you wouldn’t get it, so I didn’t bother submitting it.”
“You’re an asshole,” I say, my voice low and shaky.
He shrugs. “Maybe. And maybe I was wrong. You certainly surprised us all cracking the Pentti-Stone. But maybe I was right. Maybe you’re hiding something. Maybe you’re just a fraud. But hey…” He taps the door twice with the palm of his hand. “We’ll find out one way or another, won’t we?”
Twenty-One
I’ve washed my hands, my face, rinsed my mouth. Popped mints to fend off the impending nausea. I stare at my own reflection. Did I really bring this upon myself? Was I so taken by his attentions that I misunderstood what was going on? I know you want to. You’ve been at me like a bitch in heat since forever. And a part of me thinks it’s true, that it’s my fault. I sent the wrong signals. Even in the face of such violence I can’t help but think it’s me. Because in the end it’s always me. Even when it’s other people, it’s me.
I already know I won’t do anything about him. Nothing at all. For all my bluster about my family and what I’m prepared to do for them, I am a coward. I couldn’t bear for Luis to find out about Chicago, and I have no doubt Geoff would make sure he does. For all I know, that’s all Luis needs to run into Isabelle’s arms for good.
I bring my hand over my eyes, Geoff’s parting words still ringing in my ears: Maybe you’re hiding something. Maybe you’re just a fraud. For a terrifying moment I think he knows, has always known. But I make myself breathe, tell myself he doesn’t know, because if he did, he would have said something by now. Wouldn’t he?
It’ll keep. That’s what I tell myself as I wipe mascara off my cheeks in the staff bathroom. I can deal with it later. It’s better for everyone if I wait until after the Forrester lecture. My word will have more weight then. I come up with so many ways to rationalize my own cowardice the words stop having any meaning. I’m okay, it’s okay. It’s all okay. I can deal with it. Where’s the rush? He’s not going anywhere.
I avoid him as the week goes on, plead too much work and avoid meetings. He throws me a look of contempt whenever he passes me, and I pretend I don’t notice. After a few days I think it’s not so bad; soon, I’ll forget it ever happened. Everything will return to normal. Meanwhile, Mila is still at me, like an over-enthusiastic puppy, nipping relentlessly at my ankles. “Did you remember to bring your notes, Anna? I’m holding off publishing our interview until I get that material. I can’t wait to see them! I’d love to know how you did it, how your brain works! Oh, no? What a shame. Where do you think they might be? I mean, you must have something, right? You didn’t pop this work out of thin air, did you? You’ll be in trouble if you did! Ha ha!”
Is that a coincidence, this fixation she has about my notes? Did Geoff speak to her about his doubts? I can’t stand it anymore, this paranoia that’s twisting my insides all the time, like no matter which way I turn, someone is out to get me.
“Mila, please. Why don’t we leave it for now? I have The Forrester Foundation lecture to prepare for.”
“Okay, I get it, you’re a perfectionist like me. But it would be great if I could have your notebooks before the lecture. After all, we are your university. It would be nice to have this information before you present it. Like a scoop.” She chuckles at her own wit.
“Of course. I’m on it.”
She gives me a small nod, like she doesn’t really believe me. “So how about Friday then?”
I can’t think of anything so I tell her Friday is good. I’ll have to think of something before then. I’m already exhausted thinking of all the excuses I’ll need to drum up before she leaves me alone.
“All sorted then,” I lie.
Over lunch June and I dissect the Isabelle situation. “I think it’s an excellent idea to have her over for dinner. Make sure she sees how happy you and Luis are.”
Friday comes around, and I’m walking out of a class trying to avoid the students piling out into the corridor as I turn my phone back on. There’s a message