I first laid eyes on him, at the university in Orono where I was taking classes and he was teaching part-time, I’d loved the neatly pressed Oxford shirts he wore, the way he was always clean-shaven and smelled like aftershave. I still associate that smell with order and calm.
“Exactly,” Harmon says, turning to Paola. “When my wife and son came home I was just relieved they were home safe, which of course makes me feel selfish now. But we can’t blame ourselves for what we didn’t see, for being at home in our own beds when this terrible thing happened.” Harmon gives me a pointed look.
“No, of course not,” I say, wishing I could feel so blameless.
Paola darts a quick glance at me and bites her lip. Her head jerks up and down in a tight nod. “I just want to go back to my room but the police are searching it.”
Harmon looks up at me. “Tess, do you think you could ask Jean to have another room made available for Paola?”
“Of course,” I say, giving Paola a quick squeeze on the arm. I turn and see that Jean is standing at the front of the chapel talking to Celia a few feet away from a young female police officer who is watching the students and teachers warily.
As I make my way down the aisle, I scan the rows for Rudy, but he isn’t here. I wish now I’d insisted he drive in with me. It will look bad if he misses this.
I explain to Jean what I need and she quickly finds Ruth Harley, the dean of housing, and asks the young female officer to escort Paola back to the dorm. When I go back up the aisle with Ruth and the police officer, I’m aware that people are watching me. “Where’s Rudy?” I hear someone ask, and “Weren’t he and Lila . . . ?” I’d like to stop and explain to the whole chapel that my being with a police officer has nothing to do with Rudy, but of course that would look even worse. So I deliver the officer to Paola and Harmon.
“Thanks, Tess,” Harmon says, leaning in to kiss my cheek and to whisper in my ear, “I’m going to go with them to make sure Paola’s all right.” To the crowd it must look like he’s comforting me for Rudy not being here.
“Get some rest and take care of yourself,” I tell Paola, patting her on the arm. “There will be plenty of time to grieve for Lila.”
She nods and gives me a grateful smile before leaving with Harmon, Ruth, and the young policewoman. Watching them go I think about how this will stay with Paola for the rest of her life. People are always saying things like the young are resilient, but the truth is that wounds at a young age can be like a canker on a tree. Bark may grow over it but the tree will always be a little off-kilter.
I make my way back to the front of the chapel, where Jean has saved me a seat—unfortunately right next to Haywood Hull. It’s been a few months since I saw our former headmaster and I’m startled by the deterioration he’s undergone. Although he’s dressed in his usual uniform of khaki slacks and Brooks Brothers navy blue blazer, he looks somehow . . . seedy. His blazer is missing one of its buttons, his slacks look unpressed, and there’s a piece of tissue clinging to his badly shaven chin. His hands are resting on the brass knob of his cane, his eyes closed as if he’s praying. Or sleeping. I think of Jean’s confession this morning that she is worried he might be losing his faculties, and though I suppose I should feel sorry for him I don’t; I had an unpleasant run-in with him when he was my headmaster. I owe him my college education, but I can’t quite bring myself to feel personally sympathetic.
I look over his head to scan the crowd for Rudy, and see instead Rachel surrounded by a gaggle of girls in similar dark mourning weeds. Sitting next to her is Dakota Wyatt, daughter of a Silicon Valley billionaire and the girl who called Lila a dyke bitch. She’s wearing a pillbox hat and veil like the one Jackie wore at JFK’s funeral. Samantha Grimes has draped her head and shoulders in a lacy purple shawl. Sophie Watanabe is wearing dark glasses and dark red lipstick.