Invisible, as Music Page 13

  “Damn it,” she muttered, swiping at her cheeks with her other hand.

  “It’s okay.” Tamara pulled over to a curb. “What happened?”

  “I had an idea for a new course, wrote it up and gave it to my department chair. And my colleague somehow found out about it. He and the department head not only took credit for the idea, but they gave my course to the colleague. Today, he demanded all of my notes. All of my work on the course.”

  “You’re kidding!” Tamara squeezed her hand. “People really do that?”

  Ryn reminded herself that Tamara was a student and reluctantly withdrew her hand, pretending she needed both hands to adjust her wet hood away from her face.

  “People do that,” she said bitterly. “But it would probably be best if you didn’t mention this to anyone.”

  “Sure.”

  Tamara put the car in first gear again. “You like living with Henrietta?”

  Startled by the change in topic, Ryn pulled her mind away from her office drama. “Um, yeah. I mean, she can be a little acerbic at times, but I like her. Why, don’t you?”

  “Oh, she was nice,” Tamara said a little too quickly. She glanced over. “It just seems like an odd match.”

  Ryn’s mouth quirked into a grin as she remembered her own initial reaction to Henrietta’s brusqueness. “I suppose it does.” She pointed. “It’s that single-story house, just there.”

  Tamara pulled into the driveway.

  “Would you like to come in?”

  Tam hesitated a second. “You’re sure it’s okay?”

  “Yeah. Come on.”

  Ryn pulled her hood back up and fished her key out of her pocket before getting out of the car. Tamara followed her to the shelter of the front stoop. Ryn unlocked the door and called out.

  “Henrietta?”

  “Back here,” came a voice from the rear of the house.

  “She’s in the studio.” Ryn set her backpack down and hung her wet jacket on the coat tree.

  “You sure she won’t mind?” Tamara asked again.

  Ryn gestured and led the way, enjoying Tam’s gasp when they entered the studio. The walls and countertops were lined with the still life paintings Henrietta had been doing lately.

  “Wow,” Tamara breathed.

  “Told you.” Ryn folded her arms proudly.

  Henrietta peeked out from behind another canvas. “Well, hello.”

  “Tam gave me a ride home. Gotta remember to check the forecast before heading out.”

  “These are really nice, Henrietta,” Tamara said admiringly.

  “Thank you.” Henrietta wiped her brush on a rag. She looked from Tamara to Ryn. “You’re home a little earlier than usual.”

  “I am.” Ryn sighed. “I’ll tell you more about that later. We’ll let you get back to work, Henrietta.”

  “Nice to see you again,” Tamara said with a little wave as she followed Ryn back to the foyer. “This is a nice house.”

  “It is. I don’t think Henrietta’s other companions always got along with her, but I like it here.”

  “Well,” Tamara reached for the door. “I should get going.”

  “Thanks again for the ride. And for listening.”

  Tam took hold of her hand, giving it a squeeze. “Any time.”

  Ryn stepped out onto the front porch, watching and waving as Tamara backed out and drove away. She looked at her hand. “What in the world?”

  For the past several weeks, Henrietta had done her best to avoid being seated at Genevieve Talbert’s table during the Thursday bridge games or luncheon afterward, but today, she arranged to be seated next to her when it was time to eat. Genevieve ordered her usual gin and tonic and Henrietta coffee—the temperature outside had plummeted, and she wanted something hot. She ignored the fresh cigarette Genevieve lit in a rather blatant display of displeasure at the seating arrangement.

  “We haven’t seen you at St. Rita’s the last few weeks,” Genevieve said, glancing over the menu placed before her. “Have you been ill?”

  “Not at all.” Henrietta stifled a cough as the smoke wafted in her direction.

  Their waitress brought their drinks.

  “You forgot the lime,” Genevieve said, thrusting the drink away without a glance at the girl.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Talbert.”

  “Thank you, Annmarie,” Henrietta said, glancing quickly at the girl’s nametag. “The coffee smells nice and fresh.”

  “You’re welcome, Miss Cochran. I’ll be right back, Mrs. Talbert.”

