finally. “The complaint alleges that he was there with a couple of friends, that you guys met up in the parking lot and that you exchanged words. Something about how he better get his act together in class or else, and then—I’m quoting here—‘Next thing the plaintiff knew, without any provocation on the plaintiff’s part whatsoever, the defendant punched him in the stomach.’”
The irony is almost too rich to be true. Here Jason has punched a guy at the MFA, who arguably didn’t deserve it, and now he’s being accused of assault on a student whom he’s never even laid a finger on.
“Jesus,” Jason says, feeling the heat of Gwen’s gaze on him. “I did no such thing, you gotta believe me. I don’t think I was even there in May.”
“I believe you, buddy,” says George. “But it’s your word against his, and well, I probably don’t have to tell you this, but his daddy is Ryan Wiggam.”
Jason is silent for a moment.
“Of Wiggam’s Sporting Goods?” George says for clarification.
“No way.”
“Yeah, big bucks there. But don’t worry. If this kid is lying, we’ll get it out of him. It wouldn’t be the first time our department has been hit with a nuisance complaint by a disgruntled student.”
“Well, he’s full of shit. I mean, he barely passed the midterm. I told him he better do well on the paper and final exam, but both were a joke. He didn’t even try. He earned that F fair and square.”
“All right. I gotta say, I feel much better after talking to you. When are you getting back to town?”
“Um, tomorrow afternoon, I think?” Jason eyes Gwen, who’s now waving her hands at him as if the boat is on fire. He better get over there if he doesn’t want to miss the sunset cruise—or royally piss her off.
“Okay, well, stop by the office when you get back. I’ll be there till six.”
“You got it,” Jason says. “Hey, George?”
“Yeah?”
“I shouldn’t be thinking about, um, hiring a lawyer or anything, should I?”
There’s silence for a moment. “Nah, the university’s legal department should have it handled.”
“Okay, cool. And thanks, man. I’m sorry again about keeping you waiting.”
“Yeah, next time when I text you,” he says, “you might want to get back to me on the same day.”
“I will. For sure.” And he clicks off. There’s a part of him that thinks maybe he and Gwen should drive back up to campus tonight and stop this asinine accusation from spiraling out of control. How dare that punk try to weasel his way out of a grade by falsely accusing him! Jason has half a mind to show Charlie Wiggam what a punch to the stomach really feels like.
But, no, he knows that won’t solve anything. Instead, he walks quickly over to Gwen and takes her hand, which, in turn, makes his own hand smart. It’s still scratched and bruised from yesterday, and his right thumb has turned a deep purple. It’s definitely sprained, possibly broken. Slow down, he tells himself. Cool down. “I’m starting to feel like a broken record,” she says under her breath, clearly annoyed. “But is everything okay?”
“I’m not sure,” he admits, debating how much to reveal. “That was George. Apparently, there’s this kid—” he begins, but the shipman interrupts him, clasping Gwen’s hand and pulling her onto the boat.
“Welcome aboard!” he says. He’s dressed in navy pants, a white shirt with a blue square-knotted neckerchief and a white sailor cap. His floppy dark hair pokes out from underneath his hat. “So glad you two could make it.”
“Sorry we’re late. My bad,” Jason says.
“Not a problem, mate!” The guy’s fake cheer makes Jason cringe internally. “You’re just in time for the sail-off.”
He and Gwen make their way toward the bow of the boat, where a group of passengers, mostly other couples, already line up along the gunwales to watch the sunset. Their jolly sailor provides a quick demonstration on nautical safety, showing how to buckle a life jacket in the event of an emergency. Jason and Gwen exchange glances because it’s pretty clear any fool could figure it out.
When the safety demo mercifully concludes, he leads Gwen over to the front, where she poses for the obligatory Titanic photo, arms outstretched at her sides, yelling “I’m the king of the world!” A few people snicker, but Jason could care less and snaps the photo. The sun, a vibrant orange-red, teeters on the horizon, as if it’s ready to fall off the earth at any