Friends and Strangers - J. Courtney Sullivan Page 0,136

in.

Maria put whatever it was behind her back.

“Come,” she said.

She led Sam into the pantry.

The smell of the coffee conjured up memories of breakfast in her childhood home, and Sundays in bed with Clive in London, and early mornings here in this kitchen, talking to Gaby as they cooked at the start of the day.

“Look at this,” Maria whispered. “Delmi heard a rumor it was coming.”

Sam took the thin newspaper from her hands, its pages folded back.

There it was. Her letter, taking up half the page, which was divided in two by a vertical line down the middle. On the other side was a response from President Washington.

Sam’s heartbeat quickened. She tried to look surprised, confused even.

“What is this?” she said stupidly, a smile forcing the edges of her lips upward.

“It’s trouble,” Maria said.

A jarring response; the opposite of what Sam expected.

“What? Why?” she said.

“Read it,” Maria said.

Sam did.

Dear Student,

Thank you for your concern. And to the Collegian for providing this forum.

While it is impossible for me to address your specific accusations without knowing to whom you are referring (or indeed, if the individuals you’re referring to are actual people, or if your complaints are of a more general nature…) I want to assure you that service employees are a valued part of this community, truly the lifeblood of the college. We are grateful every day for their tireless efforts. If that has not been properly conveyed, we must remedy the situation. To that end, Barney Reardon, head of Residence and Dining Services, and I have invited the support staff to join us for a frank and candid conversation about working conditions today at 5:00. The meeting will be closed, but details will be shared in these pages at a later date.

Thank you for caring enough to speak your truth.

Sincerely,

Shirley Washington

Sam looked up at Maria. “But this is a good thing, right? She’s going to listen. She’s great, I’m telling you. She’ll make things better.”

Maria sighed. “Some girl comes to this realization every few years and raises the issue with the college, and then nothing happens. There was even a big campus protest about it once. Maybe twice? I hope they don’t do that again. It’s a waste of everyone’s time. This meeting today, they say it’s mandatory. I don’t want to go. Barney Reardon has never been out to help us. I don’t see that changing now.”

They heard footsteps outside the pantry and walked back into the kitchen, toward the sound. A sophomore whose name Sam couldn’t recall was tying on an apron.

Maria’s expression conveyed that the conversation was over.

“Hi, Sarah,” she said. “Could you put out the cereal first?”

Sam walked out of the kitchen and through the dining hall.

The room was filling up with students, some in pajama pants and hoodies, sitting down to plates of scrambled eggs and waffles; others with coats and backpacks on, filling travel mugs with coffee, toasting bagels to eat on the way to class. All of them thought it was a day like any other.

It bothered Sam, though what did she expect? She and her friends didn’t tend to start their day with intense conversations about what was in the college paper either.

She made her way outside. It wasn’t until the breeze blew the flimsy pages in her hand that she realized she was still clutching the newspaper.

George’s car was in the driveway, Clive already sitting in back.

The two men were talking, smiling, as if this was normal.

Sam made a point of climbing in front.

Her head was a jumble. Her heart raced.

“Where’s the coffee, love?” Clive said.

“What?”

George started talking, but she couldn’t make sense of what he said.

When he stopped for gas, Sam followed him with her eyes as he walked to the pump.

She said to Clive, “My letter is in the paper today. President Washington wrote me back, and she is going to meet with all the support staff to discuss the situation. Look.”

She handed him the page.

“Well done,” Clive said.

He was silent for a minute as he read President Washington’s response. Then he looked up and said, “How arrogant is this? Or indeed, if the individuals you’re referring to are actual people? It’s like she’s suggesting you made them up. What a twat.”

Somehow Sam realized only then that she was upset not just because Maria had seemed so skeptical, but because what Clive said was true. President Washington’s reply to her letter was dismissive, calculated, almost accusatory. It was as if the woman who gave the speech