The Second Half (3 page)

And he realized with a shock that his mind had just completely wandered away from the subject at hand. Totally derailed. That had
never
happened to him before.

He drew a deep breath and cleared his throat. “Since this is my swan song, so to speak, I would like to make a few remarks beyond the immediate purview of my position as dean of students.”

He poked his iPad to wakefulness. “I have here a note from a Stone graduate who is now managing an accounting firm. ‘Dear Dr. Sorenson, I made a bold move last week during our annual employee evaluations. I asked the owner why he hired me over twenty-seven other applicants. He replied when he saw that my degree was from Stone, he knew I had the best preparation possible. Thank you, Dr. Sorenson, for your personal guidance and for the splendid instruction I received at Stone.'” Ken looked out from face to face again. “When a student comes here, this is the kind of value she gets from her degree, she or he. We deliver. Our degrees are very highly regarded out in the real world as well as in other educational institutions. Our graduates who go on to advanced degrees can pretty much pick their school, and you well know that not every school can say that.

“But we deliver more than just academics. We deliver student aid and service beyond the usual. Some of these kids are ill prepared for a university experience. We have an excellent record of bringing them up to speed, if you will, and keeping them from dropping out or losing ground. We have the highest retention rate in the state. I also asked Sandy to populate a list of our scholarship recipients and whether they graduated. The graduation rate of our scholarship recipients is five percentage points higher than the rate in general, which as I just noted is very high itself. The figures will be posted on the website this afternoon.”

He sat back. “Without a caring staff in student services, we would not be able to achieve what we've achieved. We are now first tier, on a level with Wisconsin's flagship university, and it takes both academics and student services to keep us there. And I hope your new dean of students will understand that.”

John Nordlund across the table snorted. “Frankly, Ken, I do not believe in mollycoddling. ‘Sink or swim' makes a stronger, better student.”

“This isn't mollycoddling, John. A college education these days is incredibly more expensive than when you and I got our undergrad degrees. We have a moral and ethical responsibility to make our degrees cost-efficient, so that our students get the biggest bang possible for their buck.” John didn't look convinced. “Besides,” Ken continued, “it costs us more to matriculate a new student than to hang on to the students we already have. So student retention is a bottom-line good thing.”

Down near the end, John Jenson, the faculty rep, was nodding.

John Nordlund still scowled. And then he asked one of the questions Ken really wished would not be asked: “Damien, you're in the running to become dean of students; what are your thoughts on this?”

At the far end, Damien Berghoff straightened his tie and sat up. “I see good info in both of you. I agree we need students, and good ones fit our bottom line best. But we don't dare lose sight of the fact that we have to make a profit to stay in the game. And perhaps sometimes, the profit motive will have to come first.”

They had crossed swords before on this topic, Ken and Damien. His attitude, putting money above kids, was no news to Ken. It's probably why he tended to dislike the man. What troubled Ken most was that Damien had applied for the position of dean of students.

Ken responded, “It's not just our bottom line. Our students have a bottom line, too, and most of them are not out of their teens, so they have less wiggle room.”

Damien carelessly waved a hand. “Ken, we all know kids these days are whiners. They expect the world to give them an education, and I cannot see that Stone should finance their supposed entitlement. We have to pay attention to our own bottom line, or there won't be a Stone University. It's that simple.”

Ken felt the anger rising inside him faster than he could punch it down.
“Whiners?”
It exploded out of him. “Work with these kids a semester and you'll find out they're not whiners.” He glared at John. “And they're not mollycoddled. They're working desperately to stay afloat, and it's a part of our job to help them do that. To stay in school. A high retention rate requires effort from us as well as them.”

Damien's smile looked a lot like the Grinch's. “Ken, let's face it. Your attitude of holding their little hands and patting them on the head just doesn't work in the present business climate. In today's academic atmosphere, it's not just about students; it's about attracting alums. Well-heeled alums, especially alums who endow chairs and departments. And to attract them, we have to be able to show them a healthy financial statement.”

Fury grabbed Ken's voice and made it roar. “And if they don't graduate, you don't have an alum to impress! You have another failed student who will go elsewhere, if at all. The road to financial stability starts and ends with the
student
!”

Dale raised his hand. “You've both made your points. So has John. Let's get on to the next item.”

Ken didn't hear what the next item was or what anyone said about it. His fury still raged, blinding him. Over and over in his mind he thought about what he should have said, how he might have made his point a lot better. He certainly should never have lost his temper. His mind was kicking itself. And then Dale declared the meeting adjourned, and Ken, for all practical purposes, hadn't even been present. He had been all wrapped up within himself, screaming at himself, ruing the whole morning.

