On Turpentine Lane(69)

Nick’s promotion went through, with the proviso he relocate to the administration building, arguably a more logical place for money to be raised, down the hall from Financial Aid. I stayed put in Sheffield Hall—HR’s unsubtle solution to our intradepartmental romance.

The school’s official announcement stated that Reggie had tendered his resignation, and lest the grateful community forget, his records for touchdown passes and yards rushed were unbroken.

He must’ve known that we understood he’d been deposed, but we pretended otherwise. “Irons in the fire,” he promised, adding that it was Pope Benedict’s resignation that had been his inspiration.

“Really?” I asked. “The pope’s?”

He explained that the pope’s stepping down made him realize that even someone in a high position, like a department head or the Holy Father, could move on and explore other options.

Nick and I indulged this; we even invited him to join us for a farewell dinner, which he accepted. I asked if there was someone, anyone, he’d like to bring.

“A date, you mean?”

“Maybe someone you’ve been seeing for a while and would feel comfortable, given the situation.”

Nick said, “Let me translate: Faith is asking if you have a girlfriend.”

For the first time ever, in a discussion of his private life, Reggie spared me the usual bluster. “I wish I did,” he said, “especially at a time like this.”

Nick said, with a sweep of his arm toward the window overlooking campus, “You’re a free man. You can ask out anyone now.”

“Any ideas?” Reggie asked, after what appeared to be a mental survey of eligibles.

“What about Ronnie what’s-her-name in Financial Aid?” I asked. “She’s at the gym every morning. You could just casually show up at the same time—”

“Except I won’t be able to use the gym after I leave. And she’s engaged.”

I asked him if he knew Tammy McManus, the real estate agent. She was divorced now. About the right age.

“Can’t,” he said. “Her ex was a running back for Everton when I was QB1. I mean, jayvee, but still.”

“Man of honor, you are,” said Nick.

“You don’t need to bring anyone,” I backtracked.

Reggie said, “You don’t have to do this. It’s not like we ever went out to dinner before.”

He was right; Nick and I even dodged him in the lunchroom. I said, “Only because you were the department head, Reg. If we’d invited you to dinner, you might’ve thought we were brownnosing. I realize now that was silly. You’re not the kind of guy who’d think we had ulterior motives,” I spun.

Nick added, “And you don’t have to bring a date this time. There’ll be other opportunities. Right, Faith?”

“Plenty,” I lied.

“You have girlfriends, right?” Reggie asked me. “Any eligible bachelorettes who might like to meet Reggie O’Sullivan?”

“Umm. Just not off the top of my head. I’ll definitely give it some thought.”

He always called me Frankel, but this time he said, “I really appreciate it, Faith. I know you think I can be an asshole, and maybe I’m not the first guy you’d set up with a friend, but I’m a good guy when you get to know me.”



But all things occupational and social were on hold because it was the snowiest February on record. Classes were canceled, with the campus increasingly unreachable each time another foot of snow fell. We’d see the sun for a day between blizzards, then down came another wallop, cars and hydrants and backyard furniture buried, icicles dangling two stories down. I checked daily on my mother, whether she had power and food. And when had Joel last plowed her driveway?

“Just once, after the first storm.”

“Do you need him to come back?”

I thought she was going to say yes, please, at the same time expressing disappointment with his unreliability and blue-collar career choice. Instead, she gushed, “What a winter! Everyone needs him every other day! And you know he gets more to sand the same driveway? Was this not the best year ever to invest in a plow?” Her voice went conspiratorial. “He finally got some help, a dispatcher. Do you know who she is?”

“Who who is?”

“The girl who answers his phone. Any leads?”

I did know who she was because I’d asked. It was Leslie, the ex-sister-in-law of Stuart. “No one I’ve met,” I said.

“Are you telling me everything you know?”

“Of course not.”

“A lot of mothers would resent that. But I get how a sister and brother might keep some secrets from their mother. It’s normal, I’m sure.”

“What secrets do you think I’m keeping from you?”

“Maybe things that would hurt my feelings?”

I said, “Her name is Leslie and she’s mailing out invoices for him. Would that hurt your feelings?”

“I meant things you might be protecting me from.”

She meant my father and his adulterous life. I told her I had nothing to report because he and I didn’t talk.

“We e-mail, you know.”

I said, “Ma, shouldn’t you be communicating through your lawyer?”