East Hope (5 page)

“My job?” He leaned on Jack's desk. “Jesus. You can't let them do that.”

Will collapsed back into the chair. In a matter of minutes his academic career was over, turning him into what? A man without a job, without a profession, a failure at the age of forty-one. Facing Jack across the desk, Will felt as if the air had been sucked out of the room.

“So that's it?” Will clenched his fists.

“You know what I'm up against.”

“Well, I'm up against a whole lot more. I'm not going to stand for this.” Will forced his shoulders back. “I'll get my own lawyer. I'm going to fight this, Jack.” No sooner had he said those words than he thought of Mary Beth. She would know whom to call. Some New York guy. Someone who was used to these kinds of fights.

Jack remained slumped in his chair, his face gray against the golden light pouring in over his shoulder. Will grabbed his briefcase and slammed the door behind him.

That night Will sat alone in his study. He barely remembered stalking out of Jack's office, past Adele, down the hall, and to his car. Somehow he had driven home. First he had tried to call Mary Beth. His anger reignited when her secretary told him that Mary Beth was on a plane for the West Coast. She wouldn't arrive in LA until midnight eastern time.

Now, as Will sipped his second Scotch, the room grew dark. He wasn't much of a drinker, a beer or two if he was on his own at the end of the day, or a glass of wine with Mary Beth at dinner. He didn't have the energy to fix something to eat, and he wanted the alcohol to calm him down, to help him think. Had she told him about this trip? His mind was growing fuzzy. It was Thursday. She was supposed to be coming home to Pennsylvania tomorrow. At this very moment a plane was taking her in the wrong direction, away from him.

Will grew more anxious as he waited. Recently Mary Beth had been putting more pressure on him to give up his teaching job at Habliston and move to New York City. She had taken a job in pharmaceutical sales right after business school. This part of Pennsylvania was in her territory, and she was able to travel for her work from here. She was successful from the start, and after the first few years she became head of the regional division and, soon after, one of the top producers on the East Coast.

By the third year Mary Beth's salary was twice Will's, and they bought their house. It had been her idea to live in the college town. Neither of her parents had gone to college, and she had grown up in a New Jersey suburb. The conflict came two years ago when her company wanted her to take a job in management and move to New York.

Will loved his work at Habliston. His schedule at the college allowed him time to write. He was slowly making a name for himself among Henry James scholars. Mary Beth had been thrilled when he'd been offered department chair. The academic market was flooded with PhDs, and the chance of his finding a comparable job in New York was extremely slim. When Mary Beth had taken the job in New York, she said she wouldn't mind commuting back home on the weekends. She told Will that he could use the time alone to work on his novel. She had the unrealistic notion that every English professor had a novel in him, and that once Will sold it he could give up his job and join her in the city.

Will picked up the framed photo of Mary Beth that he kept on his desk. He squinted at it in the darkness and tried to make out her face, that sweet, perfectly oval face that could also become so hard and determined. They had had a terrible argument at the first of the year. There had been a faculty party on New Year's Eve, and the next morning they both awoke to aching heads, hungover, out of sorts. While sipping coffee in the kitchen Mary Beth had announced that she was buying an apartment in New York, where her future was.

“It's your turn to commute,” she had said.

“You know I hate the city.” As he said this he could hear the rush and clamor of traffic pounding into his head.

“Do you think I like hauling myself out here every weekend?” She glared at him. Her fleece robe, some shade of dark purple, made her look pale.

“What about our house?”

“We can sell the house. If you insist on keeping this job, you can rent a small place near the college.”

Will put down his coffee. “This is so sudden.”

“Sudden? Will, you are so lost in your clouded academic world. Do you know how many times I've driven out here? You think it's easy to fight through the traffic?”

He stared at her, baffled at first, and then fearful of what she was saying.

“Well, I've lost count. That's how many, and I'm just sick of it.”

“I know it's been hard.”

“Hard.” She began to shout. “We rarely talk these days. That's hard, Will.” She went to the sink and banged down her coffee mug. “I make enough money for both of us now. New York is exciting. There are hundreds of colleges there. I love you. I want you with me.”

When she turned around he saw that her face was streaming with tears. What was happening? What had brought them to this point? He remembered taking her in his arms, trying to console her. It was only fair that he commute for a while. He said he'd look for an apartment, sell the house. Only he didn't want to give up his job.

Will turned on the light and looked at the clock. He must have dozed off. It was still too soon to call Mary Beth. Her plane would not have landed yet. He poured himself another drink and reached for the copy of
Down East
magazine on the shelf near his desk. One birthday Mary Beth had given him the subscription to the magazine about Maine.