He gathered his papers up more or less mechanically. Dale was still sitting there. Ken closed his attaché case and turned to apologize for his outburst.

But Dale spoke first. “Clever, Ken, fiendishly clever. My hat's off to you. I know you; you've never lost your temper before or even yelled. Ever. Today you were provoking your candidate into a fight, and it worked. We had to know if he could defend his position and stand up for himself, and this demonstrated that. He held on to himself and his ideas even when you were lambasting him. That's about the only way we could tell if he has the stuff to fight, and we all have to have that stuff.”

Should he apologize? Not now, not when he had to drive his point home. “Dale, for marketing, planning, budget, you need a corporate wonk. But for dean of students, you need a person with a heart for the students. That's not Damien.”

“If not, someone with a similar worldview. Keeping us solvent. Ken, your report was the only one in the black; everyone else isn't getting enough resources to do their job. So your department is logically where we will start to trim a little fat.”

And Ken's whole brain exploded. “So what I see as a fiscal responsibility, you see as fat. That's outrageous! Dale,
I
get to pick. Remember?”

Dale's eyes hardened. “As of Thursday morning, you will have no say.”

“I was given to understand that I would choose my successor. And I will.”

“You can advise.
I
decide.” Dale raised a hand, palm out. “I'll give your recommendation full consideration, I promise. But the choice will be mine. The exec committee will have to work with your successor; you won't.”

Ken had never felt a fury this hot before. His hands vibrated as he picked up his attaché case. He was so deliciously angry he found himself able to keep a quiet, modulated voice. “I see. In fact, I see more than you think I do. You deliberately delayed posting the vacancy announcement so that candidates would still be filing their résumés for the position after I left the department. And you intend to hire Damien. Period.”

“Now, Ken…”

Ken stood up. “Dale, you did not just betray me. You betrayed the student body, and by extension, this school.”

“Ken, don't—”

“File a grievance?” he interrupted this devious liar. “That will be the least of it, Dale. Good day.” He left.

H
ad anyone ever murdered a cell phone? Perhaps some of those accidental cell phone drownings Mona had heard of were really deliberate killings.

The line about not killing the messenger floated through her mind. The woman who had taken up so much of her time on Friday had now decided to not hire her. The venue for the surprise celebration was going to have to be altered. She'd had to turn down Marit's invitation to lunch. They'd not had lunch together for what seemed like months. No word from Steig as to when he and the children would be arriving. This was not like him. That thought brought her up short.

Was it time to start worrying or had she already been worrying and just not aware of it? Worry had dogged her her whole life, as did depression. Perhaps they were both spawn of the same source. Did they come as a package? She had the depression more or less under control. The worry, not so much.

She'd never been so shocked as when Pastor Oliver preached on worry and used the word
anathema
. God didn't just dislike his children worrying, it was anathema to Him. Since then she had come to realize that worry was so sneaky, she could be doing just that and not be aware of it.

Please, Lord, make me aware of worry before it has me trapped
had become a daily prayer. For years she had thought she had mastered that ogre, worry. Then she had to confess the sin of pride, too. Sometimes she felt smashed between the two. Awareness. Life was much easier before she became aware.

Okay, Lord, I don't want to worry about Steig, the kids, the celebration, Ken's retirement, and all the other stuff. I want to trust You. Trust that You have this all under control. That none of what is going on surprises You. Trust, such a big word to have only five letters.
She closed her eyes.
Lord, I trust You. I trust You, Lord, I trust You, Lord God.
She tipped her head back and drew in a deep breath, held it, and let it out slowly.
Breathe!
That was fast becoming her other favorite word.
Trust. Breathe.
The two worked together.

Glancing at the clock, she caught herself up short. Six o'clock. No wonder Ambrose had come in with his suppertime whimper. Ken was always home by five, unless he'd called and she'd not heard.

She checked her phone and slammed the heel of her hand against her forehead. She'd turned the ringer off so she could concentrate and forgot to turn it back on.

Ken had called, texted, called, and e-mailed. She flinched and hit the speaker on her iPhone. “Sorry, hon, I'm stuck here for even longer than I thought I would be. How come you're not answering your phone?”

She listened to the rest of the messages, each one getting a bit more strained. Hitting reply, she tossed her shoulder-length hair back and waited for his phone to ring. And left a message. “Sorry, I turned off my ringer and forgot to turn it back on. I'll get on supper now and feed the critters. Totally lost track of time. See you when you get here.”

