CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Dean
May 15
“I’M SO MAD I COULD SPIT.” Frances Hunter glares at me from the doorway of my office, her arms crossed and her eyes blazing.
I take a few more books from the shelf and put them in a box. Because my home office is small, I’ve kept most of my academic stuff at King’s for the past few years. Books line the walls, the filing cabinet is stuffed with papers, and there are a million articles, office supplies, souvenirs. Even a plant that Liv once gave me to “liven up the place because really, Dean, it’s like a mausoleum in here.”
“Would you please reconsider this foolishness?” Frances snaps.
I take the framed photo of Liv from my desk and put it in the box along with a few of her drawings that I’d stuck to my computer.
“The chancellor has my resignation letter, Frances.”
“I’ll tell him it was a horrible mistake, that you were hit on the head and wrote that letter when you weren’t thinking straight.”
I stop to look at her. Affection and regret both twist inside me.
“I’m sorry, Frances. I had to end it.”
“Along with your career?”
I shrug. “I’ll find something else. You’ll give me a great recommendation, right?”
Frances glowers at me. “I’m not giving you any recommendation. I’ll be damned if some other university gets to have you when I can’t.”
“Now you just sound jealous.”
“I am jealous. I hired you. If I hadn’t, King’s would never have gotten the benefit of all your renown. You started the Medieval Studies program! I knew I should have pushed harder to get you fast-tracked for tenure.”
“Not even tenure could have saved me from this,” I tell her, which is the plain truth. I’m not sure anything could have saved me from this.
“Stop clearing out your office,” Frances orders. “You’re on faculty until your resignation goes into effect.”
“I said it was effective immediately.”
“You need to give me a chance to explain things to the board,” Frances says. “They’re upset that King’s is losing the prestige of having you on faculty, but I want to tell them that this isn’t your choice, that—”
I hold up a hand to stop her. “It is my choice. And I’d make the same choice again, if I had to. Maggie Hamilton withdrew the complaint, and Stafford is writing his final report. He doesn’t have to make any recommendation to the board. It’s over.”
“And one of the best historians in the country is out of a job based on a lie,” Frances says.
I heft the box onto the floor and look at her again. “You never told me you knew it was a lie.”
“Of course it was a lie, for God’s sake, Dean,” she replies tartly. “I’m not stupid. I have to be the voice of reason when there’s a conflict between a student and a professor, but I know Maggie Hamilton doesn’t deserve to be here. I’ve never approved of the way she was admitted to King’s. The only reason she’s lasted this long is that Jeffrey Butler went easy on her. If he hadn’t retired, she might even have finished her thesis by now.”
Something flickers in the back of my mind. I replay that last conversation with Maggie in my office. “Your predecessor wasn’t above allowing a student a little extra credit,” she’d said. “I’m sure you’re not either.”
“Why did Jeffrey Butler retire?” I ask.
“He wanted to spend his time on research and consulting rather than teaching.”
“But he wasn’t at retirement age.”
“No, he took early retirement.” Frances frowns. “Why?”
I shake my head. “No reason.”
“That wasn’t a no reason question.”
“Just wondering why he went easy on Maggie.”
“Jeffrey was always more interested in his own work than that of his students,” Frances says. “And now Susan Chalmers is stuck with Maggie Hamilton. And I’ll tell you, Susan is not happy about it. Don’t be surprised if she throws rotten eggs at your car.”
I have to chuckle at the image of the dowdy ancient history professor egging my car.
“Will you at least stay on until the conference is over?” Frances asks. “There is no way we can host it without you. We’ll announce that your resignation is effective at the end of the conference. That will also give us more time to begin the search for a new professor.”
“Agreed.” It won’t be all that easy to run the conference with everyone knowing I’ve resigned, but at least no one knows why.
“You’ll come out of the conference with a dozen job offers too,” Frances mutters. “And I don’t want to hear about any of them.”
“You won’t.”
“Good.” Frances heaves a sigh as she watches me put another empty box on my desk. “You’ve talked to everyone you need to talk to?”
