their authority figures. Ignoring me completely, Dolph packs up the projector and turns around to wipe the board as if he was alone in the room and had all the time in the world. Then he picks up the board markers, one by one, and sticks them into his back pocket. It doesn’t help that bubbling up through my stupor I feel the urge to laugh about his absurdly territorial behavior.
“Wait.” I hold him back very affably when he finally collects his papers and books and shoves them into his bag. “You forgot to pee on the desk. Go on. You know you want to.”
This provokes a double-take as he stares at me, thunderstruck. Then he grabs his belongings, storms out and—get this!—slams the door behind himself. His last remaining students rush out meekly, and Logan, of all people, gives me a cheer of triumph that makes me bite on a smile.
Asshole.
I drive home at a snail’s pace. My brain has slowed down, my whole body has slowed down in the attempt to come to grips with what I learned today. Not that I have fallen in love with Giles Cleveland—I knew that already. But that there is no limit to how wrong I can still be about a man, at the great old age of twenty-nine years and three hundred and forty days. How selectively blind to his signals. This is a man enjoying his new-won liberty! Yes, he made that little joke to the barman about me being his wife. Yes, he enjoyed, for a moment or two, the idea of picking up a young woman in front of his cabin at the lake. But that whole conversation at the lake, which made me feel so warm and happy—which for the first time made me feel as if he actually liked me—is now overshadowed by the glaring absence of one simple sentence.
My wife and I are getting a divorce.
I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting in my car in front of the farm’s gate when my phone bleeps.
Call me! Great news! Deb.
Oh, God, no. Not another pregnant woman! Debbie has been joking that if editing the pregnancy essays isn’t going to make her conceive, she will go for IVF. I would be very happy for her if she could save herself that whole ordeal, but this is not the best moment for me to rejoice with her. But I owe Debbie. So I go inside, get a glass of wine, and call England.
“Queen Mary College is going to advertise a full-time position for someone who does Ren. Lit. as well as something modern to do with Anglophone literature! I spoke to Ewan Buchanan; he says Anglo-Jewish definitely qualifies, and he says hi, and you would be a fool if you didn’t apply!”
Debbie is a little breathless after this outpouring. As am I.
“Woah, hold your horses, Crocker. Did you tell Ewan that I have a tenure-track position at Ardrossan?”
“Yes, I did. He said, Where?”
“God, you Brits are so arrogant.”
Debbie chortles into the phone but says nothing.
“’Kay.”
“What?”
“I’ll apply.”
“Seriously?”
“No, I’m kidding. Yeah, seriously!”
“Anna, is something wrong?”
“Yeah.” I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to sit on the couch in Debbie’s and Dave’s living room with a mug of milky tea and a biscuit, or stand and shuckel with the half-asleep Jonah against my shoulder. “D’you think I’m pretty?”
“Oh, Anna,” she sighs. Then we both burst into laughter.
I give her a sixty-second version of events, and Debbie points out that Cleveland has evidently turned out to be the jerk I took him for at our first meeting.
“No, see—he isn’t. Me refusing to read the message he was sending doesn’t make him a jerk. Not fancying me doesn’t make him a jerk.”
“Yes, it does!”
“Bless you, but no, it doesn’t. He’s probably seeing someone else, that’s all. Spoiled for choice, that one, for sure.”
“So what was your plan before you found out he didn’t tell you he is divorced but seeing someone else? Start sleeping with a senior colleague? If that was the idea, I suggest you find yourself a Southern pothead and do a repeat performance of Ciaran, because—”
“Please, don’t. Look, I’ll apply for that job at Queen Mary and meanwhile I’ll lust after my mentor a little, okay? No harm done, either way. End of debate.”
Chapter 19
TRUE TO THE RESOLUTION I MADE on my bike ride, I try my hand at sorting out Selena O’Neal. Muscle in on grad advisement, Giles said. Okay.