She should go back and listen to all his messages, but right now duty called in the form of two four-footed critters who were pacing, glancing over their shoulders to see if she was getting the hint. “I'm coming.”

Her inner dialogue continued.
But what about Steig? Lord, I am trusting You.
Learning to trust took moment-by-moment concentration. She flipped her phone on to her music list and sang along with one of the choruses. Anything to keep her mind on track.

Taking out the pet food, she glanced down to see the two, sitting side by side, both sets of eyes tracking her every move. “Thanks, guys, I so need an audience. Would you like to tell me exactly how to do this, as if I've never fixed your supper before?” Ambrose licked his chops, his tail swishing the floor. She set their bowls down, one scoop of canned food on top of kibble, and stepped back. “Okay, you can eat now.” She motioned them forward with her hand.

After sliding a premade casserole in the oven, she took out the ingredients for a tossed salad, and after tossing that in the bowl, snapped the last of the fresh green beans. All the while she sang along with the music, anything to keep her mind from thinking on Steig and now on Ken, too. Something happened today that he hadn't expected. When the phone sang his song, “Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring,” she hit the button on the second chord.

“What's happening?”

“I hope to be home in an hour or so…”

“You can't talk?”

“That's right. You need anything from the store?”

“No, but are you all right?”

“No problem.”

The mystery thickened. Mona upped the music volume after they disconnected in the hopes of drowning out her initial questions. All her questions; was this just another aspect of worry? Setting the table did not take a lot of concentrated thought, nor did slicing the last of the French bread.
Lord, I am trusting You.

Marit's song made her punch the button with a smile. When she heard, “Grammy?” she smiled even further.

“What is it, Brit, honey?”

“Can Grampy go fishing?”

“Not tonight. He has to work late.”

“Oh, I want to go fishing again. Can you go?”

“Sorry, but after Grampy retires, he'll be able to go fishing more.” How he would love to be having this conversation; Brit was absolutely the apple of her grampy's eye. “Besides, you have school tomorrow. How many more days?”

“Twelve.”

“Including game day?”

“Yes. Mom said we could have a picnic at the park for supper, and you can come, too. Maybe you want to bring fried chicken and chocolate cake.” Brit the micromanager.

“I think we can handle that.”

“You better make lots of drumsticks, 'cause Arne likes them best.”

“Thank you for the reminder.”

“Okay, Mom is calling me. Bye.”

Mona clicked off, sure that Brit did not have permission to call. She should have asked; keeping ahead of two extremely bright children pushed her daughter's buttons at times, and the third one looked to be of the same mold.

The sound of the garage door going up announced Ken's arrival, if the two critters standing at the door to the garage, tails wagging or twitching, hadn't already said “Dad's home.” She heaved a sigh of relief and turned on the broiler in the upper oven.

Ken patted his greeting committee, set his briefcase on the island, and crossed the kitchen to kiss his wife. “Smells good in here.”

She studied his face. “You look tired.”

“I'm beat.”

“Or beat up?”

“Some of both. We had issues with the budget. Of course, there are always issues with the budget. Five minutes before I closed down my computer to come home, Dale stuck his head in the door asking about the employee reviews. He thought I ought to do them before Wednesday.”

“In one last eight-hour workday?” Mona wagged her head.

“Not even with Sandy and I tearing our hair out will we get this all done. Also, tomorrow I am interviewing candidates…”

“Isn't Damien hoping to step into your position?”

“Yes. I get the feeling he assumes he has it and that all the other interviews are only protocol.” He shook his head. “But we'll deal with all that later.”

She refrained from asking how he felt. Ken was doing his best to keep his work at work and home life at home. Mona slid the tray of bread under the broiler. “Supper will be on the table as soon as you want.”

“Let me change clothes; five minutes?”

“Fine.” She watched his back as he left the room. His shoulders slumped like he was carrying the weight of the department up the stairs. Good thing he was retiring while he still had his health and dreams to look forward to. Not like Frank and Josie. Ken's older brother had put off retirement so his benefits would be higher and then died of a heart attack two months after his last day at work, leaving a wife with their dreams shattered. No wonder she was angry, since she'd been after him to retire for years.

“You want to talk over supper or wait until after?”

He sank into his chair. “After, please. Let's talk about anything else while we eat.”

“You want to say grace?”

