|
|
There she is, the slut. Dressed like a whore in a skimpy top and shorts. Probably leaving that darling child again. Working I might be able to understand, though if she was a decent woman she'd be married with a husband to take care of her. But school? Leave that precious baby for classes? And not even classes that'll help her get a respectable job, but English classes, for God's sakes, something that'll lead nowhere! She abandons that beautiful child for school, on top of all the hours she works. I can remember when being a mother was enough for a woman. Now it's a distraction, an inconvenience, something that gets in the way of "fulfilling yourself" in a god-almighty career. If that child were mine I'd never leave her. I'd spend all my time taking care of her and enjoying her while I could. God knows childhood is short enough. Once they grow up there's no pleasure. You can't control them, they don't care about your feelings -- they're just strangers, adult strangers. These are the best years, the sweetest time. But what would that woman know about it? She doesn't deserve that child. She doesn't even deserve to be a mother...
It's the kiss of death for me to take a one o'clock class. I always doze off, no matter how hard I try to stay awake. I've tried pinching myself, bending over to tie my shoe laces (even when I'm wearing sandals) -- I've even tried jabbing myself with the point of my pen. I'd like to avoid this time slot, because no matter what I do, sooner or later I feel the numbing drowsiness creep over me -- my eyes droop, my head starts to dip just so far till I pull it up with a jerk. It's awfully embarrassing. But when you're trying to juggle work, school and raising a child, you take your classes when you can schedule them. And for me, that always seems to be one o'clock in the afternoon.
This particular day I was in the front row, in the last seat left by the time I got to class. I felt much too conspicuous. It was an unusually warm day for autumn in Portland. I knew the heat would make it even tougher to stay alert. I wondered if the Pope had ever noticed how sleepy I got in his class.
"Miss Steele, is it? Frances, I believe?" Oh no, he was staring right at me. "Do you have an assignment to hand in?"
Assignment? A dim memory stirred in my brain. Something about analyzing a piece of Elizabethan literature, or if you felt really daring, writing something in that style. I had thought about it the day before, when I was filing forms on my job in the loan office. I was going to work on it this morning, but after being up with Savannah and her cold half the night I slept in a little instead. Not by choice, either. My body just refused to wake up. I barely made it to my morning French class.
Samuel Pope was looking at me assessingly. Though he was a new instructor, he managed to be more intimidating than the professors who had been around forever. The rumor about around campus was that he was some sort of whiz kid, getting his Ph.D. and a job at university in record time.
He appeared thirtyish -- young for an instructor. He was easy to look at, too, with his blue eyes and reddish-blond hair, if you could get past his foreboding demeanor. He was not the sort of teacher who held classes out on the lawn on sunny days, or who would go out for a latté with his students after class. There was something remote, and private, about him. I couldn't imagine myself trying to explain about Savannah's cold and getting a sympathetic response from him.
I took a deep breath, clutching absentmindedly at my green dice earrings. They gave a reassuring rattle.
"I don't have it, Professor Pope." I had to stifle a nervous giggle. 'Professor Pope' sounded silly, like 'Mr. God.' But none of us in the class could bring ourselves to call him 'Sam'. "I'm afraid I just haven't gotten around to it yet."
"You haven't gotten around to it yet?" He raised both eyebrows. "One would think, Miss Steele, that after resting in my class in the afternoon you would be quite refreshed for work in the evening." The class laughed, and I felt my cheeks redden. "I'd like to see you in my office after class."
"But -- "
"Directly after class, Miss Steele. Now, let's see if someone else has something for us today. All right, Mr. Bennet, let's see what you have."
Mr. Bennet, whose name was Joe, stood up confidently with a piece of paper in his hand. He's prepared, I thought morosely. Probably doesn't have a four-year-old and two jobs to deal with, either.
"I've written a poem, Professor Pope. An Elizabethan poem." He handed it to the him.
The Pope scanned it briefly with those icy blue eyes of his. He looked up with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes and said, "Why don't you read it to us?"
That startled Joe. "You mean, read it now...in front of everybody?"
The Pope walked around to the front of his desk, and folded his arms across his chest. "Yes, in front of everybody. I'm sure we'd all be delighted to hear it."
"Uh, sure, okay." Joe cleared his throat.
I thought it sounded pretty good. Why couldn't I write like that? The Pope was impressed, too. I could tell. He was just standing up there, leaning against the desk with his eyes closed, a sort of half-smile on his lips. Probably drinking in the glory of having such a talented student as Joe -- unlike me, who was late with assignments and a chronic classroom dozer.
