“Why would my supervisor come check on me?” But she caught herself playing into him. “I need to go.”
“Please don’t hang up. Let me help you.”
“The last time I did that, I ended up at the police station.”
“That wasn’t my fault.”
“Of course it wasn’t. Nothing is ever your fault.” Trina couldn’t stop herself. She should just hang up the phone, pack her things, and go teach her class. “Your wife calls the police to say that I’m stalking you and your family and you do absolutely nothing to defend me. I’m questioned like a criminal. Somehow, my department head knows about you?”
Something pinged in her mind. “Did you talk to Liz? Is that how you know my schedule?”
Oh fuck. What does Liz think happened?
“I didn’t talk to your boss.” There was a weighty pause. “But I did make some inquiries around the college.”
“You had no right to do that.” Trina was acutely aware that she was raising her voice, and that the walls between offices were thin. She could hear someone having a conference call somewhere in the warren of offices, tinny voices streaming out of the speaker.
“You wouldn’t talk to me.” Simon sounded suddenly pathetic on the other end of the line, sheer as a gauzy curtain in the breeze.
She hung up. Trina glanced at her watch.
She was late for class.
CHAPTER THREE SIMON
His wife leaned her long, yoga-toned arms against the white tablecloth. She hadn’t touched her cod fillet, and a few capers languished in the white wine sauce so meticulously trickled over the flaky piece of fish. She tapped her wedding rings against her glass of wine and glanced aimlessly around the room.
Simon ate his steak in three huge bites, swallowing each piece down with a slug of red wine. He’d kept his hands in his lap once he was done eating, but he caught a wave of bravery and reached out to take Joyce’s hand and steady it.
“Aren’t you hungry?”
She gave him a look back that was built on twenty years of marriage, and all the love and hurt and soft, well-meaning lies that go into keeping two people together for that length of time.
“It seems you were.” She looked pointedly at his plate.
Simon blushed. He’d always been able to compartmentalize, and keep one crisis sectioned off from other, smoother pieces of his life. Joyce wasn’t the same. She felt everything so intensely, one issue bleeding into the other. It made her reckless, and often cruel.
It’s something they’d worked on during their marriage, trying to find a balance between each other. Sometimes it worked better than others.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Simon asked, already knowing the answer.
“No, I don’t.” Joyce picked up her fork and poked at her lunch.
“Shall I get the check?” He scanned the room for their waiter. The restaurant was one of their usual lunch places, and they’d shared many meals within its dark wood paneling and soft recessed lights.
“Do you love her?” Joyce asked suddenly, meeting his gaze.
Simon wasn’t used to this type of pointed question from his wife, and he fumbled over his reply, stalling.
“Do I love who?”
Joyce stood up, laid several large bills on the table, and walked out.
Simon finally caught the waiter’s eye, ordered a double Scotch, and after it was brought to him Simon sat back in his chair and sipped it thoughtfully. Joyce would take the car home, and he’d have to call a cab to get back to work.
They had dinner plans tonight, he remembered. With the Worthers, who were equal parts bland and reliable. It would be a nice dinner, more than likely. He recalled Joyce was planning to make duck.
He considered calling Trina again, but their last conversation had gotten out of hand.
Simon sipped his Scotch. He didn’t plan to go to her classroom last week, but he couldn’t get her to reply to any of his calls, and he knew that she’d been struggling lately. It was hard to believe that it had almost been a year since it happened. Anniversaries crept up on a person, baring their teeth and sinking into your soft flesh before you even knew you were in danger.
Joyce knew the date was approaching. They hadn’t talked about it, which was no surprise since they rarely talked about anything unpleasant anymore, but Simon was certain her more regular outbursts were a part of the days ticking down.
Simon paid the check, got up from his seat, and headed outside. He considered smoking one of the cigars he kept in a special case in the pocket of his jacket, but the car he ordered pulled up quicker than expected and he didn’t have a chance.
“Good afternoon, Dr. Morgan. Northside hospital?” The driver was a young woman, tucked neatly into a black-and-white uniform with a driving cap sat on top of her dark curls.
“Yes, as quickly as possible.” Simon checked his watch. He had surgery in an hour.
CHAPTER FOUR TRINA
Trina needed a coffee, desperately. Her hands shook as she laid the bills and coins down on the counter for the barista, not wanting to log on later and see her credit card balance growing even more grotesque.
How did Liz know about Simon? Had he come poking around her department, sticking his nose in like a dirty fish and ignoring the boundaries they’d set once upon a time? Simon looked dapper, commanding. He could have passed himself off as a fellow professor. Or administrator. His three-piece suits and delicate hands.
She took a sip and waited for the surge of caffeine to bring her back to baseline. Class had been abysmal, her information disjointed and careless despite her best attempts to bring it together the few hours before. Some students left in the middle, and she ended thirty minutes early.
Trina took another sip and scanned her surroundings. Campus was small, even for a private school, and she could walk from one side to the other easily in just about ten minutes. A large glen of elms stood watch over the center of campus, and she walked underneath their branches now to drink her coffee and think.
Students were traveling between classes, and Trina let her eyes fall on a group of girls walking arm in arm towards the science building. The middle girl had a bright pink coat, flanked by her two friends in black. It reminded Trina of being that young and carefree, before her shoulders started to hunch from burden instead of adolescent angst.
What she wouldn’t give to go back to that time in her life.
Trina caught sight of two other figures walking, the couple not seeming to fit with the rest of the campus traffic. They wore dark coats, but carried none of the sloppiness of students or, alternatively, pert professionalism of professors and staff. White shirts, dark pants, and trim hair for both the man and woman, although Trina could tell the woman had hers pulled back into a tight bun. Nobody wore their hair like that anymore, not even librarians or gymnasts.
She stood up and started walking away, because Trina was certain these two were police officers and they’d trained their eyes on her. Simon was right—it was getting close to the anniversary. Perhaps they were opening the case again, or they had a lead. She’d always felt it was more than a freak accident.
Maybe that was why these police officers were here.
But why ambush her on campus? Why not set up an appointment? Trina’s phone was drying out at her apartment, but she could still get notifications on her laptop, which she’d just closed down in her classroom a few minutes ago. Something roiled in Trina’s gut. She wasn’t about to stick around and find out. After everything with Tom had come to nothing, she’d lost her trust in the police’s ability to do anything besides bring further misery into her life.
Trina’s heels clicked along the sidewalk, making a tattoo that echoed along the path leading out of the elms. But she was too late.
“Professor Dell,” the female officer called out. “Wait a moment, would you?”
Trina clutched at her bag and walked faster for a few seconds before turning and facing them.
“Are you lost?” she asked them. She tried to push for an open expression but felt her mouth pucker unattractively instead.