  Henrietta used the menu to wave away some of the smoke. “I’ve been attending Mass at the St. Aloysius chapel.”

  “Really?” Genevieve’s perfectly plucked and penciled-in eyebrows arched imperiously. Henrietta noted the many wrinkles around her mouth as her lips encircled the cigarette to inhale.

  “Yes.”

  Genevieve tapped her cigarette against the ashtray. “With that girl? Your new live-in help?”

  The dismissal in her tone struck Henrietta, and she wondered if Genevieve was merely echoing her own past dismissive attitude toward her prior companions.

  “Jerry’s new professor, yes,” Henrietta reminded Genevieve, though she was certain the reminder wasn’t necessary. “Her and some other young people I’ve met there. I’m surprised more of the faculty don’t attend church on campus.”

  Genevieve sniffed. “Please. Jerry has enough of that place during the week. And I wouldn’t get too attached to your girl. Word has it that she may not pass muster. You do know, she has to be evaluated each of her first three years. From what Jerry says, she’s not a team player.”

  Henrietta had to clamp her jaw shut to hold back the retort that sprang to her lips. Meryn had shared what that man, Geary, had tried to do, demanding she hand over her work. That on top of his affair with a student. Keep calm, she reminded herself.

  “Oh, I think she’s just trying not to be steamrollered by the men,” she said casually.

  “Please,” Genevieve said again. “That’s the way things work. If she hasn’t realized that by now, she’s in for a rude awakening. And after Jerry gets promoted, she’ll be working under Bradley.”

  “Is he still on track to take over?”

  Genevieve forcefully exhaled. “Why wouldn’t he be?”

  “Oh…” Henrietta let the pause stretch out. “One hears things. It’s such a small village, after all.”

  Genevieve ground out her cigarette. “I suggest you stop listening to idle gossip, Henrietta.”

  That’s rich, coming from you, Henrietta longed to say, but again held her tongue. Instead, “It’s not idle gossip if it’s true, Genevieve. And I’m fairly certain some of his behavior is also illegal.”

  She smiled to herself as Genevieve got up under the pretense of needing to talk to Mary Ellen Greene at a neighboring table about something.

  When she left the club an hour later, she drove into town. The sky was a flat gray, looking very much like it could snow. What a dreary day, she thought, wondering if she wouldn’t rather just go home.

  “Miss Cochran, what a nice surprise,” said the owner of the art supply store when Henrietta pulled the door open, propping it with one crutch. She hurried over to hold the door. “Are you ready for new canvases? I would have delivered anything you need.”

  She wore a paint-splattered men’s shirt over faded jeans, with a colorful bandana tied around her hair. Henrietta often wished she could wear something similar.

  “Hello, Sandy. I wanted to come to the store and look things over for myself.”

  “What do you need? We have a new line of watercolors you might like.”

  “It’s not for me. I need a gift. A beginner’s set.”

  “Painting? Drawing?”

  Henrietta frowned. “I’m not sure. Show me what you have.”

  Sandy led her to the aisle where she had a variety of kits. Henrietta chose one that looked like a wooden briefcase that unfolded to make an easel and was filled with a nic
e variety of acrylics and watercolors, a few canvas boards to get started with, as well as a sketchpad and a few pencils. They completed the sale, and Henrietta made an additional request.

  “Of course I can gift wrap this for you.” Sandy checked the calendar. “I’ll deliver it on Saturday, the nineteenth after I close the shop.” She jotted the details on the sales receipt, and taped it to the box.

  “That will be perfect, Sandy. Thank you so much.”

  Sandy did a double take. “You’re most welcome, Miss Cochran.”

  Henrietta turned to go, but paused. “Sandy, I’ve been buying art supplies from you for nearly twenty years, ever since you bought this store. I think it’s time you called me Henrietta, don’t you?”

  Sandy smiled. “I’ll do that, Henrietta. Have a good day.”

  “You, too.”

  Outside on the sidewalk, Henrietta took a deep breath. It wasn’t such a dreary day after all.