Joe sat down. I had to admit, I was overwhelmed. So was the rest of the class. A scattering of applause erupted. I joined in. But the Pope waited it out, looking at Joe, who appeared surprisingly uncomfortable.
"Very good, Mr. Bennet."
Very good? What sort of lukewarm praise was that? "That was terrific!" I burst out. "The language was so authentic. How ever did you do it?"
"Yes," echoed the Pope. "How ever did you do it? Was it, by any chance, at the library?"
The library? My hands froze in mid-clap.
"Well, uh, " Joe stumbled.
"Sit down, Mr. Bennet. You will soon know how truly a wretched thing a man can be, in ways even Sir John Davies might not have imagined. If this was a research project, perhaps I could give you a good grade. As it is, I'm afraid I'll have to fail you on this assignment. In fact, you would do well to look for another department, even another school, to continue your college career. You're finished here. I loathe plagiarism, Mr. Bennet; in literature it is an unforgivable sin."
Joe looked like he wanted to cry. He gathered his books and left. The Pope looked implacable, his arms folded across his chest. We all sat stunned. No doubt about it, the Pope is a hard man. And this is the guy I'm supposed to appeal to for some tolerance and understanding? I didn't stand a chance.
I ducked out of the classroom at the end of the period and found a rest room to comb my tangled hair and calm my nerves. What was I going to tell the Pope? I didn't know much about him, even though I had heard lots of stories about him. I had spoken with him briefly once, when he had come into the English department office while I was there talking to the department secretary. I certainly didn't tell him my life story then, and I didn't really want to now.
What was he going to think of me? I tried to avoid looking in the mirror over the sink; I knew the heat and humidity made my long hair look rather like a brown tumbleweed, and that there were dark shadows under my green eyes (algae-green, a boy in school had teased me once, the color of a polluted river), eyes which themselves had a distinctly reddish cast.
I hadn't time to put on any make-up this morning, and I realized now that my yellow tank top and denim shorts, a concession to the weather, did make me look rather juvenile. Despite the fact I was older than the average undergraduate, I looked like a student, and a rather flighty one at that.
Should I tell him about Savannah? Why not, I'm not ashamed of her. But would he think I'm not as committed to my studies as the other students, less capable of completing the curriculum?
A group of chattering women, probably lower classmen, swarmed in and took over the mirrors. As far as I could tell, they were talking about going to the library to study tonight, then going to Kip's afterwards to meet some guys for a hamburger.
A wave of pure envy hit me so strongly I had to clutch the edge of the sink. What luxury to be so carefree, to have a midterm grade or a date be the biggest concerns in your life! I wasn't that much older than these girls, but I felt like their grandmother.
Someone else was in the office the Pope shared with the other teaching assistants when I got there. I glanced at my watch, then sat in the hallway outside and waited. This had better not take too long. I was supposed to pick Savannah up at the sitter's in half an hour.
I wasn't trying to eavesdrop, but I couldn't help hearing voices coming from the other side of the door.
"Samuel, you can't keep driving students out of the department. You haven't the authority."
"But Richard, he plagiarized a poem." I recognized the Pope's voice.
"That's regrettable, certainly, -- "
"Regrettable! It's unforgivable! Surely we're not going to overlook students who plagiarize in an insane effort to keep our enrollment levels high!"
"It's enrollment that keeps this institution solvent, Samuel. Pays your salary and mine. And lately you've apparently been hell-bent on reducing the enrollment, at least in the English department, by any means available."
"I beg your pardon." The Pope's tone made me quail. But the other voice carried on undeterred.
"Melissa Peters. You failed her for not turning in an assignment." My heart just about stopped. "And Jason Anderson left on his own accord, after being humiliated by you in class. Last I heard, he was selling Amway products."
"There were reasons -- "
"And I don't want to hear them. Now there's Joe Bennet, another of your casualties. Mark me well, Samuel. If you want any sort of future at this institution you'll be more careful from now on. You lose us another student and you just might find yourself looking for a new job and a new school to call home."
The door opened. Quickly I opened a book and pretended to read. It was Dean Willows who walked out, head of the English Department. I stood, and tentatively peeked in at the door.
"Professor Pope?"
He was standing at the window, hands clasped behind his back. A shaft of afternoon sunlight created a golden halo on his blond hair -- an effect which probably would have pleased him had he been aware of it. But he appeared to be deep in thought. I was struck with how straight he stood. He turned towards me.