I nod. I’ve spent the past few days making phone calls and sending emails, telling my colleagues and students about my resignation. Their responses ranged from shock to disbelief, and with me unable to adequately explain the reason behind my decision, I left all of them confused and hurt.
That, more than anything, stabs me with regret.
“I have a meeting with my grad students in half an hour,” I say.
“All right, Dean. I’ll be in touch about the transition. The press release goes out this afternoon, saying you want to pursue other opportunities.”
“Thanks, Frances.”
“You know where to find me if you need anything.”
She pivots on her heel and strides down the corridor to her office. I keep packing up my stuff, setting filled boxes on the floor. Then I take a stack of file folders from my desk and walk down the hall to the meeting room.
My seven grad students are already there waiting, their heavy backpacks and satchels on the table, their voices low in the hushed air. When I step in, they fall silent and turn to face me.
I falter. Stop in the doorway. I can’t stand their looks of bewilderment and uncertainty.
All of these kids have worked so damned hard. They’re bright, motivated, resourceful, dedicated. Jessica is supposed to defend her dissertation this summer. Kevin just started his thesis. Sam is still waiting for my notes on his first chapter.
I pull out a chair and sit down. They’re all still watching me. Waiting.
“I want…” I have to pause and clear my throat before continuing. “I want you all to know that I’m leaving King’s because I have to. Not because I want to. There’s personal business that I can’t get into, but the reasons have nothing to do with my colleagues or you.”
“Is this why you took the semester off?” Sam asks.
“Yes. I’m going back to Italy for a short trip in June, but for the most part I’m staying in Mirror Lake now.”
“You’re not moving away?”
“No. My wife…” Something sticks in my throat again. I swallow hard. “My wife is opening a business here, and we have no plans to move.”
“What are you going to do, then?” Jessica asks.
“Finish my work on the dig. Help facilitate the transition to a new Medieval Studies professor. Edit my next book.”
“What about the conference?” Anne asks.
“I agreed to stay on as chairperson. Nothing about it will change.”
There’s silence for a minute before Jessica makes a noise of irritation.
“This sucks,” she mutters, shooting me a glare. “You’re the best professor in this department. The best professor at King’s. I started my dissertation the year you were hired. And now I’m supposed to finish it without you? What the hell?”
Guilt claws at me. I hate the look of betrayal in her eyes. Jessica was my first student at King’s. She and I have worked on her research from the beginning.
“I’m not going to abandon any of you,” I tell her. “Jessica, I’ll do whatever I can to see your dissertation through. And the rest of you too. Whatever the administration lets me do, I will. Read your work, help with research, facilitate the transition to the new professor. You all have my email and phone number. You can contact me any time.”
A couple of the students nod, but Jessica won’t meet my gaze. She stares out the window, her arms folded and mouth tight.
“I’m sorry.” Because there’s nothing else I can say, I push my chair back. “It’s been an honor and a pleasure working with all of you. Please know that my door is always open to you.”
I return the folders of their work to them, grab my briefcase, and take the stairs out of the building to the quad. I inhale a few deep breaths before getting out my cell. Liv responds before the first ring ends.
“Hi,” she says. “Are you okay? How did it go?”
“As Jessica would say, it sucked,” I mutter.
“Oh, Dean. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, well, it’s over. I just hope it doesn’t affect their work in any way. They know I’ll help however I can.”
“Of course they know that. Are you still at the university? Can you come over to the café?”
“I’m going to stop at home and change. Thought I’d go do some work on the Butterfly House.”
“Okay. You call me if you need me.”
“I always need you.”
“Likewise.” The smile in her voice eases some of my regret.
I end the call and take another breath. Spring is at its peak now, the trees full of green leaves, the sky etched with white clouds. Students trudge across the quad with backpacks and paper cups of coffee, their heads bent, earbud wires trailing over their shoulders.
No question I’m going to miss it. I’ve always been at home in academia, at universities, in lecture halls and classrooms. Teaching has always been the one thing I know how to do well.
My phone buzzes with a voicemail. I access it and listen.