  A light dusting of snow lay over everything, making the campus look like something out of a snow globe, but Ryn barely noticed. She finished her last lecture of the day and grumbled when she realized she didn’t have the book she wanted in her backpack. She crossed the quad to Rayburn Hall and dragged herself up the stairs to the second floor.

  “Meryn,” Beverly called when she walked by without saying anything.

  Ryn backed up. “Yes?”

  “I didn’t expect you back this afternoon.”

  “I know. I planned to leave after my last lecture, but I forgot something.”

  Beverly peered at her through her enormous glasses, looking more like an owl than ever. “What’s the matter?”

  Ryn eyed the dark office beyond Beverly’s desk.

  “He’s not here.”

  Ryn came in and lowered her backpack to the floor. Sitting down on one of the spare chairs, she unzipped her jacket and slipped out of it, leaving her scarf wrapped around her neck.

  “Tea?” Beverly asked.

  “I suppose.”

  Beverly apparently had the kettle already hot. She quickly poured two mugs of water and pulled a couple of teabags from a tin next to the hot plate, then came around to take the other wooden chair.

  “Now, what’s troubling you?”

  Ryn stared into her mug, bobbing her teabag up and down in the water. “Everything. All the garbage going on here. I called my family last night. I was going to drive home for Thanksgiving, but my mom told me they’re taking the boys to meet the basketball coach at some college in North Carolina. She said they’d see me at Christmas in a few weeks.”

  She tossed her teabag into the trash and took a sip, but she had a hard time swallowing. “She’s right. I’d only be there for a couple of days and then have to drive right back here. And Christmas is only a month further away. But I think she forgot—” She had to clear her throat. “I just miss them.”

  Beverly patted her knee. “I know you do. But do try to cheer up. I’m sure you’ll have a nicer Thanksgiving here than you expect.”

  “Thanks.” The tea and the conversation were comforting. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to always dump my troubles on you. What are you doing for Thanksgiving?”

  “Oh, probably the same as always. My daughter and her family will come over. The men will spend the day watching football while we prepare dinner.”

  Ryn sat back. “Turkey? The usual?”

  “We do a small turkey, but I’ll make a big pan of lasagna with garlic bread. Cannoli along with the pies for dessert. It’s more Italian than most. Little Billy is four now, so he’s more interested in the holidays this year.”

  Ryn smiled. “Sounds nice.” She drained her mug and went to wash it. “Thanks, Beverly.” She put the mug in place next to the hot plate and reached for her jacket and bag. “Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “You’d be just fine, Meryn.”

  Ryn smiled. “Have a good evening. I promise to be in a better mood tomorrow.”

  She went down the hall to her office and nearly jumped out of her skin when she opened her door and found Bradley Geary inside. He jerked upright, caught in the act of tearing through the contents of her file drawer. Papers and folders went flying.

  “What the hell are you doing?” she demanded. She dropped her pack and her jacket to the floor with a thump.

  His face shone with sweat and his eyes were wide. “Where are they? Where are your notes?”

  She was breathing hard as she said, “I told you. You stole my class. I’m not giving you anything.”

  Quicker than she would have believed him capable of moving, he grabbed her by the scarf, twisting it until it choked her as he pushed her up against the wall. His face was mere inches from hers.

  “I will not be made a fool of,” he snarled. She could smell onions on his hot breath. “Where,” he twisted the scarf more tightly, “are those notes?”

  His body was at an angle so that she couldn’t get a knee to his groin. Her hands flew to his wrist, but he only twisted the scarf more tightly. She felt his thumb rotate into a position on top of the scarf. Without thinking, she grabbed it, yanking it backward viciously.

  He yelped and released his pressure on her throat, but she held on, one hand on his wrist, the other forcing his thumb back until his knees buckled and he fell at her feet.

  Now it was her leaning over him. “If you ever touch me again, I will break your fucking fingers, one by one.”

  Scurrying footsteps announced Beverly’s arrival before she appeared in the doorway.

  “Professors!”

  Ryn released him with a shove. Geary cradled his hand against his chest as he got to his feet and rushed past Beverly.