"Yes? Oh, Miss Steele. Do come in and sit down."
His office was sparsely furnished. There were no philodendrons or ferns, or anything green and growing. There was the requisite bookcase packed with books, a metal desk with a swing-arm lamp and two plain wooden chairs, of the sort you're likely to find in any university anywhere in the world. The only things that separated his space from thousands like it were a beautiful pewter chess set with Civil War soldier figures on the bookcase, a model airplane hanging from the ceiling, and an intricately carved beer stein doing duty as a pencil holder on his desk.
"Now, Miss Steele," he said, sitting down and moving a very tidy pile of papers to one side of his tidy desk. "About your assignment."
I squirmed in my seat, feeling like I was in grammar school and was called in to see the principal. "I can explain that, you see -- "
"It's not just this assignment, Miss Steele,"
"Please, call me Francie -- everyone does. I hate 'Frances' and 'Miss Steele'. They sound so, so cold and hard, I guess, You know, like steel." I was babbling in my nervousness. I gave what I hoped was an endearing grin. He didn't crack a smile.
"As I was saying, it's not just this assignment. You're behind in the class. And I've checked and found you're also behind in your other classes. This can't go on."
"But -- "
"There are plenty of students who would like to take your place at this university. And if you fail to keep up with your course work, perhaps in all fairness we should allow one of them to have that opportunity."
I had felt a lot of emotions during his short speech -- shame, fear, and finally, thank God, a clean-burning anger. Anger always gave me strength when I needed it. It had helped me when Savannah's father abandoned me, and my own family treated me like I had a scarlet letter on my chest. The anger I felt now was easy, uncomplicated, directed at the man who sat opposite me, his eyes cool and detached, telling me I wasn't good enough for his school. Who did he think he was, anyway?
I squared my shoulders and raised my chin just a fraction.
"Perhaps I am falling behind, but it's nothing I can't rectify. As for having a place at this university, I think I deserve it as much as anyone else. I'm working two jobs to go here, plus raising a child. I need this degree for her, and our future, Professor Pope. And I intend to get it, if I have to give up sleeping altogether, just to get the assignments done!"
To my chagrin, I saw I was shaking. I stilled my hands by clasping them in my lap. The Pope had dropped his slightly bored air and was regarding me intently. It was amazing what a penetrating blue his eyes were. I had to look away.
"How many hours a week do you work, Miss, er, Francie?"
"About 30."
"And this child of yours, he's how old?"
"She. She's four and a half."
"Her father is...?"
"Gone. Not that it's any of your business."
"I see. Have you applied for any financial aid?"
I gave a mirthless chuckle. "The financial aid office is still fondly hoping my parents will support me. They told me I am ineligible for any grants, but they are willing, however, to offer me massive loans. I prefer to work."
"Have you considered welfare?"
This time I looked him steadily in the eye. "I told you, I prefer to work."
"Hmm. Admirable, Francie. Pig-headed and a tad unrealistic, but admirable. You're older than the average undergraduate, aren't you?"
"I'm 24." I tried not to sound defensive.
"Then surely you must realize this degree you're seeking will qualify you for very little out in what academics call 'the real world'."
"I don't believe that. I love studying English literature."
"Dental hygiene would get you a job sooner." His cynicism was palpable.
I felt an angry flush rising again. "Are you trying to talk me out of staying here?"
"Well, no, not exactly, though I have been accused of similar crimes." He tapped his finger meditatively on his desk. "You want to stay in school. Your story is not an unmoving one. I'll see what I can do to help."
"Oh, thank you," I sprang up from my chair, spilling my books and dumping my purse, open of course, upside down on the floor.
"Now, wait a minute." He looked faintly alarmed. "The fact is, you are perilously close to flunking out. Your assignments must be completed. When are you going to work on them?"
I stooped down to collect my things. "Well, tonight I guess, if Savannah gets to bed early. She's had a cold lately, and it's hard for her to sleep. Tomorrow morning I'm free till ten, but if she's still sick I really can't take her to the sitter. She almost wouldn't take her today. Oh, that reminds me, I better call the sitter -- please, can I use your phone?"
"Certainly, but -- "
I was already dialing. "Hello, Rachel? Listen, sorry I'm late, I'll be by in a few minutes to pick up Savannah. What? What do you mean she's not there? Where is she? At the park, you think? Don't you know?"
