The Second Half (6 page)

By the time the pan of Rice Krispies cookies was cooling in the fridge, the spaghetti sauce was simmering on the stove, and the kitchen put back to order, she had let the cat and dog in; answered six texts from her family other than Ken, but who was counting; and it was already after noon. What was happening at the college? Should she call his assistant, Sandy, and ask? Or was she better off not knowing?

She fixed herself a salad with chopped chicken on greens and poured a glass of iced tea. Then with the animals padding beside her, she started up the stairs to her office. Halfway up, she turned around and headed for the porch instead. But she didn't have her desk calendar in case someone called. They followed her upstairs to retrieve the calendar and followed her back down to the porch. She started to sit down when
I need
sun
sent her out to the deck. Gathering all her necessities took two trips, but when she sank into the lounger after setting the food, etc., on the low table, she leaned back and closed her eyes in relief.

Breathe!
She did as ordered. Three times. As ordered.

Hyacinth jumped up and made a nest between her ankles. Ambrose laid his head on her thigh, eyes and wagging tail pleading for attention. She stroked his head and ruffled his ears. “Sorry, no walk today.” He flopped down beside her, a deep sigh causing a niggle of guilt. “Tonight, we'll walk when Dad gets home.”

While eating her salad, she checked down her to-do list, crossing off what she'd accomplished. What else had to be done? The kids' room was ready. She still needed to run to the store. The fragrance of cooking spaghetti sauce reminded her to add French bread to the grocery list, along with Popsicles, eggs, and their favorite cereal. (Had Steig allowed the sugary kind? She added one just for good measure.) He'd have boxes from the kitchen most likely and a cooler full of food, too. It wasn't like they were just coming for the week. He'd said he was pulling a trailer. How big a trailer? They'd have to store stuff in the garage probably. What stuff besides the bikes and kid toys?

Winter clothes, summer clothes, school clothes, playclothes. She forced her mind back to the list for today. Groceries. What did the kids like to eat? No way was her kitchen stocked for two small children. When she didn't feel like cooking or got overwhelmed, Ken stopped for takeout dinner. So easy for the two of them. But not with kids. She needed to start planning menus. For every day. She stared out over the river. Not just for visiting, but every day. Food for two children in the house twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week for the next year.

She shook her head. The weight smashed her into the lounger.
I am not ready for this.

K
en handed a résumé off to Sandy seated across from him at his desk. “This one looks pretty good, but she's still not our golden applicant.”

Sandy glanced at the name. “I thought the same. Worth a shot, though, if nothing better comes along.”

Ken picked up the next résumé, paused, and smiled. “Did you ever meet Archer Tarkensen?”

“No, but I've corresponded with him on e-mail. Sounds nice enough. Didn't he retire?”

“He did. Now he picks up a paycheck here and there as a headhunter.”

Sandy frowned. “Don't you have to live in a jungle or something to be a headhunter?”

Ken smiled. “A headhunter is a person who knows everybody in a particular field; in this case, Arch's forte is university administration. He knows all the big deans. He worked with many of them before he retired and knows who can do what. I told him about our situation here. He agrees Damien is not the person to fill my position, so he's going to look around for us.”

“Look around.” She wrinkled her nose. “You mean see if someone is dissatisfied with what they're doing and would like to come do this job?”

“A headhunter doesn't just look for people who want to move. He looks for anyone who would be a good fit. If a person would be perfect for this position, Arch might just sweet-talk him or her into applying here.”

Sandy sat back, almost smiling. “That's rather audacious.” She shook her head. “Not enough time, Ken.”

“That may change.” Here was another strong candidate. Middle-aged, PhD in sociology, worked with youth groups, then took a job as associate dean at a small college. He would understand what incoming students need and how to maximize their college experience, and he was well acquainted with academic administration.

Ken's office door swung open so violently they both jumped. Dale charged in and slammed an official-looking paper down on Ken's desk. “An injunction! You're slapping an injunction on us! What the bloody blazes do you think you're doing? Call the judge right now and get it lifted. I mean
now
!”

“Sorry, Dale. You have to talk to my lawyer about that. It's in his hands; I'm not allowed to discuss it.”

“Your lawy— No,
you
! Lift this now!”

Ken sat back in his chair, crossed his arms, and quietly looked Dale in the eye. Casually, peaceably, without rancor—well, he hoped that was how it looked. He was feeling anything but peaceable. And rancor was bubbling very close to the surface.

Dale's voice dropped to a purr; its tone was almost threatening. Well, yes, it was threatening. “What's your game, Sorensen? What are you trying to pull here?”

