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CHAPTER 1
University of Chicago
Present Day
I’D FORGOTTEN HOW much I hated first-year students.
I’d just finished a solid fifty minutes of a cultural psych lecture, and I might as well have been talking to a roomful of tree stumps. I was already pissed at Barton for asking me to sub for him at the last minute—and a 9 a.m. class, no less. I hadn’t taught this early since I was an anthropology TA. That was twelve long years ago.
Barton’s lecture notes were good, but since I’d actually written my thesis on South Pacific cultures, I was able to ad lib some interesting insights and twists on tribal gender roles. At leastIthought they were interesting. Judging by my audience, not nearly as interesting as TikTok.
After class, the students moved toward the door with their eyes still glued to their screens. I felt like I was forgetting something.Shit. The reading assignment!I scrolled through Barton’s notes.Jesus. Where is it? Right here. Got it.
“Sorry!” I called out to the departing crowd. “Listen up, please! Reading for next class!” I held the textbook over my head like a banner. It was as heavy as a brick. “In Muckle and Gonzalez! Chapters Five and Six, please!” Most of the students just ignored me. I tried to catch their eyes as they walked past, but up-close contact has never been my strength. Lecturing to a class of a hundred, no problem. Just a faceless mass. Close up, I tended to get clammy.
Sometimes I thought I might be on the spectrum. No shame in it. So was Albert Einstein. I definitely met some of the criteria. Preference for being alone? Check. Difficulty in relating to people? Check. Stuck in repetitive patterns? Check. On the other hand, maybe I was just your garden-variety misanthrope.
I plopped the textbook down on the lectern. Two female students were the last to leave. I’d noticed them in the back row—way more interested in each other than in my cogent analysis of the Solomon Islanders.
“Awesome class,” said the first student. Right. As if she’d heard a word of it. She was small and pert, with purple-streaked hair and an earful of silver rings. “So interesting,” said her blond friend. Were they trying to suck up? Maybe they were hoping I’d be back for good and that I’d grade easier than Barton, who I knew could be a real prick.
“Good, good, thanks,” I mumbled. I stuffed Barton’s iPad and textbook into my briefcase and snapped it shut. Enough higher education for one day. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Purple Hair nudge her partner. They looked over their shoulders at the whiteboard, where I’d written my name in big capital letters at the start of class.
DR. BRANDT SAVAGE
Purple Hair leaned in close to the blonde and whispered in a low, seductive voice, “I’llbethe’s a savage!” She gave her friend a suggestive little hip bump. Nothing like freshman sarcasm. Make a little fun of the gawky PhD. Got it. And not the first time somebody had made the point: I was about as far from a savage as a man could possibly get.
I headed down the hall to the department office to pick up my mail. As I pushed through the heavy oak door, I could hear Natalie, our department admin, helping a student sort out a snafu in his schedule. When she saw me, she held up her index finger, signifying “I need to talk to you.”
I liked Natalie. She was all business, no drama. Quiet and efficient. Herding cats was a cinch compared to keeping a bunch of eccentric academics in line, and she did it well. The student jammed his new schedule into his backpack and headed out the door. Natalie leaned over the counter in my direction.
“So where will you be going?” she asked, flashing a knowing smile.
“What do you mean?” I asked. My only travel plans involved heading home and heating up some soup. Natalie leaned closer and looked both ways, as if she were revealing a state secret. She gave me an insider’s wink and held up a slip of paper.
“Your sabbatical,” she whispered. “It’s been approved!”
CHAPTER 2
HOW THE HELL didthathappen, I wondered? I headed down the corridor with the slip in my pocket, dodging students as I went. I’d put in the sabbatical request eight months ago and hadn’t heard a thing. The university system was definitely not built for speed. Ulrich, my department head, was unearthing a crypt somewhere in the Middle East. I’d given up on an approval until he got back. Had somebody gotten to him? I guess miracles do happen.
My only problem was that I hadn’t really given any thought to a destination. All I knew was I’d earned six months of peace and quiet. Now I just had to figure out where to spend it.
I pushed open the main door and stepped out through the Gothic stone front of Cobb Hall. My glasses were immediately speckled with falling snow, and the cold cut right through my overcoat. That Chicago wind everybody talked about was no joke. I put my head down and almost banged into two students rushing up the steps.
“Sorry,” I said. “My bad.”
Even on sub-zero days, I looked forward to the twenty-minute walk to my apartment. Time to clear my head. A break from crowded classrooms and talky colleagues. As I headed toward East 59th, my shoes lost traction on the sidewalk and I had one of those real-life cartoon moments, where your arms flail in the air while you try to keep from falling on your ass and you hope to hell nobody is watching. Once I got my footing again, I walked the rest of the way across campus with short, careful steps. Like an old man with an invisible walker.
I dipped my head into the wind and headed up the city sidewalk, squinting to keep the snow out of my eyes. Most people who passed me from the opposite direction gave me a wide berth, probably because I looked half blind. The next time I looked up, I saw a young woman in a puffy parka headed toward me through the snow.
She was walking at a quick pace, staring straight ahead. As she passed, our elbows bumped.
“Sorry, sorry,” I mumbled. I was a real menace to humanity today.
The woman stopped and turned abruptly. “Don’t apologize!” she shouted.
The shock froze me in place. Before I could open my mouth again, she grabbed my upper arms and turned me to face the curb, like a cop getting ready to frisk a suspect.
