“What’s this number you’re calling from?”

“It’s my friend’s phone. I haven’t been able to reach you. I thought maybe you accidentally blocked me.”

“Look, I have to go.”

“Call me? Call me later, no matter what time it is.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

The connection cut off. She stared at the phone, stunned by how abruptly Liam had ended the conversation.

“So what did he say?”

Cody had been watching her the whole time, and she didn’t like his knowing look. She slapped the phone into his hand. “None of your business.”

CHAPTER 9

JACK

“I’m still guessing this back pain is nothing but a strained muscle,” said Charlie as Jack drove him to his hospital appointment. “I don’t know if these x-rays are necessary. And you sure didn’t need to drive me there, boyo.”

“No problem. It’s my day off.”

“On a Friday, huh? Nice schedule you got there.”

“The perks of being a university professor.” Jack glanced at his father-in-law, whose face had suddenly tightened with what he had to assume was pain. “You hurting?”

“A little.” Charlie gave a wave. “Nothing Tylenol can’t fix. Anyway, aches and pains come with the age. Wait till you’re seventy; you’ll see how hard it is just getting out of bed in the morning. Maggie says maybe all I need is physical therapy or a massage or two. I’m just hoping she doesn’t insist I go to a yoga class or some fool thing.”

“Yoga’s good for you.”

Charlie snorted. “Can you see me in one of those tighty-tight outfits, doing the downward beagle or whatever they call it?” He looked at Jack. “This summer if I’m feeling better, maybe we can all go on a biking trip out west.” He reached into his jacket pocket and unfolded a glossy travel brochure. “Look at this. Backroads has a trek in Bryce Canyon. That’s something I’d like us to do together, while I still can. After all, I’m now a card-carrying septuagenarian.” He drew out the syllables as if pronouncing the word for the first time.

“Yeah, but a young sep-tu-a-gen-ar-ian.”

“When I was with Cambridge PD, I didn’t take nearly enough vacations. I spent too much precious time with the goddamn scum of the earth. Assholes you’d never miss if they got popped in the head with a bullet. Instead I should’ve taken more trips with Annie. Gone on that Alaska cruise she always wanted to take. Jesus, I regret that. Now I’ve gotta make up for lost time.” Charlie looked at Jack. “So see if Maggie can get that time off in June. About ten days.”

“I’ll ask her.”

“And the trip is on me. All expenses paid.”

“Really? How come?”

“Because I’d rather enjoy my loot while I’m still alive and not have you spend your inheritance on memorial gutters.”

“That’s very generous of you. But we still need new gutters.”

“You work on getting her to take some time off.” He looked at Jack again. “Getting away together would be good for both of you.”

“We could certainly use a vacation. A chance to unwind.”

“And do other things.”

“Other things?”

He winked. “I’m still hoping to see a grandchild one of these days.”

“I’m hoping so, too, Charlie.”

“So when’s it going to happen? I hope while I’m still young enough to throw him baseballs.”

The subject of children was so painful that for a moment, Jack didn’t respond. He just kept driving, wishing he could avoid even thinking about the question.

“She’s still shook up about that last miscarriage, isn’t she?” Charlie said.

“She took it pretty hard. We both did.”

“That happened a year ago, Jack.”

“Doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

“I know, I know. But you’re both still young. You’ve got plenty of time to have kids. My Annie was almost forty-two when she finally had Maggie. Greatest gift God could’ve given me. You’ll know what I mean when you’re holding one of your own.”

“I’m working on it,” was all Jack could think of saying.

“Then think about Bryce Canyon, okay? The two of you in a romantic hotel room. It’d be a great place to start.”

Jack did think about it. That afternoon, as he sat grading papers in the Garrison Hall Dunkin’ café, the Bryce Canyon brochure kept calling to him. He set aside the stack of student essays and stared instead at the brochure’s tempting vistas and suntanned faces. A week together in a beautiful place was exactly what they both needed. Maybe Charlie was right; maybe it was time to try again for that baby.