I swiveled towards the window, the phone cradled in the curve between my neck and ear, and was aware of the Pope's eyes again, bright with interest, studying me. I turned back towards the door.
"Look, I'm coming right over. Find her, understand? If you haven't got her by the time I get there, I'm calling the police."
I dropped the receiver onto the hook. Don't overreact, I told myself. It's probably nothing. It's absolutely unnecessary, and premature, to panic.
I felt sick.
"What's wrong?"
"It's Savannah. She seems to be missing. I'm sure it's just a mistake of some kind, no big deal really, but I'd better get over there."
The Pope was rising from his chair. "You seem quite upset. Perhaps I should come with you."
I was trying to gather my purse, books, folders, but everything was spilling from my arms. Truth is, I was having a hard time thinking clearly. I accidentally grabbed a hank of my hair with my book when I bent down to get the book off the floor; a wincing pain I ruthlessly ignored.
"No need, no need." I tried to sound light. "I'm sure everything's fine. But I'd better get over there." I made a final effort to collect my belongings and rushed out the door.
"Miss Steele, er, Francie, wait!" The Pope's voice floated down the hallway after me, bouncing off the shiny linoleum floors, reverberating along the dark wooden doors and cluttered bulletin boards. I didn't even turn around.
I scarcely remember getting to Rachel's. I virtually ran across campus and into the surrounding streets. I darted in and around students changing classes; I avoided traffic lights by jaywalking across streets. I had to stop once, though, as a truck rumbled in front of me. As I waited impatiently a man pulled up beside me, breathing hard.
"Francie, you forgot your -- "
"Professor Pope!" Out of the corner of my eye I saw the truck pass. "Can't talk now. I've really got to go."
I ran off unceremoniously, cutting through the Park Blocks, in and out of patches of sun-dappled shade under the elm trees, stirring up clouds of pigeons. It seemed like an hour, though it was really only about ten minutes, before I reached Rachel's apartment building.
I buzzed her on the intercom outside the street door. Instead of responding electronically she came down to meet me.
I grabbed her shoulders. "Have you found Savannah yet?"
I could see tears in her eyes. "No, but I called the police."
"And?"
Rachel took a deep breath. "They said she hasn't been gone long enough. Now listen, Francie -- "
"Not long enough? What do they want? If they wait any longer she could be hopelessly lost, or, or -- "
"I also sent Hilda out to look for her."
"Hilda? Who's Hilda?"
"A nice old lady who lives around here. She's always out with her dog ,a little Sheltie dog, really sweet, though he does bark a lot -- "
I'm afraid I shook her. She was rambling. "Why did you send her to look for Savannah?"
"I couldn't go, Francie. I wanted to, but I have the other kids to watch. I couldn't leave them, especially the baby, and if I took them to wander through the Park Blocks I might've lost someone else."
"So where is Hilda now? Where did she go? Where did you last see Savannah?"
I was still shaking her, and with each question I shook a little harder. When I realized what I was doing I dropped my hands. It was easy to see Rachel was terrified. Barely out of her teens, she'd just started doing day care and had six kids to watch, ranging in age from a baby to a nine year-old who came before and after school. She'd never had to cope with anything like this before. I might've felt sorry for her, if I wasn't so afraid.
I looked around wildly, ready to take off in any direction. My heart was racing and I could hardly think. With each breath of air I took I felt my chest getting tighter and tighter. Savannah had been gone for at least fifteen minutes now, maybe even half an hour. My stomach twisted. This was really my fault. I shouldn't have left Savannah with someone like Rachel. But Rachel was all I could afford.
Rachel was talking. "We were all taking a little walk. I turned around at the corner and Savannah wasn't with us. I called and called, but I couldn't find her anywhere. Hilda came by -- she was walking her dog -- and offered to look for her. I came back here with the rest of the kids, so I'd be here when you came."
"Okay." I forced myself to calm down by taking deep breaths. "I can't just stay here and wait. I'm going to go out and look. I'll start by going up through the Park Blocks towards the University and then -- "
"Francie." There was the Pope again; his voice startled me. He must have followed me. "Is that by any chance Savannah coming down the street?"
There she was, blonde braids shining in the sun, her rag doll tucked under her arm, hand-in-hand with an elderly lady in a plaid skirt who was briskly walking a small dog. Behind them trailed another elderly lady. I could see Savannah chatting merrily.
