Page 6 of A Cup of Autumn
The dean’s gaze finally met Keaton’s. “There is no longer a department or a position at this university for you, so tenure is no longer possible. This isn’t personal.”
Yes, it is.“Working at this university is my life.”
My dream.And it was going down in flames.
He forced himself to breathe, but filling his lungs with air took more effort than it should.
“You’ll receive recommendations and help in locating a new position.” The dean’s matter-of-fact tone bristled. “I have no doubt you’ll land a choice position by winter.”
“Winter?” Keaton stiffened. “Don’t I have a year to find another…”
“You only get a terminal year if you’re denied tenure.”
But he was denied it. Just not officially. “My courses this quarter…”
“Will be taught by someone else.”
Most likely Professor Larsen, tenured and overbearing. The students hated the way he droned on about his own family’s Norwegian history. And all Keaton’s work this summer had been…
For nothing.
His shoulders slumped, but an instant later, he straightened. He needed to remain strong until he was alone.
“The decision to cut your department has been made and is effective immediately,” Dean Fredricks continued as if he were talking about using cream-colored copier paper instead of white. “Of course, you’ll receive a severance package.”
Of course.Keaton nearly laughed. Stuff like this happened to other people, not an Andrews. His family were winners. They didn’t lose or fail or get fired. Even Callie had won nine months ago. “Is there an appeal process?”
“No.”
He would speak with his father and brother. They were lawyers. Expensive ones in a different field, but they had contacts.
“The less fuss you make the better your chances…elsewhere.” The dean’s underlying threat brought a chill, bone-deep, followed by goose bumps.
For years, Keaton had looked up to the man. Now, all he wanted to do was get away from him. But he stood his ground, reining in his emotions. No losing control. His livelihood was at stake. “Anything else?”
“HR will speak with you shortly. You should pack up your office.”
Keaton’s hands balled. He pressed his lips together to keep from saying something he would regret and marched out of the office as if he were setting off to war—outnumbered without a clear strategy on how to win.
He passed Lilia’s desk and kept going. He couldn’t stop to show her Rex. Not now.
“Keaton,” she called out.
Not glancing back—he couldn’t—Keaton trudged to his office as if wading through wet cement. He kept going, even though his insides trembled, and the word “failure” echoed in his brain.
His gaze focused on the carpet. As far as he could tell, no one else was in the hallway.
Thank goodness. But that begged a question. More than one.
Which colleagues had been told the news? Offered a new job in another department or school? Fired like him? Who was avoiding him because he was out?
The last question burned the most.
His footsteps echoed.
Keaton undid his bow tie and the top button of his dress shirt. He rolled up his sleeves. Appearances no longer mattered. He’d dressed the part—bought tweed even—and what had it gotten him?
All his hard work had been for nothing.
