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I raised my head when one of my female students approached the dais at the end of my lecture. “Yes?”
“I just wanted to thank you for the insight you shared today, and also…”
“What is it?”
“I really admire you. Having you here, well, it gives me hope.”
The student walked out of the lecture hall before I found my voice to thank her. Little did she know what her words meant to me, today especially.
When I left MIT,I had no desire to work for another university. In fact, I had no desire to do much of anything. I was sitting in my apartment in Boston, feeling quite sorry for myself when the landline I often forgot I had, rang. I thought about letting it go to voicemail, but given I didn’t know how to retrieve messages, or even if I’d set up an incoming message, I decided to answer it.
“Emme?” a familiar voice said.
“Uncle Buster? Why are you calling this number?”
“You aren’t an easy woman to get a hold of, young lady. In fact, when I tried to leave you a message, I was told your inbox was full.”
“I’m sorry.”
“How about you meet your uncle for lunch this week?”
I’d agreed, never expecting what would come of it.
Two weeks later, I went to work for the NWC—the U.S. Naval War College, in Newport Rhode Island.
Yes, both my father and Uncle Buster pulled strings to secure my interview, but had assured me once my foot was in the door, the rest was up to me.
Much to my surprise, earlier this morning, after only being here two months, I was offered a National Security Affairs associate professorship in the Strategy and Policy Department.
I didn’t paya lot of attention when I heard the door open and close at the top of the hall. It was probably a student looking for a quiet place to read or arriving early for their next class.
I gathered the papers and books scattered on the table next to the lectern and stuffed them into my bags. It was my last class of the week, and tomorrow night I had a real treat planned—a celebration dinner with my best friend.
It had been three weeks since I last saw Nora, and I couldn’t wait to get caught up. Living in Newport made it easier for her and I to get together; Providence was only forty minutes away. The drive to Boston, where my parents were for the winter, or to Cape Cod were both twice as long. Not that I’d be going down the Cape. If I did, I’d be alone, and I could do that here.
I hadn’t exactly made friends since I’d moved to Newport and, in this case, it was for lack of trying. Several of the other professors often invited me to join them for drinks, but I always politely declined.
Since I’d never accepted, I couldn’t say for certain what they talked about, but there were a plethora of land-mine topics I knew I wanted to steer clear of.
First was China. It was still my area of expertise, and I didn’t mind teaching it, but talking about it outside of a class would lead me down a bunny trail of memories I’d just as soon avoid.
The other topic I could see exploding in my face was any talk of families. Don’t get me wrong, I love my parents, but when the other professors started talking about their husbands, wives, or significant others, like I assumed they would, there’d be no amount of alcohol that could numb the pain I knew I’d feel.
I shoved the last of my class materials into my bags and was getting ready to hoist them on my shoulders when I heard the footsteps of someone headed my way. I raised my hand to block the glare of the lights shining on me, but still couldn’t see anyone.
“Why don’t you let me help you with those,” a deliciously English-accented voice called out to me. I left my bags on the table and ran up the steps.
“Tommy? Is that really you?”
“Yes, Charlie, it’s really me,” he said, picking me up and twirling me in a circle.
When he set me on my feet, I rested my hands on his arms and looked into his sapphire-blue eyes. They’d always mesmerized me, especially since people always commented on mine. Next to his, though, mine were dull and lackluster.
“You look good,” I said, letting my gaze drift from his perfectly coiffed blond hair down to the charcoal gray turtleneck sweater and jeans he wore, all the way to a pair of those driving loafers no one ever wore socks with. Didn’t their feet get cold? And what was the point in having particular shoes for driving if you wore them everywhere else?
“Did you hear me?” I heard him ask.
“What? Oh! No, I’m sorry. I was just thinking about your shoes. They aren’t really shoes, but that’s what I was thinking about.”