I ran to her, scooping her up in my arms and hugging her so tight she wriggled to get away. "I was so worried about you!"
"Mama, don't cry. I was with Hilda and Missy. It was fun."
I looked up to a lined face with crinkly blue eyes, framed by steel-gray curls. A dog that looked like Lassie in miniature was delicately sniffing my shorts. "You must be Hilda," I said. "Thank you for finding my little girl."
"Glad to do it," she said gruffly, "but don't thank me. When I spotted your daughter Dorothy had already found her."
"Dorothy?"
"I'm afraid that's me," said a small voice behind Hilda. "You probably don't remember me, but we did talk once, in the hallway. I live two floors up from you in your apartment building."
"And I live two doors down from her," added Hilda.
"Yes, of course," I lied. The low-rent apartments around the University were full of college students and old people, and my life was so busy I didn't pay a whole lot of attention to my surroundings. The women did look vaguely familiar, but then I wouldn't have known they lived in my building if they hadn't said so.
"I recognized Savannah, and when I saw her in the park I thought she might be lost and so I decided to stay with her till you came along. I didn't realize she was with a day care group. When Hilda found us and told me we came back."
"Dorothy bought me some ice cream, Mommy," said Savannah happily. "Strawbederry."
"Thank you," I said. "I feel like I've aged about ten years." The two elderly women smiled sympathetically at me, and I realized that might not have been the most tactful thing to say. Suddenly I felt very tired , completely drained. "Come, Savannah, we'd better go now."
Savannah turned as walked back to Rachel's apartment building. "Bye Hilda, bye Dorothy."
"Bye Savannah."
"Bye, sweetheart."
"Savannah," I began, "I'm very glad that you're safe. But if you ever wander away like that again Mommy is going to spank the daylights out of you." I have never spanked my child, or indeed struck her in any way. But at that moment it seemed like a perfectly logical thing to threaten.
Savannah, however, wasn't paying any attention.
"Mommy," she whispered, "why is that man holding your money thing?"
"My what?"
"She means your wallet," said the Pope. Savannah's whispers were pretty loud. "It fell out of your purse when you were in my office. That's why I'm here. I thought you may need it, so I came after you."
"Oh, you didn't have to do that." I said automatically. Then I thought of what I had in that wallet, the meager cash, my driver's license and student body card, and most of all, pictures of Savannah. I could ill afford to lose any of it. "But thank you so much, for coming after me."
My breathing had almost returned to normal, and I used my fingers to quickly rake my tumbled hair off my face. Running like a madwoman through the streets, shedding my possessions as I ran, was probably not the best way to convince the Pope of my seriousness and stability.
"If I'd noticed my wallet missing tonight, I would have thought I dropped it somewhere between here and the University, and gone crazy trying to find it. I really am very grateful to you. I was pretty distracted back there."
"I understand," said the Pope, with a gracious incline of his head towards Savannah.
She was eyeing him suspiciously. "Do you know my Mommy?"
"Yes, indeed. We go to the same school together." Then he did something that really surprised me -- no, flabbergasted me. He squatted down on his haunches till he was eye-level with my daughter.
"You must be Savannah. That was a very silly thing to do, wandering away from your group."
Savannah frowned. I bristled instinctively. I didn't like anyone criticizing my daughter. Still, he was right, and maybe hearing it from another source would impress it upon Savannah even more.
"Savannah, this is my English teacher this term, Professor Pope."
"How do you do, Savannah."
She stared at him. "Mommy says you're like Oscar."
"Oscar?"
"Oscar the, er," I swallowed the next word, "Grouch. On Sesame Street."
"Oh, I see." He glanced up at me. "What an interesting name. So evocative. But perhaps, Savannah, you would like to call me Sam instead. It's my real name."
This act of extreme condescension did nothing to deflect Savannah's rampant curiosity. I really didn't think I could get any more embarrassed, but Savannah was about to prove me wrong. She was studying Sam solemnly, eye to eye.
"My mommy says you have ice water in your veins. Doesn't that make you cold?"
I knew my cheeks were bright red, and there really was no way to gracefully reclaim the situation. I'll never tell her anything again, I vowed silently.
"Apparently so," he said, straightening up. "Since you're safe now, I think I'll go."
"No, wait," I said desperately. I couldn't let him go with Savannah's rudeness (unwittingly coached by me!) ringing in his ears. "Let me go get Savannah's things, and maybe you could come back to our place for some coffee or something. We live right around the corner. It's the least I can do, after all your help."
