All We Ever Wanted(18)

“?‘Looks like she got her green card’?” I said slowly. “You think that’s okay, Kirk?”

“No. I don’t think it’s okay. I think it’s extremely rude, and yes, it’s a little racist….And I’m very disappointed in him. Very. You know that. Finch knows that. But I don’t think it rises to the level of me changing my flight so that both of his parents can sit through being chastised by the raging liberal headmaster of Windsor Academy.”

“This isn’t about politics, Kirk,” I said, wondering how I seemed to be losing ground since yesterday. It was as if work was more important to him than Finch.

“I know that. But Walt will do his best to turn it into something political. Just wait and see—”

“You know Windsor has an honor code—”

“But Finch didn’t break the honor code, Nina,” he said. “You and I read it together. There was no lying. No cheating. No stealing. It was an off-color remark, but he sent it privately—and he wasn’t on school property. He wasn’t using a school device, and he wasn’t on their network. I really think that this is being blown out of proportion—and everyone is overreacting.”

“Okay,” I snapped. “So what you’re telling me is that I won’t be seeing you at the meeting?”

“Not if it’s today,” he said. “Because I’m not changing my flight.”

“Well, it’s good to be clear about what, exactly, your priorities are. I’ll tell Walter you were otherwise engaged, and I’ll try to remember to send you an update on our son’s future,” I said, slamming down the phone.



* * *



—

   I DIDN’T KNOW if it was the hang up that did the trick, or whether I’d gotten through to him about the stakes involved, or whether he simply didn’t trust me to handle the meeting his way. But after I’d CCed him on an exchange with Walter’s assistant in which we’d scheduled a two o’clock meeting, Kirk pulled into the Windsor guest parking lot about five seconds after I did. We made eye contact through our car windows, and he gave me a conciliatory wave. I forced a smile back, still pissed, but also intensely relieved that I wasn’t going into that school alone.

“Hi, honey,” he said a little sheepishly after we both got out of our cars and stepped onto the sidewalk. He leaned in to kiss my cheek, resting his hand on my back. “I’m sorry I upset you.”

“Thanks,” I said, softening slightly. It wasn’t often that Kirk actually apologized—so it always meant something to me. “So you got a later flight?”

“Yeah, but I’m in coach. Business class was fully booked,” he said.

Oh, cry me a river, I thought, as we walked toward the entrance of the building, its stone Gothic architecture seeming more foreboding than it ever had, including when I brought Finch here a dozen years ago for his admissions interview.

Kirk opened the door for me, and we entered the quiet, overly air-conditioned lobby, which was more like a foyer, decorated with antiques, oil paintings, and Oriental rugs. The longtime receptionist, Sharon, looked up from a file folder to say hello. She had to know who we were by now, but she pretended that she didn’t.

“Hello. We’re here to see Mr. Quarterman,” I said, my stomach in knots.

Sharon nodded briskly, then pointed to the clipboard on the counter in front of her. “If you’d sign in, please?”

   I carefully printed our names, just as Walter entered behind us, carrying an old-school leather briefcase with a hue that verged toward orange.

“Kirk. Nina. Hello. Perfect timing,” he said, his expression as inscrutable as Sharon’s.

We said hello back, and he quickly thanked us for coming in on such short notice.

“No problem,” Kirk said lightly.

“Of course,” I said, nodding.

“Let’s head to my office?” Walter said, gesturing down the hall.

I nodded again as he led us down a long corridor. Along the way, he made measured small talk, first remarking on the speed of the passing school year, then apologizing for the construction noise coming from the renovation of the athletic facilities across the courtyard.

“It’s looking good,” Kirk said.

“Yes. Still in Phase One, though. We have a ways to go,” Walter said.

“How’s the capital campaign coming along? Have we reached our goal yet?” Kirk asked. I knew his question was purposeful, and I had the feeling Walter knew it, too.

“We have,” he replied. “Thank you again for your very generous contribution to the campaign.”

“Of course,” Kirk said, as I thought of the form letter we’d received thanking us for our pledge, along with the hand-scrawled note from Walter at the bottom: We appreciate you! Go Wildcats!

A few seconds of silence later, we rounded the corner into Walter’s office. I realized it was the first time in all these years that I’d actually been inside it, and for a few seconds, I just took in the details—the dark wood ceiling beams. The wall of books. The large desk covered with stacks of papers and more books. Then, as we walked the whole way in, I spotted Finch, sitting forlornly on a wingback chair, wearing his school uniform of khakis, a white button-down, and a navy blazer. His hands were folded in his lap, his head lowered.