“Ha,” Caleb says. “You sound like her. She’s always doing a deep dive on something. What are you learning about now, Emm?”
Her eyes light up. “My dissertation was on post-Soviet intelligence networks in Eastern Europe. It’s how we landed at Foggy Bottom. One of my professors was at the State Department with the dean. Now I’m fascinated by the parallels with North African intelligence networks.”
“That does sound interesting. I’m going through a Cold War phase. I mean, I lived it. I was in college when the Berlin Wall fell and when the Belovezha Accords dissolved the Soviet Union. Although, I’m mostly doing a deep dive on U.S-Soviet relations.”
“Oh, you need to talk to Linda!” Emmaline looks around and points out a lavender-haired older woman. “Our school librarian is writing a book about that exact time period. It’s all about the chaos of the transition in the early nineties, the way U.S. and Russian intelligence agencies had to reinvent themselves practically overnight.”
“Oh, I’ll have to read that.”
“It’s nowhere near done. She’s been plugging away at it for a while, but I get the sense it’s slow going.” She glances at Caleb. “Unlike my husband, who apparently writes at superhuman speed.”
Caleb flushes. “It’s not superhuman. I work from a very detailed outline. So the writing goes quickly.”
“Whatever doing, it’s working. My wife’s reading The Payback now. She says it’s hard to put down.”
“That’s kind of her.”
“She’s not kind. She’s honest.” He grins. “Sometimes brutally so.”
Caleb laughs, and the tension in his shoulders eases slightly.
Emmaline shifts in her chair, wincing slightly. Her husband immediately turns to her. “You okay?”
“Just Braxton Hicks contractions, I think. Or the baby kicking my bladder again. I should probably head to the lav before this gets embarrassing.”
Caleb helps her to her feet. “Do you need me to?—?”
“I can manage a trip to the bathroom by myself, darling.” But she says it with affection, squeezing his hand. “Though we should probably leave soon. I’m exhausted.”
“Of course.”
They excuse themselves, Emmaline moving slowly toward the hallway, Caleb hovering protectively her despite her reassurance.
Leo watches them go. Young, stressed, about to become parents. Caleb’s worried about money and deadlines. Emmaline’s worried about the baby and her students.
Abigail appears beside him. “They’re sweet, aren’t they? Caleb and Emmaline.”
“They seem like good people.”
“They are. He’s one of our best teachers. The students adore him. And she’s brilliant—absolutely brilliant.”
“I’m looking forward to trying to fill her shoes.”
“We’re thrilled to have you. And your wife seems to be fitting in beautifully.” Abigail nods toward Sasha, who’s now laughing at something the librarian said. “Linda’s probably recruiting her for the library.”
“That didn’t take long.”
“Linda’s very efficient.”
Across the room, Sasha catches his eye. She tugs at her pearl earring.
Time to go.
Chapter Seven
Sasha and Connelly say their goodbyes. Abigail hugs them both at the door, extracts promises that they’ll come to the faculty potluck next month, and sends them off with a container of leftover cake.
The night air is cool and damp. Sasha breathes it in, grateful to be outside after the warmth of the crowded house.