"Please come home with us," said Savannah, tugging on his sleeve. It was charming, but I knew she was really hoping to see some further demonstration of his freakishness. I racked my brain trying to remember all the comments I may have made about him to her.
"We made brownies last night," Savannah added. "Mommy said they were x'lent."
The haughty look on his face made me think he would never forgive me for the ice water crack. Then I saw him look down into Savannah's glowing face, and amazingly, his stern look softened.
"Brownies. Hmm. In that case," he relented, "I'll come."
It was a short walk down the block and around the corner to my apartment building. Savannah was merrily kicking the leaves that were just beginning to fall from the trees as we went. Thank goodness for the child -- she was a distraction that helped cover the awkwardness I felt. I'd never, ever, invited a teacher to my place, and of all the teachers I've had the Pope would not have been my first choice to break the tradition.
Savannah charged up to the door of the drab brick building where we lived, and she hopped around in a circle while I fiddled with my key. It struck me again, as it has often, as strange that she would accept so naturally and easily this rather run-down old building as "home." "Home" to me was a two-story house with flowering vine climbing a trellis by the door, a dog in the backyard, a cat curled asleep on a bed upstairs, good smells from the oven in the kitchen and lots of warmth and understanding everywhere.
I had that once, or the semblance of it. And I often dream of constructing something like it in the future. But the 'home' I experienced was like a mist in my mind; when I needed comfort and support, 'home' evaporated. I clung to the idea of it for the longest time, past reasoning. It was a fantasy, not a reality, a lot like the stories Savannah wove around the Barbie playhouse she wanted so badly. Doing without that fantasy was hard, but not as painful as trying to maintain an unsubstantiated belief.
This, I thought, looking around at the stained brick and cracked sidewalk, is reality. Our reality for now, at least.
I fumbled for my key to the front door, only to discover it had been left wedged open at its base. "I wish they wouldn't do that," I said to the Pope. "There's some students who leave the door open so they won't have to bother with the key. The manager's talked to them about it, but they still do it. It wouldn't be such a big deal, except we've had a rash of small burglaries in the building lately."
The Pope bent down, pulled the wedge out from under the door and examined it. It was a large piece of chipped bark, from the rose bed that ran along the building.
"Unfortunately, you seem to have an inexhaustible supply of these," he said, tossing the chip back to the fading roses.
We made our way past the bicycles parked in the dim hallway and up the stairs to my little place on the second floor. It was a rather crowded studio apartment, with Savannah's bed in one corner behind a homemade screen (to block the light for her late at night while I studied) and the couch where I slept. The kitchen table was my desk as well as a place to eat, and was never completely free of books and papers. In the middle of the table was a jelly jar filled with water and four drooping dandelions; a bouquet from my daughter.
Today, as usual in the afternoon, we had musical accompaniment. My neighbor upstairs, a student, always blared his music when he got back from his last afternoon class. I wouldn't have minded so much except this was particularly relentless rap music with a pounding beat.
I wondered what the Pope was making of all this. He was hanging back in the doorway as I bustled about, picking up sofa cushions and scooting toys into the corner.
"Did you leave your stereo on in the other room?" he inquired.
"No, that's coming from upstairs. Thin walls."
Savannah giggled. "There is no other room. This is a no-bedroom apartment, silly."
"Savannah, what have I told you about name-calling?"
"But he called me silly when I was with Hilda."
I narrowed my eyes. Her little face creased into a pout.
"Sorry," she mumbled. She clasped her hands behind her back and shifted her weight from one sneakered foot to the other.
The Pope looked nonplused. "Have a seat," I said quickly. "At the table." I ruthlessly cleared an area by putting several little piles of paper into a big pile at one end of the table. I only hoped it wouldn't take me too long to straighten them out again after he left.
"Savannah, you can help me serve the brownies," I said, but Savannah was across the room, pulling her box of toys out from under the couch. She trundled back across the room to the Pope.
"This is my pony," she announced, thrusting a pink plastic figure with flowing blue hair at the Pope. "This is my book. It's Goodnight Moon. It's got a bunny in it. And this," she said, flourishing a rag doll at him, "is my Annie-doll."
I laughed. "Professor Pope, you don't know how privileged you are. Annie is her most prized possession."
"You see," Savannah continued. "She's even got a heart, right under here." She jerked her doll's pinafore up. "It says 'I love you,' in a heart."
"What a beautiful doll," said the Pope solemnly. "She looks old and valuable."