“Professor West, my name is Louise Butler,” says a woman. “I’m a curator at the Clearview Art Institute. I used to be married to Jeffrey Butler. I heard through the grapevine that you’re planning to resign from King’s. If possible, I’d like to speak with you. It’s important.”
During the week following my resignation announcement, I field phone calls and emails from faculty members, staff, former colleagues, advisors, as well as several universities and museums asking if I’m looking for another position yet.
Though the professional interest is gratifying, I’m not leaving the area any time soon, no matter how prestigious the job. Liv has spent the past few years moving with me for visiting professorships and postdoc positions, and there’s no way I’m uprooting her again. Especially not since she now owns a business.
I don’t return Louise Butler’s call. The whole farce is over with, and I suspect she’s not contacting me about a job inquiry.
When the initial furor wanes a little, I call my father in California. I haven’t told him anything about this, knowing he’ll be disappointed, but resigning from my job isn’t something I can hide.
“Why did you do it?” he asks. “Did they deny you tenure?”
“No. I’m not up for tenure yet.”
I stare at the wall of our living room. I’ve always been the good son. No, the perfect son. I’ve tried hard to be. I’d thought it was like building a castle or a fortress—an indestructible image of perfection reinforced by the successful West family, my renowned career, accolades, the IHR grant, countless publications.
Now I realize that I’d built a house of cards that could collapse with one breath.
“I had some legal trouble,” I finally say, and then I just tell my father everything. He’s spent the past twenty-five years thinking I’m the ideal son. Time to tell him there’s no such thing.
He’s quiet as I relay the whole mess—Maggie Hamilton’s charge, the investigation, my unofficial suspension, the reason I went to Italy, Edward Hamilton’s possible donation to the university law building, his threats against Liv.
All the reasons the battle was lost before I even had a chance to fight.
“Do you have a lawyer?” my father asks.
“Yeah, but I can’t have this dragged into court. If anyone knows about it, I’m done. At least by resigning, I can leave with my reputation intact.”
To reassure him, I tell him about the other institutions who have already contacted me about potential jobs. This news mollifies him a little, though by mutual agreement we agree not to tell my mother until everything is settled.
When I get off the phone, I listen to another message from Louise Butler. My curiosity finally wins out, and I return her call.
She asks to meet me in person, so the next day I make the three-hour drive to Clearview, figuring I have nothing to lose except time. We sit in the corner booth of a downtown deli, and the mysteriousness of our meeting makes me feel vaguely like a spy in a war movie.
“They had an affair.” Louise Butler is a slender woman in her mid-forties who has a tight, compressed look about her. “Maggie Hamilton and Jeffrey.”
Though I’m not surprised to hear this, I am surprised that Louise is so blunt about it.
“Since Jeffrey was her advisor, an affair would have been against university regulations,” I say, for lack of knowing how else to respond.
Louise nods. “Of course it was. Not only that, it ruined my family.”
“I’m sorry.” But again, I’m not surprised. I know all about how affairs can ruin a family. I take a swallow of coffee, shoving aside an unexpected thought of my brother.
“We have children, Dr. West,” Louise continues. “Their lives were wrecked because of the affair and the terrible divorce that followed. That girl destroyed us.”
“It sounds like Jeffrey was equally culpable.”
“Oh, I know. But she was the one who instigated the whole thing.”
“What whole thing?”
“Maggie claimed that Jeffrey had promised to divorce me and marry her,” Louise says. “When he didn’t, she took her revenge by sending me videos they’d taken of their… sexual activities, and threatening to charge him with abuse. Jeffrey got scared that she’d go to the university administration with them, so he took early retirement before she could ruin his career. I divorced him shortly afterward and moved my children out of the area so we could try to start again. But the damage to my family was already done.”
“Why are you telling me this?” I ask.
“When I heard that you were resigning from King’s after just a few years, I checked to see if Maggie Hamilton was still a student. And when I found out she was, I suspected she might be responsible for your resignation.”
“I wasn’t having an affair with her,” I say. “She filed a false allegation of sexual harassment against me. I couldn’t risk the investigation going to the board and becoming public.”