“Professor Dorian?”

Through the noisy buzz of conversation in the café, he almost missed the greeting. Only when she repeated it did he finally look up to see Taryn standing beside his table, backpack slung over her shoulder. She flicked a strand of hair off her face, a gesture that seemed more nervous than casual.

“I know it’s your day off, but they told me in your office that I might find you here,” she said. “Do you have a few minutes to talk?”

He slipped the brochure into his briefcase and gestured to the chair across from him. “Sure, have a seat.”

She draped her parka over the chair and sat down. Although they regularly met in class and had on occasion chatted in passing, this was the first time he’d sat and studied her closely. Tawny eyes shone from an open, intelligent face. She wore no makeup, making her appear both innocent and vulnerable. A hairline scar above her full lips made him wonder how she’d been injured—perhaps a childhood spill off a bicycle? A tumble from a tree?

She took out her laptop and set it on the table. “I’ve just come up with a topic for my final paper, and I want to run it by you,” she said, getting straight to business. “I’m thinking of writing about Dido and Aeneas, because it’s their story I keep coming back to. Well, her story, anyway.”

“Yes, it was apparent in class that you felt a connection with Queen Dido. What will be your focus?”

“They’re clearly both passionate characters, but their passions are at odds with each other. He cares more deeply about his public duty, and he betrays her to fulfill his destiny. She’s completely invested in her love for him, and she makes the ultimate sacrifice for that love.”

“Public duty versus private desire. Duty versus love.”

“Exactly. In fact that might be a good title—Duty versus Love.” She tapped out some notes. “I’ve read what other scholars have written about The Aeneid, and I hate how so many of them view Dido as a stereotypical female—irrational, emotional, even pitiful. They believe her femininity threatens Aeneas’s masculine ideals of power, virtue, and order.”

“And you don’t see it that way.”

“Not at all. And I suspect Virgil agreed with me. He portrays her as a complex woman, a proud and powerful queen, right up until the moment when Aeneas betrays her. And then she takes her fate into her own hands. Even directs the construction of her own funeral pyre.”

“You think Virgil’s sympathies lie with Dido?”

“Yes, she was seduced and abandoned. It’s also obvious in the difference in their speeches. Dido’s are filled with emotion. Aeneas is all about authority and destiny. He lacks the very passion that makes Dido so human, so real. Virgil shows us that she’s the true hero.”

“Interesting premise. If you can link this with your Medea paper, you could even turn this into a graduate thesis someday. If you decide to pursue a doctorate.”

Her eyes lit up at the possibility. “Wow, I hadn’t thought about it as a thesis, but yes! A paper about how women pay the price when their passions threaten men. We see that theme with Abelard and Heloise. We see it with Hemingway. When a woman’s need for love becomes too great for her man.” Her face clouded over. “We see it in real life too.”

Before he could catch himself, he said, “Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”

She nodded as her eyes suddenly filled up. She looked away to recenter herself.

He didn’t know what real-life experience had fueled her focus on this theme, but he recalled Jessica’s comment that Taryn seemed obsessed with men who betrayed women. “Sometimes writing can be a healing experience. You know, empowering yourself to deal with hurt and doubt.”

She nodded and wiped her eyes, making her look all the more vulnerable—and making him want to comfort her. But he caught himself. “It sounds like a fine topic. I’m impressed by how deeply you’ve thought about these themes,” he said. “Are your parents academics?”

She gave an embarrassed shrug. “Hardly. My parents divorced when I was ten years old. And my mom works as a nurse’s aide. We live in this little town called Hobart, up in Maine.”

“Hobart? I’ve been there. It was years ago, when my wife and I went white-water rafting.” Back in the days when he and Maggie had still taken vacations.

“Then you know it’s in the middle of nowhere. Just a little mill town.”

“But it appears to have produced a budding scholar.”

She smiled. “I’d like to be. There are so many things I’d like to be.”

“What other English courses are you taking?”