“Thank you for wanting me to come.” I stepped closer and took the hand she proffered, shaking it. “I’m very excited about the opportunity to work with your department.”
“As I said on the phone last week, we were impressed with your resume. I know Dr. Van der Vegte—not well, but we’ve met once or twice. This field of study can be a bit . . .” She hesitated, casting her eyes upward. “Insular. Most of us tend to know each other, or at least to have heard of one another. And what I know of him is impressive, which makes me all the more interested, given what he wrote in his recommendation for you. Clearly, you excelled while studying in Amsterdam.”
I nodded. “Thank you. It was an incredible opportunity, to go to school there, and I didn’t want to waste one moment of the experience.”
“It appears you didn’t.” Dr. Rogers lifted one hand. “Before we launch into a deeper discussion of your work and your goals, let’s have some lunch. I ordered some cold salads and sides from my favorite delicatessen—it’s just off campus—and figured that we could chat while we eat.”
She pointed toward a large oak table on the other side of her office. I’d been struggling mightily to ignore it since I’d walked into the room, but I couldn’t exactly continue to do that as the assistant department chair sat down and gestured for me to do the same.
I swallowed hard and focused on breathing through my mouth. Maybe if I could just make a show of eating some bread, that might stay down. It was possible she wouldn’t notice that I wasn’t filling a plate, right?
“I hope you like tuna salad.” Dr. Rogers slid the open container toward me. “I’m a bit obsessed with it. They make it with a special mustard and the most delicious pickles.”
“Uh—yum.” I gritted my teeth and reached for the serving spoon. “Can’t wait to try it.”
“Are you adjusting well to being back in the States?” She opened a small bowl of potato salad. “I did some of my post-graduate work in Norway, and I remember that the first few months after I came home were a little rocky. The cultural difference was jarring.”
“Yes.” Sweat broke out on my upper lip and forehead as the nausea swelled. “I mean, it was kind of weird at first. But I did some traveling in Europe before I came home, and then I spent a week with some friends from college—where I’d gone here in the US, that is—before I ended up with my parents.”
“Oh, yes, I saw in your letter that you’re at West Point for the time, aren’t you? I once participated in a project there.” Dr. Rogers grimaced. “The whole campus is bathed in history, but with the military in charge, our hands were often tied. It was frustrating.”
I shifted in my chair. “I can imagine. I’ve done a little exploring on post, but nothing extensive.”
“Well, we hope you won’t have time to do it now!” She bit into her sandwich. “If all goes well today, we’ll want you to join us at St. Barnabas as soon as possible.”
At the best of times, I didn’t appreciate it when people spoke with their mouths full. It had been one of my mother’s pet peeves when my brother and I were growing up, and she’d taught us to be polite when we ate. But apparently Dr. Rogers hadn’t enjoyed the benefit of my mother’s training, and it showed.
And seeing the partially chewed food in her mouth didn’t help my queasiness one bit.
“Oh. Umm.” I spooned a tiny portion of the tuna salad onto one slice of bread. “I’m sure that will work out. I don’t have any other commitments at the moment.”
Or did I?
“That’s not enough tuna!” Dr. Rogers, still working on that mouthful of her own sandwich, reached across the table and scooped a giant spoonful of tuna salad onto my bread.
There was no way I was going to be able to eat that. I pushed myself back just a little, and then inspiration struck.
“Excuse me, Dr. Rogers—do you have a restroom nearby?” I held out my hands, palms toward the professor. “I just realized I haven’t washed my hands, and I’d like to do that before I eat.”
“Oh, of course.” She pointed to the office door. “Right across from Ashley’s desk.”
“Thanks.” I jumped up and made a beeline for the bathroom, swooshing past the secretary so quickly that I was pretty sure some of her papers were sucked into my tailwinds. But I didn’t stop to check.
Once in the restroom, I braced both hands on the white porcelain sink and breathed deeply. It was such a relief to be away from the smell of food that for one blissful moment, I decided that I was going to be all right. I could get past this. I could do it.
I held a folded paper towel under the cold-water faucet and soaked it, then pressed the compress to my forehead, my temples, and my upper lip. I tried to recall the parts of the body that were supposed to be pressure points to relieve stomach upset, but all I came up with were the wrists. Didn’t they make some kind of bands that helped seasick people?
The door to the bathroom opened, and an older woman hurried in to join me. She stood at the sink next to mine and began messing with her curly gray hair. When she lifted her hands, her heavy, cloying perfume drifted my way, and I groaned softly, stepping away for both of our sakes.
I fled the restroom, feeling a little as though there was no safe harbor. I just had to get through this interview, somehow, and then I could go to the hotel, crawl into bed, and sleep. This had to be some kind of weird virus. At least that was what I was telling myself.
Moving slowly and carefully, I went back into Dr. Rogers’ office and sat down. She was still working on her own sandwich, but she offered me a half-smile as I held my breath and covered the bottom of my sandwich with another slice of bread.
The tuna oozed out of the sides and onto my plate. My stomach lurched, and my throat worked convulsively.
“I think you’ll enjoy St. Barnabas, and the entire community around us,” Dr. Rogers remarked. “And our department is small but impressive.”
“Mmmhmmm.” My back teeth were clenched as I slowly lifted the sandwich.