“I’m sorry, Dr. West.” Louise sits back, her mouth tightening. “I don’t trust Maggie Hamilton to let the whole issue drop. And if this comes to light, if she blames Jeffrey and drags him into it, my children will—”
She stops and shakes her head, her eyes flashing with hurt and anger. “That little home-wrecker has destroyed enough lives as it is.”
“Maggie Hamilton doesn’t have enough power to destroy my life,” I tell her. “She and her father just forced me out of a job.”
“Edward Hamilton.” Bitterness threads Louise’s voice. “I know all about him too. Maggie was scared her father would find out about the affair, especially after she realized Jeffrey wasn’t going to marry her.”
“She does seem… controlled by her father.”
“He’s even more of a threat than she is,” Louise says. “And I swear to God, Dr. West, I will do anything to keep them from hurting my family again.”
Though I have a feeling Louise Butler is motivated more by revenge on Maggie Hamilton than concern for my career, I thank her for telling me all this.
“The Hamiltons need to be stopped.” She picks up her purse and slides out of the booth. “Both of them.”
After she’s gone, I head out to my car and drive back to Mirror Lake. I stop at the Wonderland Café, my defenses kicking into gear when I see Crystal Winter on the front porch.
“Thought you’d be gone by now,” I tell her.
“I’m waiting for my car to be repaired.”
“Seems to be taking a while.”
Crystal shrugs. “I heard you resigned from your job. Because of that girl, I assume.”
I stop to look at her. “It wouldn’t have happened, Crystal, whether I resigned or not. Liv would never have gone anywhere with you.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do. Your daughter is stronger than you’ll ever be. She’s never run away from anything.”
Before she can speak again, I go past her into the café. I find Liv upstairs in the Wicked Witch’s Castle room, which is painted silver and black with black-topped tables and crystal-ball lights, high-backed chairs, and a mural of a dark mountain landscape with silhouettes of flying monkeys against a full moon.
Liv is arranging a display of a black witch’s hat surrounded by a pool of acrylic water. She turns at the sound of my footsteps, and her smile washes away the unpleasantness of the afternoon.
“How did it go?” she asks, lifting her face for a kiss. “What did she say?”
We sit down, and I tell her everything Louise Butler told me about Maggie Hamilton and Jeffrey Butler’s affair.
“That’s what I was trying to remember,” Liv says. “Last fall when Maggie confronted me, she said something about Jeffrey Butler liking female students, and not in a professional way.”
“I guess she liked him too, if Louise Butler is telling the truth.”
“Can we tell Ben Stafford about this?” Liv asks.
I shrug. “Yeah, but I don’t know that it would do any good. They can’t kick Maggie out of the university for having had an affair. Jeffrey Butler is already retired. Stafford won’t pursue the case just because Butler’s ex-wife has it out for Maggie. And I sure as hell don’t want him to.”
Liv frowns. “It’s just so unfair. I hate that Maggie wins.”
“She doesn’t win.” I put my hands on her knees. “No one who lies like that wins.”
The creases on Liv’s forehead ease a little. Something loosens inside me, like a knot untangling.
“Do you remember that time when we talked about keys?” I ask.
“Of course. You said everyone has a key to unlocking their secrets.” Liv covers my hands with hers. “And you’ve always been mine.”
I turn my palms upward so we can twine our fingers together.
“On our second date, you said that string figures and medieval knights were my keys,” I say. “It’s funny, but until you said that I didn’t realize I still remembered the chivalric code that I’d learned about when I was a kid. Honor, trust, loyalty. I wanted to prove to you that I could uphold those ideals. That I was worthy.”
She tightens her hands on mine. “You’ve proven that over and over, Dean.”
“No.” I shake my head. “Not always. But maybe it’s not about upholding some perfect code. Maybe it’s just about doing your best.”
And I know I’ve done that. I haven’t been able to protect Liv from so many things, but at least now I’ve blocked the storm. I’ve stopped Hamilton from destroying my reputation, dredging up my wife’s past, attacking us. I’ve battled the monsters away from our island.
Finally.