The Second Half (17 page)

“I'm sorry, I can't do that.” She could not expect Ken home for several hours yet.

“But we need your input. Whatever else you're doing can wait.”

“No, I cannot leave the house for several hours yet. I'm sorry.”

“We'll pay you, of course.”

“It is not a matter of money. I cannot.”

“Very well. Have a good day.” She hung up. She sounded kind of huffy.

Why could Mona not bear to say, “I have my grandkids here and cannot come?” But she couldn't. Just when she thought she knew herself, some new quirk showed up.

On the one hand, she deeply regretted that this might make her lose the account. On the other hand, it really irked her that Carole assumed she could just drop everything and go. If that was the way the whole account was going to go, she didn't want it. Even without Jakey and Mellie, she could not always simply drop what she was doing and run.

Lord, I'm feeling so torn and buried. Please help me make sense of this strange new life I fell into.
And I beg You, don't let me fall into depression again.

K
en finished shaving and toweled his face. Monday morning. Except for keeping two lost little children from fighting and/or killing each other, he didn't have much to do today. A day to himself, more or less? How novel. He slipped into a pocket tee and headed downstairs.

The phone rang as he entered the kitchen. He saw Mona at the stove doing breakfast sorts of things. “I'll get it.” He picked up the receiver. “Sorenson residence.”

“Ken, Sandy. John just called a finance meeting, and Dale has a big sheaf of papers. I feel trouble brewing.”

“I agree. I'm leaving right now.” He replaced the receiver. “Mona, there's an emergency at the university. I have to run; I'll get something later.”

“Oh, dear!” She wheeled. “Anything dangerous, did anyone get hurt?”

“Not physically. Financially, very dangerous.”

“Financially…” She looked just plain peeved. “Again? You're supposed to be retired, remember? Breakfast is almost ready. You can at least eat first.”

“No. I'm sorry. I'll call later.” He hustled out the door as she was shouting his name, spreading it into two syllables—“Ke-en”—like the kids. She was not pleased.

Neither was he. Sandy hadn't said so specifically, but it was obvious that she, the dean of students, had not been invited to this meeting. Not only was it a major breach of etiquette, but also it was a breach of ethics.

Traffic was heavy already today. It was as bad as living in a city. Well, probably not, but it was irritating. He could drive only as fast as the car in front of him, and that was five miles under the limit. The traffic was getting on his nerves big-time.
Ken, you can't think quickly unless your nerves are settled; you know that.
He must get himself under complete control now.

Breach of ethics.
Hm.
That might be a good weapon to use if they did anything underhanded with the budget. All the deans were supposed to be participating, and if they left Sandy out of it, that might be cause for protest, perhaps even a suit. The first suit Ken filed made them sit up and take notice.

Here was another possibility. If they excluded Sandy, he might put Gerald Leach, their lawyer, on permanent retainer, and he could represent the dean of students. They might not think Sandy should be there, but they didn't dare exclude her lawyer.

That would cost a pretty penny, but…

Traffic ground to a standstill. Of all the times…

Where was the closest place to get off this road and onto back roads? Ken knew them all; in fact, at this time of morning, he probably should have gotten off I-39 to start with. He mentally kicked himself for not doing so. He was going to have to get his brain back into university mode and fast. Traffic began moving again, inching along, a lethargic caterpillar on tranquilizers. He finally reached an exit and scooted off, one in a long line of cars who had the same idea in mind. He arrived in the visitor parking lot forty-five minutes later than normal traffic would have allowed.

He was frustrated, angry, and that would not do.
Get hold of yourself, Ken!
He parked in one of the very few slots left and laid his permanent parking pass on the dash.

Where was the meeting? He had no idea, so he headed for Sandy's office. It was locked.

Should he wait, or should he prowl until he found the meeting place?

It was probably the Stone Room upstairs. Barge in; that would be a nice surprise.

He couldn't see the elevator from here, but he knew the long, heavy sigh when the doors slid open. A moment later, Sandy came around the corner.

She said nothing. He said nothing. She unlocked the door, and he followed her inside, closing it behind him. She flopped into the desk chair, so he took the side chair; the wingback was just as comfortable as his desk chair. Former desk chair.

Her eyes were red and wet. “We're dead.” She took a deep breath. “You're not dead. You escaped the massacre barely in time.”

