Page 5 of A Cup of Autumn
“That’s an excuse. Two months before Christmas wouldn’t make a difference.”
Except Keaton had planned everything out. He didn’t mess with those plans whether they were written down or in his head. Change wasn’t a four-letter word, but it might as well be. Adaptability wasn’t a strength, and why academia suited his personality perfectly. “Better not keep the big man waiting.”
With a wide smile on his face, Keaton entered the elegant office with wood-paneled walls, bookcases, a large walnut desk, framed Ivy League diplomas on the walls, and large windows with a view of the quad below.
Someday, all the best and the brightest minds who attended the university would know Keaton’s name when he became a dean.
Goals.
Keaton had them.
Warmth balled in his chest. He couldn’t wait for that day to come.
But first tenure and then the rest of his dream would follow.
Dean Fredricks sat behind a massive desk. The lines on his face appeared deeper than usual. He must be training for another marathon. The man enjoyed running with students and did at least two days a week. “Have a seat.”
Keaton sat in one of the two leather chairs nearest him. The dean was a man of few words unless standing behind a podium in a lecture hall, so Keaton remained quiet.
“The university’s acceptance rate reached historic lows this past spring.” Dean Fredricks adjusted his glasses. “Unfortunately, our yield of attendees was far lower than expected. What happens when tier-one universities fight for the same students. We hoped to fill spots off the waitlist, but we have standards to maintain.”
Keaton rubbed his palms over his pants. He didn’t know why the dean was telling him this. Unless they’d decided to announce tenure positions early.
He sat taller, placing his hands on his knees so they wouldn’t bounce. That had to be the reason, right?
He tried not to smile too widely, given the context of the conversation. Rumors of budget cuts had circulated since spring. The athletic department seemed the likeliest place for cutbacks.
“There’s no easy way to say this.” The dean’s voice dropped an octave. The man brushed his hand through his thinning hair.
A shiver ran along Keaton’s spine. That didn’t sound like he would be delivering good news. “What?”
“Your department’s being cut.”
Keaton’s jaw dropped. The air whooshed from his lungs. His fingers dug into the chair’s leather. The room spun. His vision blurred, and he forced himself to breathe.
“Cut?” The word sounded breathless. The way he felt.
“Some courses will be absorbed into other departments. Others will be canceled.” Dean Fredricks stared at his desk. “This must be a shock.”
No words.Keaton, who had never been at a loss for what to say, was speechless. He forced himself to nod.
“Tenured professors have been offered the opportunity to move into different departments, but other contracts are canceled, effective immediately.”
The hits kept coming. Did Professor Duncan and everyone he’d worked with know? Keaton had seen most this morning when he arrived, and then the department had cleared out. They had to have known what was coming, yet none had warned him. A simpleheads-uporheard another rumorwould have prepared him.
Instead, he’d been blindsided.
Keaton’s eyelids burned. His chest tightened, the spot where his heart should be aching.
He knew the answer, but his father had taught him to fully understand a situation before jumping to conclusions.
Keaton cleared his throat. “Including mine?”
“Yes.”
His stomach roiled. He thought he might throw up.
Keaton had worked so hard. He couldn’t walk away without a fight. “I’ve done everything required of me. For six years. My performance reviews. Publishing more than required. Top course surveys from students.”