The painting on the cover depicted a yellow canoe on still water with dark fir trees silhouetted against the sky. He and Mary Beth had gone to Maine on their honeymoon, and they had talked about buying a vacation home there someday. He flipped through the pages, thinking again of that landscape so different from this one. After his third glass of Scotch, Will stretched out on the sofa. Within minutes the magazine slipped to the floor as he fell asleep.

The next morning he awoke feeling rotten from the night on the couch. It was five a.m. in LA. Mary Beth would be awake, her body clock still on East Coast time. His clothes were rumpled and his mouth was dry, but he went immediately to his desk to find the information on her hotel. First he tried her cell. Her voice mail came on, requesting that he leave a message. He studied the paper where he had written the number and dialed the hotel. An efficient clerk with a flat California accent said that Mrs. Harmon had checked in and connected the call to her room.

The sun poured into Will's study. There were dust motes in the air. Three rings. Will pictured the vast country that lay between them: the broad plains of the Midwest, the Mississippi, the jagged peaks of the Rocky Mountains, the desert, and finally the sprawl of LA. A fourth ring. Will rolled a pencil back and forth across the surface of the desk.
Come on, Mary Beth, pick up.
He waited three more rings and redialed.

The same neutral voice answered. “Sir, I connected you to Mrs. Harmon's room. I'll do so again. An automated voice mail will activate after ten rings.” Will carefully counted out the ten rings. He left no message. Where the hell could she be? Even Mary Beth didn't have business meetings at five in the morning. Had something happened to her? He ran his tongue over his dry lips. Slowly the worry turned to anger. Why hadn't she told him about this trip? He shouldn't have to call her secretary to track her down. Will put down the receiver and snapped the pencil in half.

After a few minutes he got slowly to his feet and went to the kitchen for a glass of water, realizing that for the last few minutes he had completely forgotten about his problem at Habliston, the problem that caused him to call her in the first place.

Will was in his study sorting books on Saturday morning when Mary Beth arrived home. He was calmer now. They had not spoken, but Mary Beth had sent an e-mail telling him when to expect her. She had often complained that he kept too many books, that she was always tripping over them, and that the piles on the floor made it impossible to clean. Why did that matter when she had hired a cleaning service anyway? He had telephoned a real estate agent that morning to arrange to sell the house, something he was supposed to have done in January.

“Will?” she called from the hall.

He heard her approach and kept his back to the door. He reached for a handful of paperback novels and lowered them into the box.

“I flew all night to get here.” She sounded raspy, as if she were losing her voice. She came over to him and started to put her arms around him. He pulled away. “What's the matter?”

He picked up another book. “You never told me you were going to LA.”

“It was a last-minute trip. I was in a terrible rush.” She stepped away and studied him, as if assessing his mood. “This isn't a very nice greeting. I took the red-eye to get home for the weekend.”

“I called your hotel. You didn't answer.” He met her gaze.

For a moment she looked puzzled. “When was that?” She looked as if she were trying to remember something.

“Five in the morning. So where were you?” Will was aware of his tone, like the jealous husband's in a melodrama.

She hesitated, then came to his side. “I was probably on the way to the office.” She looked into his eyes, her lips pressed together as if defying him to argue.

“At that hour? Shit, Mary Beth. I was frantic with worry. I started to wonder.”

“Well, you can quit wondering.” She lifted her chin. “I've been asked to work on an acquisition in Japan. This is a huge deal. Drew wants me to lead a team.”

“Christ. Now you'll be traveling more than ever. Who's Drew?”

“You don't have to be so angry. Come on, Will.” She reached up and put a hand on his cheek. He didn't react to her touch, and she lowered her arm and turned away. “Drew Kramer is the head of the LA office. Aren't you going to congratulate me? It means another promotion. That's what I wanted to talk to you about this weekend.” She sat in the armchair by the window and pulled a tissue from her pocket. “I've got this awful cold. What were you calling about, anyway?”

Will studied his wife. Pale, with smudges of fatigue beneath her eyes, she could still look so soft and vulnerable. He sank into his desk chair and tried to summon the courage to tell the entire sickening story. He kept his voice level. Having Mary Beth home and listening to him as he explained made him feel stronger, more capable of moving forward.

“I'm going to fight this thing.”

“What did Jack say?”

“That the college can't afford a legal battle. Especially since it involves a trustee.”

She sighed. “Will, how could you have let this happen?”

“Let it happen? The point is, I'm not going to let her get away with it.”