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Her other three classes—advanced undergraduate courses in ordinary differential equations and partial differential equations, and a graduate course in partial differential equations—were taught on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, and were all small, where she could really interact with her students. Those classes were where she was really pinning her hopes as a teacher.
Differential equations were her specialty...and her passion. No one knew it yet except the dean of the College of Arts and Sciences and the head of the mathematics department, but she was secretly working on a differential equations textbook. She hadn’t even told Andre—she wanted to surprise him.
Other than her early morning calculus class, she didn’t teach on Tuesdays and Thursdays, but she had office hours. Her door was always open to her students, who soon learned that Dr. Marianescu was one of the more approachable professors in the mathematics department, and were quick to take advantage of her willingness to spend time with them one-on-one. By the time Friday of her first week teaching rolled around, Mara had established herself in a satisfying if exhausting routine.
Tomorrow was Saturday, and she’d promised herself she would devote the entire day to researching her textbook. She hadn’t had a chance to work on it since last weekend—starting a new semester was always a challenge, mentally and physically, and she’d been too tired when she’d arrived home from work every night this week to even think about her book. She was determined to make progress, though, so that by the end of the school year the book would be finished. Then she’d tell Andre—he’d be so proud of her.
But Sunday? That was a different story entirely. Mara had overheard two of the professors who had offices near hers discussing the upcoming closure of the top of Mount Evans. When she’d asked what they were talking about, they’d assured her Mount Evans was definitely something she didn’t want to miss during her stay here.
“It’s only sixty miles west of Denver, and it’s the highest paved road in North America,” one professor explained. “You can actually drive all the way to the top of the mountain—over fourteen thousand feet. But they close the road past Summit Lake the day after Labor Day, and they don’t reopen that five mile section until Memorial Day.”
“When is that?” Mara had asked.
“Memorial Day’s the last Monday in May, so it won’t be open again until next year. This weekend’s your last chance to go up there this year. After Monday it’ll be closed.”
* * *
When Mara diffidently approached Special Agent McKinnon after breakfast Sunday morning about visiting Mount Evans, he gave her a long, considering look. Then he said, “Okay, if you want to go, that’s fine. But you can’t drive—you can only go if your chauffeur drives us.”
“Why can I not drive myself the way I drive to the university?” Mara insisted. “It is not that far—only sixty miles.”
“Look, Princess,” he explained patiently. “I’ve driven up Mount Evans...and I’ve driven with you behind the wheel. You’re not a bad driver, but you’ll need a lot more experience before I’ll let you attempt those switchbacks.”
“What is that?”
“Sharp turns, steep inclines. Just going as far as Echo Lake can be difficult because there are some hairpin turns even an experienced driver would need to be careful on, and that’s just the first fourteen miles. Between that and Summit Lake it’s even more tricky. And after Summit Lake, forget it. There’s no guard rail, and very little shoulder. Go over the edge of the road even a little bit, and it’s a long way down with nothing to prevent it.”
“Oh.” Mara considered this for a moment. “You could drive,” she offered.
“Not and do my job at the same time,” he said flatly. “So either your chauffeur drives us—and frankly I don’t see why that’s a problem; he hasn’t had anything to do this past week except wash your SUV and keep it filled with gas—or we don’t go.”
When Special Agent McKinnon spoke that way Mara knew she didn’t have a choice. It was his way or no way. “If you insist,” she said finally. “But not in the limousine. It is too noticeable, and I...” She willed him to understand how she didn’t want to stand out in a crowd the way she did in Zakhar. Even in England the paparazzi had followed her around, and she desperately wanted to avoid that here. The public—not to mention the press—didn’t know she was here in the US, and she wanted to keep it that way as long as she could. “He can drive my SUV, yes?”