"Oh, she is." Savannah nodded sagely. "She's even got these little birds on her. See," she pointed to the gilt buttons on the doll's pinafore. "They're ready to fly. They've got their wings open."
"Put your toys away now, Savannah. It's time for treats." Savannah trotted off. "I used to play with that doll when I was a child. It belonged to my grandmother. The only thing that's ever changed on it is the buttons -- Grandma put several different ones on the pinafore over the years. My favorites were some red plastic hearts, but they broke a lot time ago."
"So Savannah is carrying on the family tradition."
"I guess you could say that. It's one of my few links with my family. My grandmother bequeathed the doll to me in her will. It's about the only thing the rest of the family didn't contest."
Now, why did I have to say that? I concentrated on arranging the brownies on the plate. "Can I offer you something to drink, Professor Pope? Coffee, or tea, perhaps?"
"Coffee would be fine. Black. Er, Francie, since I agreed earlier today to call you by your Christian name, you might as well call me Sam. I've already invited Savannah to do so."
"Sam?" I wasn't sure I could do that. 'Sam' sounded so ordinary, and the Pope to me was anything but. It would take a lot of getting used to.
"Yes. Sam. That's my name. And around here," he glanced at Savannah, "I think I would prefer it to 'Oscar.'"
My cheeks burned again, but Savannah was oblivious to the sarcasm. "Sam is the name of my friend Nicholas's cat," she said. "It's a cat name."
He met her gaze with a level stare. "And Savannah is the name of a broad grassy plain in Africa. It's a geographical name."
"No it's not. It is not a giraffical name, is it, Mommy?"
The Pope was smiling broadly, and Savannah looked a little belligerent.
"Brownies," I said firmly. "Have a brownie, both of you."
It was amazing, really, how the brownies served as common denominator for the two of them. Teasing Savannah, the Pope didn't seem like such an imposing figure. Still, I knew he had a look that could freeze a fireball at fifty paces. Could I really think of him as Sam? Savannah might be able to. She never had to take class from him. For me, I knew it would difficult not to think of him as "the Pope."
The Pope and Savannah dutifully ate their treat. "So," he said, wiping his fingers carefully on a napkin, "where do you work?"
"In the student loan office. And I also do a few shifts at Pizza My Heart."
"Is tonight bath night, Mommy?" Savannah interrupted.
"Yes, dear. And hair night. After dinner. And if we have time, I'll read you another chapter of Alice in Wonderland."
"What's for dinner?"
"I'll think about that later. Right now enjoy your brownies."
"I hope it's macaroni and cheese. The kind in the box."
"I know, your favorite kind." I looked at the Pope apologetically. "What can I say -- she's got gourmet tastes."
Savannah gulped her milk and sidled out of her chair. "Hey, hold on a minute, cookie monster, let me see those hands and face before you run off to play." I took Savannah to the sink to clean her up.
"Dinner, bath night, Alice in Wonderland -- it seems to me," said the Pope, reaching for a second brownie, "that you're somewhat over-committed. How do you get everything done?"
I took a gulp of air. Here it was. The accusation I most feared. Well, I wasn't going to lie.
"It's not easy. By the time I get to my homework I'm pretty wiped out. But as I see it, my alternatives are worse. I could be waitressing forever, or working at a low-paying clerical job. At least this way I have something to look forward to when I get out of school."
The Pope gave a rather cynical snort. "Don't get your hopes up too high. A degree in English will give you a better vocabulary, a distinctive library if you can afford to keep your books, but not necessarily a better job. If it's job security you're after, head for the computer sciences department."
I banged my cup on the table. "I don't know why you're doing this, Professor, er, Sam. It won't work. I'm staying in school, and I'm going to finish, whether you help me or not."
"Calm down, Francie. Such fire -- you remind me of the Romantic poets." He took a sip of coffee. "I can see you're determined, no matter what I say."
He held his cup for a minute, looking at me thoughtfully over the rim. Then he set it down decisively.
"I'll help you, but I can't do your homework for you. You can have until Monday to turn in your assignment. However, there's a mid-term next week, and more assignments after that, and that's just my class."
He stood up and glanced over at Savannah, who had already left the table and was playing with Annie on the couch.
"You've picked a hard road to travel, Francie, and I wish you luck." He went to the door, grasped the doorknob, and then hesitated. "I'm thinking of holding a mid-term review session, probably this Friday afternoon, if you think you can make it. I'll announce it in class tomorrow. Come if you're interested. We'll meet at my office, and find a larger room if necessary."