He had to be supersharp for this. “Talk to me.”

She shrugged under the weight of the world. “I'll start at the beginning. As soon as I called you, I grabbed everything out of my out-box and ran after Dale as silently as possible. I lost him at the elevator, but I saw he got off on the fourth floor, so I ran up the stairs. I saw him go into the Hostmark Room.”

“Not the Stone Room?”

“Not where we normally meet, no. I entered right behind him, and you should have seen John's face. First, he was startled, and then he was furious. He actually blurted out, ‘What are you doing here?' I know, I just know Dale was thinking about chasing me back out, but I suppose he knew he didn't dare. I said, ‘This is an executive meeting and I'm dean of students. Is there a problem?'”

Ken smiled. He could just picture the scene.

“I asked, ‘Will we wait for John Macy?' and Dale said, ‘No.' So I said, ‘He's usually the first one to come in. He must not know about it,' and I stared right at John Nordlund. We all knew John M. was ready to side with you.”

Ken laughed aloud. “Beautiful! Just beautiful. You let them know you were onto their shenanigans, but you didn't say anything accusatory.”

“They went around the room as always, and when they came to me, I spread the out-box papers in front of me. I said, ‘My show-and-tell,' and picked up a letter to a junior in engineering. ‘This young man went to the bursar's to drop out. They sent him to me. His mom had a hysterectomy but is basically bedridden from a serious infection. She desperately wants him to stay in school, but he has to take care of her and his brothers. So he and I put heads together and worked out a plan where he works in the herbarium in return for tuition; this is the letter confirming the agreement. He's going to be a great engineer in a couple years. And he is one of over two dozen students we've helped in the last couple of weeks.'”

“Nicely done, showing a positive outcome with a human face instead of just spouting statistics.”

She looked so weary and sad. “But my pitch didn't make any difference. They're phasing out the aid aspect of the department. They said students will have to find outside aid and scholarships, that we can't afford it anymore. They have to keep the department because it's written into the structure. But they're diverting the funds, and without sufficient funds, we're sort of hollow. Just standing around staring at the wall.”

“There may be legal avenues. I'll talk to Gerry. I doubt John or Dale will change their minds without a legal shove in that direction.”

She nodded. “Incidentally, my future is assured. After the vote, and as the committee was breaking up, John sat down beside me and leaned in. Then he laid a hand on my arm. ‘Now, Sandy, you are probably worried about your future, that you might end up without a job. Please don't be. Regardless whether you remain as dean of students, you'll have a place in this university. Maybe over in procurement. But you'll have something.' Those were his exact words, but I did not repeat them to you condescendingly enough. He talked to me as if I were a high school freshman! I was so repulsed I wanted to break a chair over his head, but I knew I didn't dare burn that bridge, so I just took it.”

Ken studied her a moment, then stood up and crossed to the main bookcase, his old bookcase. “I understand your favorite celebratory drink is San Christoff Sparkling Cider.”

“San Chris— What?”

He pulled the bound student aid reports from 1993 to 2002 off the shelf and tossed them aside on the floor. Yep, it was still there. He pulled the bottle of sparkling cider out from the space behind the reports, crossed to his desk, got the cork puller out of the bottom left drawer, and went to work.

She gaped. “What…?” She twisted around to stare at the blank space on the shelf. She twisted back and watched him pull the cork. “You mean that was there all this time?”

“I got the primo, you'll notice, not the less expensive stuff. It was going to be for some special occasion, but it's worth pouring now.” He picked up her coffee mug, dumped the coffee out into the queen palm beside the window, and poured sparkling cider nearly to the rim.

“Wait. Here.” She handed him the spare mug out of the right-hand drawer.

He poured himself a libation and settled into the wingback chair. He raised his mug. “A toast to the woman who has what it takes and has never realized it. You did us proud.”

“But I couldn't cajole them into giving us the money we need.”

“As I've so often told Steig and Marit, ‘Whether you win or lose may be controlled by someone else, but only you can do the very best you can.' You did the best you could. That deserves celebration.”

She smiled and sipped, then took a healthy swig. She stared at nothing a few moments, then asked, “So how's it going on the home front? Quite a change for you two.”