  Ryn actually took a step in pursuit, but Beverly stopped her, placing her hands on Ryn’s shoulders.

  “Let him go.” She looked past Ryn at the scattered papers and manila folders. “Let’s clean this up.”

  As the adrenaline left her, Ryn’s legs gave out and she collapsed into her chair. “Well, Beverly,” she said shakily. “It’s been nice knowing you.”

  Beverly straightened with a handful of papers. She set them on the desk. “I’ll tell Dr. Talbert—”

  “Don’t you see?” Ryn laughed harshly. “Talbert only has his eye on his promotion. When Geary steps in as chair next year…” She ran a hand through her hair. “And I can forget about a reference. I’ll be lucky to teach again.”

  Beverly grabbed her hands. “Now you listen to me.” She tugged Ryn to her feet. “This can wait.” She led her out of the office, pulling the door shut behind them. Bending over, she picked up the abandoned jacket and backpack. “I am driving you home. No arguments.”

  Mutely, Ryn took her things and followed Beverly down the corridor to her office to get her own coat and purse, and then out to the staff parking lot. The car was silent as Beverly drove through the village, out to the country club road, and pulled into Henrietta’s driveway.

  Ryn didn’t argue when Beverly got out and accompanied her to the porch. She fumbled with the key a moment before she was able to unlock the door.

  “Now, you go lie down,” Beverly said, taking Ryn’s jacket to hang on the hall tree. “I’m going to have a word with Miss Cochran.”

  “Beverly, thank you,” Ryn managed before her throat sealed itself shut. There was so much more to say, but the words wouldn’t come.

  Beverly gave her a gentle nudge, and Ryn went to her room.

  She dropped her backpack on the spare bed, flipped on the cassette player and curled up on her side on her bed. With Roberta Flack singing Killing Me Softly, she tried not to think—about how her family had forgotten her birthday was coming, about how homesick she was, about how much she wished she’d never taken this job.

  Henrietta saw Beverly DiSorbo to the door. “Thank you for bringing her home. And for telling me what happened.”

  She’d never said more than hello to Bonnie’s sister before today. Beverly knew from Bonnie about the surprise Meryn’s family was planning, and Henriet
ta felt just as torn as she did about whether it should stay a secret. Henrietta was rarely undecided about things. Partly because she hadn’t the energy or time to waffle about, partly because—as she’d come to realize since September—her life had become so constricted to a rigid routine, that there were rarely any decisions to be made. Not major ones at any rate. Not until this girl turned things upside-down.

  More upsetting to both of them was the attack by that man, Geary.

  She went to the guest wing and stood outside Meryn’s door, listening, wondering if she should interfere. All she could hear was music. At last, she raised a hand and knocked.

  “Meryn, may I come in?”

  It was a moment before a muffled voice said, “Yes.”

  The room was almost dark. In the gloom, lit only by the lamplight spilling in from the living room, she made Meryn’s form out on the far bed—the one that had been Henrietta’s father’s. She’d wondered which bed the girl had chosen. Henrietta walked around the other bed and sat on the mattress.

  Meryn rolled over and clicked the music off. “I’m sorry. You’re probably getting hungry.”

  “I’m not here to talk about dinner.”

  “Beverly told you what happened.”

  “Yes.” Henrietta paused. “Are you hurt?”

  “My throat is a little irritated, but I’m fine.”

  “Do you want to report this to the police? He assaulted you.”

  She expected Meryn to immediately refuse, so she was surprised when the girl took some time before saying, “I don’t think so. I probably hurt him more than he hurt me.”

  She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Henrietta.”

  “Why on earth are you sorry?”

  Meryn sat up on the side of her bed, her head bowed. “I probably won’t have a job at St. Aloysius after this year. I should have just given him what he wanted—”

  “Don’t you dare!”

  Meryn’s pale face raised to her.

  “There may be some things you can’t control,” Henrietta said. “Like men taking credit for your idea. That has happened to women forever. But you do not have to do his work for him. And… if that means you’ll have to teach elsewhere, then that’s what you’ll do. We’ll deal with that when the time comes. Now, is there anything else bothering you?”