Page 63 of Given Our History

Satisfied with my progress, he dismisses me from his office. I pause in the middle of collecting my messenger bag to toss back the rest of the scotch—waste not—and then I’m out the door.

Whether Julien didn’t know about me and Teddy or simply didn’t care, I didn’t ask. But it doesn’t take long for the rest of the faculty to start suspecting that something is up. I’m not even sure what we’re doing to give them that impression—aside from our Thursday meetings, we’re rarely together on campus, and whenever we are we keep a professional distance. But regardless of our efforts, by the following week, there are two disparate rumors circling: the first being that Teddy and I have been together for years and that’s why he applied for the visiting scholar position in the first place, and the second being that he had to file a Title IX report over the weekend because I’ve been harassing him to go on a date with me.

I don’t have much time to worry about correcting either rumor, though, because today is the day that Dr. Lorna Foster is coming to campus for her guest lecture. I meet the Uber outside the Britteridge Center, right on schedule. Dr. Foster steps out of a black suburban wearing a houndstooth blazer and white slacks that swish when she walks. “You must be Clara,” she says, her Doric accent making my name sound more lyrical than normal, at least to my ears. Her white hair is pin-straight and blunt around her shoulders and she’s wearing a stern-looking pair of cat-eye glasses, but her smile is warm. “Glad to meet you.”

We shake hands and then I lead the way. “It’s just inside.” I glance over my shoulder. “Do you need anything before getting started? Some water, somebody to set up the projector?”

“A dram and a willing audience.”

“You’ll have to see your friend Julien about the first one,” I say with a wry smile, “but the second is taken care of.”

“I read your paper,” she says as we walk. “On the first marriage of Lady Margaret Beaufort. Riveting stuff.” Were she not an archeologist herself, I might’ve thought she was being sarcastic. Only someone who has a genuine passion for history would ever call a paper on a six-hundred-year-old annulment riveting and actually mean it. “I don’t know whether you’ve any interest in Margaret Tudor, but if you do, University of Edinburgh would be just the place.”

I smile. “I’ll keep it in mind. Though I’m actually in the middle of trying to get tenure here, so I’m not sure I’ll be traveling any time soon.”

“Well, feel free to reach out, if you’re ever considering it. I’d be happy to vouch for the quality of your work. We’ve quite a robust program for visiting researchers.”

“Thank you,” I say, a little taken aback.

The turnout for the guest lecture is good for what it is. Various members of the history and anthropology faculty were persuaded to offer their students extra credit for attending, so the folding auditorium seats are dotted with note-takers, with stragglers filtering in and ducking down the aisles. After a few minutes of chitchat, Dr. Foster pulls up a PowerPoint. She kicks off her lecture with an anecdote about an excavation on a Pictish hillfort at Knockfarrel. I climb the stairs to a dark row toward the back of the hall, where Teddy waits in one of the aisle seats.

He leans over to whisper in my ear. “How’d it go?”

“Fine, I think.” I jiggle my leg, a little nervous, though there’s nothing left to be nervous about. Julien set up all the dominoes for this; I was just responsible for giving them a little nudge.

His hand settles on my thigh, stilling it. “Hey, you did great. You got her here in one piece, right?”

I incline my head, because yes, I did, but then again, that’s not much of an achievement. A few rows down, a professor from the English Department swivels to stare at us. We’re not being especially loud, but I don’t think she turned because she heard us, anyway. She leans and whispers something to the person seated beside her. You really would think that a bunch of academics would have more interesting things to talk about than who’s sleeping with whom, but alas. At least Teddy sitting next to me should put the harassment rumors to rest.

“What happened to people minding their own business?” I whisper, glancing up at the ceiling. The recessed lighting is dimmed, only a cluster of lights pointed at Dr. Foster in front of the projector screen. Julien watches her from the shadowy wings, his hands clasped in front of him.

“We could give them something to talk about,” Teddy growls, his breath warm against my ear.

I nudge him with an elbow, holding back a smile, torn between professionalism and the very unprofessional thoughts his suggestion inspires in me. Dr. Foster uses a clicker to change slides, and a picture of a large, jagged boulder with a serpentine inscription slides on-screen. Brandsbutt Stone, the header on the slide reads, inspiring a slew of stifled giggles from students.

“So, I know we said we’re going to take things slow,” Teddy continues in a low voice, angled toward me even as we’re both pretending to pay attention to the lecture, “but I was thinking maybe we could spend Thanksgiving together. If you’re interested.”

I draw back a little to look at him. In all the years we’ve known each other, I have countless memories of all the holidays we spent apart—mailed birthday gifts and phone calls from different time zones—but we’ve never actually spent a holiday together. Maybe this could be good for us. A sort of reset button. I hadn’t really reflected on it, but now that he’s brought it up, the thought of spending another holiday apart is anticlimactic. Like we’d be doing things the same way we always did.

“Reagan and I are planning to drive to our parents’ place in Cambridge,” I say, tentative.

“I wouldn’t mind that.” His dark eyes search my face. “Assuming you want me there. And assuming your parents don’t completely hate me.”

I laugh under my breath. “They don’t hate you.” Though he might be in the hot seat for the first hour or so, but I’m not about to tell him that.

CHAPTER24

TEN YEARS AGO

It had been a mild May, but the day of commencement was warm, and despite the ceremony being held inside the massive indoor arena, I was sweating beneath my black gown as we all waited for the speeches to wrap up. I was surrounded by strangers, passing acquaintances in caps and gowns. It was bittersweet, in a way. I was closing this chapter, but it also felt as though I’d barely cracked it open, maybe scanned the first few lines.

As soon as the ceremony was over, I shouldered my way through the crowd, searching for my parents. They weren’t all that hard to spot—Mom and Reagan had taken paint markers and glitter glue to a poster board that said WE ♥ YOU CLARA, which Mom held above her head like she was picking me up from the airport gate all over again.

“I guess the apple falls pretty far from the tree,” Dad said as soon as I was close enough to hear him over the chatter. Leaning on his cane, he drew me into a hug, his whiskers scratchy against my cheek. “Congratulations, Clare Bear.”

Mom was already teary-eyed. She forgot all about the poster board and hugged me tight, whispering, “I hope you know I’m not trying to take credit when I say that I’m so proud of you.”

“I think you deserve a little bit of credit,” I said. “You did sort of teach me for most of my life.” She released me and I smoothed my red stole and straightened my honors medal, maybe calling attention to it a little, but today was supposed to be a day for celebrating achievements, after all.