He wished she hadn't asked that, because she was too good a friend and colleague for him to get disingenuous. But he didn't want to dump on her when she was under such a black cloud already, so he shrugged noncommittally. “We're trying, and they're trying; we'll get by.”

She didn't ask anything; just gazed at him.

The silence became unbearable and he dumped. “Jakey's having a hard time of it, and Mellie has buried herself in her books. She's a good reader; she told me she took a test her teacher in Texas gave her, and she reads at eighth-grade level. But that's not adjusting, that's escaping. And they don't have enough to occupy them all day. I guess Mona and I have lost that touch.”

“Mona and you did a pretty fine job of raising responsible adults.”

“Thank you. But this is different.”

“You have to remember that Steig and Marit never had to deal with abandonment. Abandonment by both parents yet.”

“Steig didn't abandon them. He…”

“Ken, I know Steig better than those kids do. I've been in your home and around your whole family for nearly a quarter century. And you know Steig better than I do. You changed his diapers and taught him to use a fork. And you taught him to man up. You and I know absolutely that Steig will not willingly abandon his children. If he has to drag himself through a minefield, he'll get back to his kids.”

“So why do you say…?”

“Those children have known Steig less than ten years, Ken. You tell them they can trust him, and Mona assures them they can trust him, but their experience tells them otherwise. He's gone. If he's gone a year, that's ten or twenty percent of their lives. They don't yet possess our assurance that he's trustworthy, especially when their mother walked out.”

Ken nodded slowly. Of course Sandy was right. He thought again of the tears and sadness as Mellie tried to deal with her loss. Abandonment. In her eyes, that was exactly what it was. No calls, no Skype. No Daddy. And no Mommy. And Jake, only five, having to handle the same unspeakable loss; no wonder they were not the perfect angels that Steig and Marit had been. Usually. Well, sometimes.

Child psychologists would be quick to say that to a child, relationship is everything. Adults might be distracted by pretty toys or fancy belongings, but to children, family is everything. Everything. These two children had just seen their family, the most important thing in their lives—the only real thing in their lives—shatter irreparably, and there was nothing they could do about it. The insight almost brought Ken to tears.

“I don't know what I can do to help you and your family, Ken. I'm at a loss here, but I'll keep you in my prayers. And I'll try not to ask for help so much. You don't need this job on your plate, too.”

“I can't just see it disappear, either. I've had a vested interest in it for far too long to see it evaporate.”

She smiled. “I won't let that happen. Now that I've been at it firsthand, I see the difference it makes. It's my fight, too, now, Ken.”

Ken finished his cider. Her words comforted him more than she could know.

She poured herself another mugful. “I'll talk to Gerald Leach. See if our law counsel has anything to offer.”

Ken stood up. “Our help getting him through school means that much to him. Besides, I don't think he likes John's department very much. Apparently they gave him a difficult time. Well, Sandy. Hang tough.”

She came around the desk to give him a hug. “You hang tough, too.”

Ken left.

Now what?
He ought to get home soon. The traffic by now would have smoothed out. He could go I-39. He walked across campus to the parking lot.

Bless her, Sandy had given him immense insight into the children's needs. He still didn't have any idea what to do, but at least he could see more clearly what they were battling. He could glimpse the depth of their sorrow.

The road had cleared out considerably; not that many people were entering and leaving Madison at this time of day. He passed a Cracker Barrel, which reminded him he had eaten no breakfast, savored no coffee. Should he get breakfast at home, assuming Mona was in a mood to let him back in the house? No, it was almost lunchtime. So he turned around the block and went back to the Cracker Barrel.

He bought a paper at the restaurant door and took it in with him. The smiling hostess seated him in a booth and plopped the menus in front of him. Should he have breakfast or lunch? Something brunchish would be the most appropriate. He settled on a cheesy omelet, received his coffee and sent in his order, and opened the paper.

Steig didn't express much respect for newspapers or for news in general. “Same things happening to different people and the same people doing goofy things.” That about summed it up.

You are so right, Steig.

Where was he? Ken wondered. Special Forces are elite, so Steig was serving with the best of the best, but where? Obviously, it was nowhere with adequate cell service. Carefully Ken scanned the international news page, looking for mentions of deployment, transfers, or hot spots. That didn't mean much, of course, since the army could be sending Steig to someplace that was not a hot spot yet. Nothing jumped out at him.