“Talk to my lawyer.”

Dale lost the staredown. He wheeled and stormed out, leaving the door open.

Sandy stared at him, at the legal paper. “You really did hire a lawyer and file an injunction!”

“Yes.”

“I didn't think our advocacy group had the money to hire a lawyer for just one adjudication. They claim they can only handle group cases.”

“That's right.”

Her face hardened. “You're doing this out of your own pocket, aren't you? Ken, no! In forty-eight hours, it won't be your problem anymore. Let it go.”

He sat back to look at her squarely. “Sandy, have I ever in my career backed down from a fight I felt was important? Ever?”

“No, but…”

“That injunction just bought us another sixty days. Yes, I'll be retired, but I'll be able to keep working on our problem. By then we should find someone. And I can do Rollo's annual evaluation when he gets back from vacation in ten days. One less thing for Damien to get his hands on.” He took a deep breath. “I gave my career to this job, and I won't see it defunded and stuffed away on a shelf. It's a line item to Dale and Damien and John. It's academic life and death to the students we serve. Whether they succeed or fail is sometimes in our hands, and we're talking lifetime careers here, not just four years in school. The students. Yes, it's that important, Sandy, that I'm putting my own money into it.”

She sat there in silence a few moments. “Who's your lawyer?”

“Remember a mousy little kid in tortoiseshell glasses who had to struggle for every grade he earned?”

She half smiled. “Gerald…Gerald…Wait a minute…Gerald…Leach! Gerald Leach.”

“He graduated from Stone…”

“Yes. With honors.”

“Right. Went on to law school, and now he's a junior partner in Ross, Vorstein, and Schumacher. He pulls down more than what you and I together earn in a year. And he remembers us.”

“But is he good enough to run with the big dogs?”

“He
is
a big dog now.”

She sat looking at him without seeing anything, the way people deep in thought do. Suddenly she sat straight up. “Well, since we have a sixty-day reprieve, let's get cracking.”

By the time they completed the applications on file, it was near three. Ken glanced at his calendar. Chester Rankin at three. Chet was his last evaluation, except for Rollo. He had not thought he could do it. Dale certainly had not, Ken was certain.

Three came and went. No Chet. Ken filled the time writing letters of introduction for two students and recommendations for three others. Were Damien the dean of students, would he go to all this effort? Do ducks gallop?

He heard Chet out at Sandy's desk and glanced at his clock. Three twenty-two. Yep, that was Chet. Sandy opened his door and ushered their custodian into the room.

Ken waved toward the upholstered chair. “Good afternoon, Chet. Have a seat.”

“Sorry I'm late. Had to clean up a mess in the back room. Y'know that little blond girl you hired to file journals? Spilled her milk shake.
All
over. Took forever.”

Ken smiled and nodded. “Sorry. Her gross coordination isn't very good. You may not know she has a neurodegenerative disease that has destroyed some of the nerves in her arms and legs. The doctors say she will lead a normal life with, probably, a normal life span, but the degeneration won't get any better. And she's a crackerjack librarian.”

“Oh, she was all sorts of apologetic. I just smiled and let it go.”

“That's good of you. Thank you.” Ken sat back. “Let's see. You're the maintenance crew representative for Stone Hall and also Ashford Hall, is that right?”

“Yes, sir. They gave me Harlan now, too, but Harlan don't take much in the way of cleanup, at least not over summer. Not many people go there when school ain't in session. Mostly just chase the cobwebs off.”

“Still, it's your responsibility.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Three administrative buildings is a huge task. If you have any questions or complaints, now's the time to air them.”

“Well, I can't think of any. A couple of the people in the offices, especially over in Ashford, are a little hard to work for, but that's true anywhere you go. So no, I don't have no complaints.”

“Hard to work for in what way?”

“Oh, you know, uppity. I don't have any letters after my name and most of them do, so I'm not worth being nice to. You know, like that.”

You're not the only person who hates working with them, Chet,
Ken thought to himself.
I don't like to, either, and I have half a dozen letters strung out after my name.
“We can get along without labor management people and building inspectors. I'd like to see them get along without a custodian.”

Chet laughed out loud. “Never thought of it that way. Yeah!”

“Are you working on that remodel in Ashford?”

“No, sir. I just clean up the plaster dust after they're through.”

“Insurance records say you have a wife and three children.”

“I do, sir, and those kids are the best kids going. I'm proud of them. They're doing better in school than I ever did, and they're polite.”

