Page 118 of Tempted Hearts
“Of course,” I said. “I’ll take a look.”
I slipped the syllabus back into its folder just as my phone buzzed in my pocket.
I didn’t check it.
Because I already knew what wouldn’t be there.
I hadn’t texted Juliette since I left, and she hadn’t texted me.
“Is there anything else on your mind?” Dr. Whitman asked when I didn’t immediately leave.
Yeah, there’s a lot on my mind.
“No. I think we’re all set. I’ll let you know about the colloquium, but I agree that makes sense.”
Her smile was academic. Polite.
“Thank you, Dr. Whitman. I appreciate the flexibility to teach these topics.”
“Joyce. I think we’re beyond titles.”
At this point, I was a nearly tenured professor, a colleague to her, although I had been since I was hired. But there was a hierarchy here, an unspoken one. Until I accepted that ten-year, I was replaceable. But now, I’d be expected to retire in this position. It was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
“Joyce. I appreciate all you’ve done. Hope you have a great weekend.”
“Same to you,” she said, already rolling her chair away from the small table we’d been meeting at toward her desk. She was a notorious workaholic. Divorced twice. Single. Her love was her work, not unlike my father.
I could hear every step I took as I walked down the hall to my own office. The building was mostly empty, and from the looks of it, Dr. Whitman and I were the only two here.
I’d planned to stay for a few hours and catch up on some research. I was all about the views while working, and my office view was as good as any. I stared at buildings, but also plenty of trees, rooftops of New York’s Upper West Side in the distance. The perfect balance of nature and city.
A view any New Yorker would die for.
But I suddenly had no interest in looking out of my office window or conducting research.
Instead, I made my way to the Heights Bar and Grill. Inside, during the semester, it would be filled with Columbia professors and even a few students. During the summer, there was a different crowd entirely. I didn’t recognize anyone.
I sat at the bar, its wood faded from years of elbows like mine sitting on it.
“How’s it going?”
Elliot, or Eli as everyone knew him, had once been an English major at Columbia. He’d never managed to finish his PhD and had taught for a few years in high school, eventually returning to his college job here. He’d often said bartending might not pay as well as teaching, but it was more lively and suited him better. Everyone liked him. Including me.
“No complaints.”
Not true.
“Rye. Neat.”
He went to work. “Must’ve been one hell of a meeting if you’re drinking at lunch.”
Meeting was fine. My life, unfortunately, was not.
“Settled up for the semester.” And then I added, “They offered me tenure.”
Eli smiled as if he knew the gravitas of my declaration. He reached across the bar and shook my hand.
“Congratulations. You deserve it.”
