Surely you aren’t referring to her ‘unsex’ me soliloquy in act one?” Daniel asked.
“Yeah, maybe…” Cara said uncertainly.
“Well, as you know, that speech is primarily Lady Macbeth railing against her gender. It’s not really about sex. When she’s talking about her breasts, she’s calling out to evil to take away her womanly qualities, her maternal instincts, her femininity,” Daniel explained.
All I heard was, “Blah blah blah sex blah blah breasts blah blah.” Where was a good solid bookshelf when you needed one? My reaction was entirely immature, but hearing him uttering those words, even in a scholarly context? I may have lost the academic plot, but my girly bits were definitely taking notes.
I was pulled out of my erotic thrall by Julie piping up to share her line.
“Okay, you’ll like mine, Cara,” she was saying. “This one actually is about sex.” She gave a saucy smile. “So you’re going to think I’m all kinds of pervy for this, but my favorite line is from the porter’s soliloquy.”
I smiled at my notebook. Was she actually going there? Oh, Julie, bring it, baby. I frickin’ love you.
“So you know when he’s drunk and about to answer the door, how he’s reflecting on the power of alcohol, and he says, ‘Drink provoketh the desire, but takes away the performance’? Well, to me, that line is stellar.”
I laughed behind my hand. The guys looked sheepish, and Mary was bright red from the collar up. Daniel had his lips pursed, trying to remain composed. As per usual, Cara was confused.
“I don’t get it,” she said.
Daniel decided it would be appropriate to provide a visual, holding his pen at a forty-five degree angle.
“‘Drink provoketh the desire,’” he said, enunciating carefully as if English was Cara’s second language, “‘but takes away the performance.’” As he said the end of the line, he allowed his pen to wilt through his fingers.
I couldn’t believe my eyes. The poster child for decorum was actually being sexually suggestive. Loosen up those buttons, baby! A flagging pen-erection had never been so incredibly sexy.
Cara blinked, her face blank, and I kind of felt sorry for the dimwit. But then she had her light bulb moment. I loved it when you could actually see a person having an epiphany.
“Oh, I get it. God, that’s so true,” she mused.
“Steve Pollard,” Lindsay said.
“I know, right?” Cara murmured, her eyes flickering over to the guys.
Shawn and Vince exchanged a horrified glance. Had Lindsay forgotten we were all there and perfectly capable of hearing her every word?
“Ah, TMI, ladies,” Daniel said, clearing his throat. “Thank you, Miss Harper, for taking us straight to the gutter, but that’s a good example of comic relief after a particularly tense and gruesome scene. Anyone have a favorite line that’s not about sex?” He looked around the table. “Please, Miss Price, tell me you’ve written down something about a decapitation or multiple stab wounds.”
“Nothing that gory, I’m afraid. One of my favorite lines belongs to King Duncan after he’s discovered the treachery of the Thane of Cawdor. He says, ‘There’s no art to find the mind’s construction in the face.’ I think that’s such an eloquent observation about how difficult it can be to read people.”
“I like that one too,” Daniel said. “Do you see Duncan’s lack of insight into character as a weakness?”
A few days ago, I’d accused him of being a bad judge of character. Was he remembering that now?
“I don’t know about that,” I admitted. “I think he saw what he wanted to see. He wanted to believe everyone was faithful to him. That simply wasn’t the case. Of course, believing everyone capable of evil wouldn’t have been helpful either. Paranoia isn’t healthy. Sometimes all you can do is go with your gut instinct, but there’s always a chance you’ll be wrong.”
Daniel looked at me for maybe a moment too long. A few people cleared their throats, and Daniel regained his focus, continuing around the table until everyone had shared.
Once we’
d all had our say, Mary turned to Daniel and put him on the spot. “What’s your favorite line, Daniel?”
His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Well, I don’t know. Let me think for a minute,” he said, rubbing his temple with his fingers. “I suppose I’d have to say it’s the speech Macbeth delivers after his wife is discovered dead. ‘To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools; The way to dusty death.’”
“Wow, you like that? I think that speech is so depressing,” Mary said. “He sounds so hollow. At the end, when he says his life signifies nothing? I don’t know; it makes me sad to see someone value his life so little.”
“Yes, I suppose it’s sad, but how can it not be? His reign is in shambles, his friends have deserted him, and his wife has died. No one trusts him anymore, and there’s nothing he can do to make amends. Anyone who’s so far from being able to redeem himself is bound to feel and say some pretty sad things. And you’re probably going to become unrecognizable, even to yourself.”
Daniel’s eyes had taken on a lost, faraway look, like he’d moved beyond the confines of the play and was waxing philosophical about life in general. I wanted to climb over the table and hug him. Other things would surely follow, but first he definitely needed a good cuddle. He shook his head almost imperceptibly, and his eyes refocused before he checked his watch.
“Well, I don’t think it’ll hurt to finish a little early today,” he said. Around the room, the fidgeting began. “Anyone doing anything exciting next week?” he asked.
Shawn and Vince said they were going to Fort Lauderdale, and Julie shared her excitement over her trip to the Dominican with some friends from the dance studio. Most people were heading home to visit family. With nothing interesting to share, I kept quiet.
“Well, remember your comparative paper on Hamlet will be due the Monday we return after the break. Have a great week off, everyone,” he said as he packed up his bag.
The Weight of Words (The WORDS Series) Page 11