“Sure.” He waited for her to settle in her chair. “Heavenly Father, thank You for this food, that Mona is such a good cook, and that today is almost over. Amen.” He stroked his thinning-on-top hair back with the palms of both hands and heaved a sigh that sounded like he'd been holding in his breath along with his emotions. Looking around the table, he nodded. “This looks so good and peaceful even.”

Mona motioned for him to hand her his plate. “Really hungry or so-so?”

“Really. I didn't realize how hungry until I got out of the car and followed my nose into the house.” While she dished up the casserole, he helped himself from the wooden salad bowl. “We should have lettuce from the garden pretty soon. You know, the first project I think I want to work on is the greenhouse.”

She knew he meant
as soon as I'm retired
. “We still have more to plant in the garden. The first rows of beans are up, and the radishes are nearly ready.” She handed him his plate. “You had a fishing invitation a few minutes ago.”

He passed her the basket of toasted French bread, looking at her with a question.

“Brit called to see if Grampy could go fishing.”

His grin announced his feelings. “Did you tell her this weekend?”

“No, every minute of the weekend is already planned.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Really?”

Oh no! Have I blown it?
How to cover this?
“Well, think about it; the banquet is Friday night. Saturday the kids will be here, and Sunday we are heading to the cabin.” Surely God would forgive her for the little lie. The surprise party that she'd almost alluded to would be Saturday afternoon, and they were going to the resort on Mackinac Island, not just to the cabin like he had planned.

“I know Steig will want to go fishing on Saturday. I'll ask Magnus, too, and Brit, Melinda, and Arne. Hmm, that's too many for the boat.”

Mona smiled at him.
Go ahead and plan; they all know better.
“Sounds possible. We'll have the family breakfast at nine or ten.”

“We can be back by then.”

“You want more goulash?”

“Sure.” He handed her his plate. “So, how was your day?”

“Let's just say that my to-do list got rewritten without my permission.”

“‘Monday, Monday'…Remember that song?”

“Vaguely.” She reached for another piece of bread. “I should never make this.”

“I know, so good.” He dropped a bit of bread to be snapped up before it hit the floor. Ambrose wagged his appreciation.

Mona rolled her eyes. So much for the rule of no feeding the pets from the table.

When they finished eating, Mona asked, “Inside or out?”

“Out.” While she took the dishes into the kitchen, Ken picked up the casserole dish and the now-empty salad bowl and followed her.

“I didn't get any dessert made,” Mona apologized as she set the coffee to brewing. She put the food away as he cleared the rest of the table.

“We still have ice cream?” At her nod, he retrieved the mint chip ice cream carton from the freezer and set it in the sink while he got the bowls down.

“You ready to talk now?” Mona asked when they were settled in their chairs out in the three-season room, the dog and cat at their feet and the quacking of ducks heard from down at the river's edge.

Ken shook his head as he spooned up ice cream. “I don't know; there are a whole lot of office politics involved.”

“As usual.”

He half smiled. “As always. Damien feels he is entitled to the job, and I suspect he has visions of climbing the ladder and assuming the presidency one day. But he is very good right where he is, and I wish he would just stay there. He's a numbers and organization person, not a people person.”

“If the dean of students doesn't care first and foremost for the students, who will?” Mona thought of all the hours Ken spent talking with not only kids, but also adults returning to school, vets returning home and into school, foreign students who needed a sense of home. This very house had been that for many through the years. In fact, that was one of her concerns about his retiring; he would no longer have immediate contact with the students.

“So what will you do regarding hiring?”

“I don't know.” He shook his head. “Apparently I am not the final voice. I will interview everyone, narrow it down to two or three, and let my preferences be known. And why.”

“Your opinion carries a great deal of weight.”

“I would hope so. I was intending that Wednesday would be my last day, but between interviews and reviews, I suspect that I will still be working into Friday. But I tell you, I will not come home until the reviews are finished and turned in. Just in case Damien does get the job. I don't want him doing performance reviews.”

“Why?”

“He's too harsh.”

“And he would say you are too lenient?”

“Most likely.” He leaned back against the cushion. Ambrose rose and rested his head on Ken's thigh. Ken patted him automatically.

Mona heaved a sigh. Ken had worked so hard all these years to build people, not the department. The letters from grateful students that she'd kept in a file proved the value of what he had done. She had hoped to get them all in a scrapbook, but she'd had to pick and choose or the book would have been many volumes rather than one. She and Marit had finished that part of the project the week before.

Ken scraped the last of his ice cream from the bowl and traded it for his coffee cup, looking out toward the river. “I hope there is a golden boy in that pile of applicants, or golden girl, a candidate who so obviously shines above the rest that the decision will make itself.”