Ken pondered a moment. Usually, he wrote down evaluees' answers almost verbatim, but not Chet. The man was much wiser and smarter than his poor English would suggest. He could make a recalcitrant furnace work again when it quit and bring defunct kitchen appliances back to life. His gift for repairs saved the school hundreds of dollars a year. Maybe thousands.

“As you know, Chet, an annual evaluation covers all the bases, or tries to. I see that one thing has not changed since last year. I know you start with cleaning Stone here in the morning. I hardly ever see you get to work on time. You're always fifteen, twenty minutes late.”

“Yes, sir. Don't know how that happens so much. My day just don't seem to get started right most days. Sorry, sir.”

Ken nodded. “On the other hand, I never see you clock out when the day is over at five. You're always working, doing something for at least another half hour or more. Sometimes you don't get out until six.”

Chet shrugged. “Sorry.”

“Don't be. Technically, I should lower your evaluation for your frequent lateness. But I won't. The way you work until the job is done, the school is more than getting its money's worth. I put in extra myself, and I admire that in others. How long have you been here, four years?”

“Five, sir, come July.”

“Ah! Good. Then you're due for an in-grade pay raise. Your supervisor is still Harry Nicholson, is that correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Anything else?”

Chet shrugged again. “Can't think of nothing.”

“Neither can I.” Ken stood, so Chet stood. “Chet, would you do me a favor?”

“Why sure, Dr. Sorenson. More'n happy to.”

“Take the rest of the afternoon off and go home and relax. I'll call Harry and tell him.”

“Well, uh…” Chet grinned broadly. “Since that's what you told me to do, I'll do it. Thank you, Dr. Sorenson!” He left.

Ken sat down and picked up the phone. He and Harry Nicholson were old friends—their kids had gone to school together—but he wouldn't tell Chet that. Keep it formal. He opened his lap drawer to look at the phone list and punched in Harry's number.

Harry answered on the second ring. “Nicholson.”

“Sorenson. How's your daughter doing with her new job?”

“Hey, Ken! She loves it. Wish I liked my job half as well. How's your kids?”

“Marit's chugging right along, and Steig is deployed again.”

“Where to?”

“Karachi.”

Silence at the other end. Harry's voice dropped a little. “Pakistan. Well, best wishes and blessings to him from Marge and me both.” Another brief silence. “How's Mona taking it?”

“So far, so good. She tends to worry a lot, but she seems to be holding her own well.”

“Still, it's always tough. And you're retiring, right? Or retired.”

“Semiretired. Winding up some things. Aren't you about ready to hang up your spurs also?”

“I'm going to put in another eighteen months, and then my retirement check will be bigger. You know, it's based on your top three years, and I'm halfway through a pay upgrade. But yes, I'm gonna hang it up.”

“Good. Harry, I'm calling about Chet Rankin.”

“He in trouble? Not Chet.”

“Trouble? No. For some reason I was supposed to do his annual evaluation, and…”

“I thought that was my job.”

“So did I, but Dale handed it to me. So I did it.”

Harry sighed. “Mine not to reason why, mine not to make reply, mine but to do and die. Something like that.”

“Right. I'll write it up and get it over to you. It will glow. He's up for a raise in a month. I want to state for the record he is worth his weight in gold and should start his in-grade at step two.”

“I was thinking the same thing. To hear him talk he's a few trees short of an orchard, but he's a whiz at fixing air handlers.”

“Same over here in Stone. Incidentally, I gave him the afternoon off.”

“Good!”

They chatted a few minutes more, nothing earth-shattering, and hung up.

Ken stared at his desk. What was Dale up to? Something, that was for sure. Ken hated office politics.
Hated
it! But he was actually quite good at it; in academia, you have to be. He was able to hear what was said and what was carefully left unsaid. Who coveted which cause or position. What bells he had to ring to get his way in an important matter. This time, though, when it counted most—funding of the whole department—he could not for the life of him figure out what was going on. Dale had assigned him useless work. Why?

Sandy buzzed him. He hit the button. “Four more candidates just submitted. Do you want to do them today or pick it up in the morning?”

“Do them today. You get off shortly, so let me have them and you can go home.”

“Paper or online?”

“Don't bother to print them out. Why kill trees if you don't have to.” He swung his monitor around to a better viewing angle as the first flashed onto the screen. But he had trouble concentrating. He simply could not apply himself to this.

Weariness? Exhaustion?

Or was he making the same hideous error his brother had made? Instead of picking up his marbles when he could and going home, Frank had worked on and on past retirement age. And then, when he finally did retire, he dropped dead.

Now here was Ken, hanging on beyond the bitter end when his family was begging him to just quit and walk away.

And if he followed Frank's road, Mona could be raising two small children alone.