She pauses, lifts an eyebrow, then slides her hand up to give my biceps a little squeeze.
“Oh my.” She clears her throat, tightening her grip on me as we walk toward the house. “Well, as I was telling Olivia on the drive up, my granddaughter is the superintendent of the Rainwood school district, and she is just thrilled about the café. She’s eager to help turn things back in your favor.”
“We’d welcome any help, believe me,” Liv says.
She introduces Kelsey to Florence, and we go into the house so Florence can see the progress I’ve made on the interior. After touring the rooms, I step onto the front porch when my phone rings.
“Professor West? This is Ben Stafford of the Office of Judicial Affairs.”
My heart drops. “Yes?”
“I wanted to let you know that you’ll be receiving an official summons from the King’s University board of trustees tomorrow,” Stafford says. “In light of recent events, the board is required to investigate and determine if any university rules have been breached.”
“I see.”
“Also you are still a faculty member pending your resignation,” Stafford continues. “Therefore you must be held accountable for your actions and subject to disciplinary proceedings.”
“What are the possible consequences?”
“Sanctions include a formal letter of reprimand, suspension, or dismissal.”
I don’t care about being dismissed because my resignation is effective next month. I don’t care about being suspended either. I don’t like the idea of a letter of reprimand that will go in my permanent file, but I can live with it if I have to.
I exhale a breath. “Okay. It’s a formality, right?”
“Er, well… no,” Stafford says.
“Then what?”
“This is a public disciplinary hearing, Professor West. The investigative report will go on public record. And anyone can attend.”
His slight emphasis on the word anyone is enough. Anyone can include Maggie and Edward Hamilton. Hearing means Liv might be asked to testify. Investigate means all the bullshit about my alleged harassment of a student will go public anyway.
“And my reputation is shot to hell,” I say.
Shit. So much for all those inquiries from museums and other universities about the next stage of my career.
“Should I bring my lawyer?” I ask.
“I’d advise against it,” Stafford replies. “The board tends to look upon a legal team as evidence of guilt, or at least an attempt to stonewall an investigation.”
“So I just have to sit there and take it?”
“You’ll have the opportunity to defend your actions, Professor West,” Stafford assures me, though not even he can make it sound like that will do any good.
June 16
The King’s University board of trustees convenes in the main hall of the oldest building on campus, a brick-and-tile building modeled after Italian basilica architecture.
Liv and I go into the main meeting hall. A long, polished wood table sits at the head of the room, lined on one side with nine leather chairs. Another table with a microphone on a stand faces it, in front of the spectator seats.
We sit on a bench behind the table with the microphone. Because we’re so early, there’s no one else here yet. Liv takes my hand.
Once upon a time, I wouldn’t have wanted her here. I’d have wanted to keep her away from the ugliness of it, handle things on my own, fix it for her.
Now I can’t imagine her not being here.
I look at her. She’s watching me, her expression serious, but her eyes warm. She’s wearing a gray suit, her hair pulled back, little pearl earrings. The cameo engagement ring I’d gotten at that antique shop encircles her finger beside her wedding band. I have a sudden rush of regret that I never gave my wife the proposal she deserved.
The click of the door opening breaks through my thoughts. People begin to enter the room. Liv tightens her hand around mine.
It’s okay. She’s okay. Our baby is okay. I can handle anything if I know that.
Voices and noise fill the air as people sit down. I’d thought Frances Hunter would be here by now. The more the seats fill with spectators, the more tension grips my shoulders.
My one last hope was that not many people would show up to watch my downfall. So much for that hope. A half hour before the proceedings start, the room is full. My stomach turns at the thought of all these people hearing that I was accused of sexually harassing a student.
The hum of voices, rustling papers and backpacks, rise behind me. There’s no sign of Edward Hamilton, but Maggie comes through the side door, her face pinched and her mouth set in a determined line.
When everyone is seated, the nine members of the board of trustees file into the room, all looking stern and duty-bound. I turn, trying to find Frances, the sheer number of people making me nervous. I see Kelsey in the front row, and she gives me a nod of encouragement.