Bill turns as red as a beefsteak tomato and begins one of his exhausted attacks on her infamous Post-it note stunt. He calls her an academic has-been trying desperately to be relevant. President Hummell interrupts, calling for order. Recently tenured Sylvia from the history department interrupts PresidentHummell to demand salary transparency and address the rumor about my raise for a “popular period-dramaTwilightseries that’s certainly not serious scholarship.”While others speak up in agreement, Patrick chivalrously defends my artistic work, arguing that it’s as “well-esteemed” as my scholarship.
Normally this would stress me out. But the voices around me drone away into wind. I see Philip ahead of me at sunny Top Withens. I feel that bittersweet ache in my chest.
I blink, bringing myself back to the present.
As I pull out my keys and snap the buckle on my satchel, my colleagues turn on the provost, criticizing line-item A in my report. Anthony from Speech Pathology stands and demands administration transparency while bemoaning the end of faculty governance.
Nobody notices as I leave, and I feel the satisfying whoosh of the lecture hall door swinging shut behind me.
I wasted my breath. Sure, I’ll stay in this job for now. I’m tenured, so my position is highly protected. It’s Friday, and I’d like to take Heathcliff to the park. Henry and Bonnie are coming over this evening. Patrick and Elaine are showing up tomorrow to watch the premier ofBlood Oathwhen it drops onNetflix. Tomorrow is Dad’s birthday, and I want to FaceTime with him. Late-afternoon light from the glass entrance doors spreads across the floors and empty classrooms. Students don’t move back until this weekend. This campus, my colleagues, these halls—this isn’t myreallife, the one that matters in the end.
The lecture hall door behind me opens and closes.
“Lizzie,” Patrick says, lightly hurrying down the corridor to me.
I turn around. He’s smiling, his blue-light glasses still on. “Are you okay with a hug?”
“Yes.”
And he gives me one of our infamous awkward-professorhugs. “Thank you,” he says quietly. “I appreciate what you said—even if no one else does.”
“Thank you. And we’re looking forward to tomorrow evening.”
“We wouldn’t miss it,” Patrick says. He glances around sheepishly. “Don’t tell anyone, but I binge readBlood Tieslast weekend. Hemmings is no Edgar Allan Poe, but his books sure kept my interest. I saw him interviewed on theTodayshow this morning. He’s got it all—looks, money, that suave accent. I’d love to have a beer with the fellow.”
“Uh—yeah, me too,” I mutter before he runs back to the meeting.
Bella Patel:Hey Dr. Wells! I hope you’re well. I so enjoyed hanging out with you, and I still can’t BELIEVE we have matching tattoos! If you’ve started writing yet, I wanted to make sure that you’re going to write the next book asThe Catherine Saga
Me:You bet!
36
I FaceTime Dad on his birthday. He’s still in London, with no plans to come home yet. Although he doesn’t text, he emails often to let me know how he’s doing. He and Ms. Fernsby have been sightseeing—Stonehenge, Stratford-upon-Avon, Canterbury Cathedral. Ms. Fernsby texts me a photo of Dad in the London Eye. Although Dad rarely smiles, he looks happy, eyes twinkling behind his glasses. He’s carrying a large bag of gift shop souvenirs earmarked for Heathcliff.
It’s evening there, and Dad and Ms. Fernsby sit in the dining room behind a large frosted pink layer cake. This is the first time I’ve ever seen him eat cake on his birthday.
“Hullo!” Ms. Fernsby says cheerily from beside him. She looks pretty with pink lipstick on and her graying hair pulled back in a green cloth headband. “We’ve just come home from my favorite Thai restaurant. You and Henry will have to go out with us when you’re here next time. (Although I think it mightbe a bit too spicy for Heathie.) We went out with dear Darcie, remember her?”
“Interesting woman,” Dad interjects. “Extraordinarily fond of cats and wallpaper.”
“Gaylord, can I tell Lizzie about the other night?” she asks Dad quickly.
When he nods, Ms. Fernsby leans forward excitedly. “Lizzie, we trieditagain at Darcie’s—we had the brandy, the candlelight, the hissing cats. She tried to summon your sweet mother—butnothing happened.At least for Gaylord. And it was most peculiar because Lord Routledge tried to make another appearance! I think he’s jealous of me with Gaylord! Maybe he thought I would loyally clean his house for the rest of my days. Stupid man. Anyway, Darcie theorizes that in the happy relationships, the loved one doesn’t need to go back.”
“That sounds about right,” I say, meeting Dad’s eyes. “I miss Philip every day, but we had a... security... that didn’t require anything else.”
“Oh, Lizzie,” Ms. Fernsby says, “That’s so lovely.”
Her phone dings. “It’s almost time, Gaylord! Can you go make some tea and cut me a slice? I’ll be in in a minute.”
Dad says goodbye to me, takes the cake platter, and kisses Ms. Fernsby’s forehead. He’s come a long way from expressing his affection through smelling Mom’s hair.
“I hope you don’t mind, Lizzie, but we’re going to watchBlood Oathtonight. I know Dansworth was an awful rat to you, but, well... Brad Pitt is playing Chadwick Hall and I really must watch it...”
“It’s fine, Ms. Fernsby. Really it is. Dansworth wrote a good series. In fact, I have my ownBlood Oathwatch party coming up.”
“Oh good! And I did want to tell you something about him the other night. I went down the online rabbit hole on A.D. Hemmings, and it turns out the man can’t keep his pants on! Have you heard of Cressida Bishop?”
