Moving to her desk, she dropped her keys and her purse there. She had a sudden
impulse to open the window, to let some of the fresh air in, no matter how rainy
it was. But she knew that was impossible. Windows this high didn't open, of course. For her own safety.
Her eyes automatically drifted to her philodendron plant she'd moved to the
windowsill. She'd forgotten how much she'd liked the green color, how
refreshingly alive it was. It had turned brown now.
Her phone buzzed. She checked the screen. “Hey, Milly,” she said. “I'll be right there.”
Her first meeting was in three minutes, and Danni didn't like it when you were late.
Maybe, if she was lucky, this afternoon she'd get to sit behind her desk and
do some actual work on the next Nitrovex presentation she'd be making to Danni
and the board. Garman had made it through another round of cuts, but they didn't
have the job yet.
And the handsome, blue-eyed elephant in the room? Well, she didn't have time to think about him, did she?
Chapter Eighteen
“Mr. Clark, good to see you. Thanks for coming.” A tall man in a tan tweed coat
directed Peter to a chair across from his desk. He sat.
Sun streamed in through the tall windows banked by maroon velvet curtains.
Dixon's upper-grade students filed by the window outside, each in their navy-blue uniforms. It was all prim and proper and perfect.
The visit part of Peter's Dixon interview was over. The school had lived up
to its brochure. Stately grounds, arcing old trees, attentive students marching on their way to class. Top-notch facilities, with separate labs for organic and inorganic chem. He had to share a room with the physics class back in Golden
Grove. And the chess club.
“Your CV is impressive,” the man, Stephen Volders, was saying. Stephen, not Steve, Peter had found out. He was the Director of Admissions and seemed
as serious about his job as the wall of diplomas staring at Peter from behind his
desk.
Volders was sifting through the folder Peter had brought along as a backup
for his emailed references. He nodded, then glanced over his reading glasses.
“Adam Butler. You worked with him?”
Peter nodded. “A summer internship in Colorado. Before my second year of
grad school.” When Dad was beginning to take his turn for the worse.
Volders nodded again. “Well, you certainly seem qualified, Mr. Clark.” He put the folder on his desk and tapped the papers inside until they were square.
“May I ask why you're considering teaching at Dixon?”
Peter had been wrestling with that very question on the four-hour drive here,
and he still didn't have an adequate answer. He cleared his throat. “I feel it's time in my career to challenge myself with higher goals, to see if I can contribute to
society in a more healthy and productive way.”
It was either something Miss Iowa would say in the final round of a beauty
pageant or a convict's appeal for early parole.
Volders nodded but said nothing.
Great. He doesn't believe me, either, Peter thought.
“And, what do you think of our facilities here?” Volders asked, gesturing towards the grounds.
Peter tried to sound enthusiastic. “Very nice. I'm more used to a view of a