He opened the door. "See you tomorrow, then. Thank you for the refreshments. And thank you, Savannah, for the delicious brownies. They were truly excellent."
Then he was gone, leaving me very confused. First he tried to talk me out of staying in school, then he offered to help to me pass the mid-term exam. I had never heard of Samuel Pope holding a midterm review session. I thought he relished seeing his students flunk his tests. Maybe this had something to do with the conversation I overheard between him and Dean Willows. I couldn't believe he sincerely wanted to help me for my own sake.
I sighed. There was a mess to straighten, a meal to cook, and a little girl to bathe and get into bed. And then lots and lots of homework. Bed for me, if I was lucky, would be shortly after midnight. Really lucky.
"Now, let me see, one more time, 'and painful pleasure turns to pleasing pain,' now what the heck does that mean..."
"Mommy, can I..."
"Savannah, you know Mommy's working. Please, just play with Annie for a few more minutes while I finish this outline...Oh, darn it, there's the door. The hall door must be open downstairs again. Wait, Savannah, let me get it."
But Savannah had already flung open the door. "Sam! Mommy, it's Sam."
Oh great, I thought, it's the Pope. I'd had to skip his special review session yesterday because I wasn't caught up on my work in the loan office. If he was coming to check on my progress he was going to be disappointed.
He looked crisp and cool in corduroy slacks and a button-down shirt, rolled neatly at the elbows, while I felt sloppy in an oversized T-shirt and faded jeans, my hair pulled back in a hasty ponytail and my face innocent of any make-up. I really hadn't expected any company, and dressed accordingly, which I've come to realize is the surest way to guarantee plenty of visitors.
"Excuse me for interrupting your studies, Francie. I just dropped by to see if you were all right. I missed you at the review session yesterday."
"I know, I'm sorry I didn't come. I had to stay late at the loan office. There was a ton of applications to process to meet next semester's deadlines. I wish I hadn't missed the review session. But I'm working on my homework now. I've chosen the Faerie Queene to analyze."
"I see." And I had the uncomfortable feeling that he really did see, the playdough on the table and floor, the toys scattered across the rug, the cereal on the sofa. I more or less let Savannah do anything if she would occupy herself quietly and leave me alone to work. I just tried not to think about the mess till later.
"Getting a lot done?" The words were uttered politely enough, but I thought I could detect a smirk in the tone.
"No, no, I'm not getting a lot done. Actually, I'm getting very little done." I couldn't help a rueful laugh. "It may have something to do with the fact that every other minute I'm either making a playdough kitty, pouring cereal, or sending my regrets to a pony tea party. But I'm giving Spenser my best effort."
"Would you like to go to my pony's tea party?" Savannah asked Sam.
"A pony tea party." He bent down to look into her bright eyes. I noticed a distinct lightening of his features when he addressed her. "How very interesting. It's bound to be more exciting than a faculty tea, at any rate. But I'm afraid not today, elf. I have reading to do."
He stood up. "Well, I just wanted to see how you were progressing, Francie. I plan to take advantage of this autumnal sunshine, so untypical of this damp clime, to more thoroughly reacquaint myself with Milton's Paradise Lost before I assign it to you and your fellow students next month."
Savannah tugged on his pant leg.
"What did you say?"
"I'm going to the park, child."
"Oooh," she squealed. "Can I go? Mommy, can I go to the park, too?"
"Savannah, I told you, I have to study this afternoon." I was using my best let's-be- reasonable tone, but I couldn't help glancing at the Pope with a hint of accusation. He was the one who had given me this miserable assignment, then he interrupted me, and now he'd gotten Savannah going by mentioning the park. Now she would be pleading with me all afternoon to take her.
"I can go with Sam. Please, Mommy, please can I go? I wouldn't bother him. Honest I wouldn't. I just want to swing."
"Now, honey," A frown was gathering on her face, a sure sign of an impending storm.
Damn the Pope for dangling this treat in front of her! Now I would lose valuable time trying to calm her down. How do you explain to a four-year-old that she cannot just invite herself along on excursions with people she had just met?
I glanced over to the Pope who was watching with a look of amused detachment on his face. Damn him again! It would serve him right if I gave in to Savannah's pleading. That would fix him. And before I could stop the impulse, that's exactly what I did.
"All right, you can go. If it's okay with Sam, of course," I added with false sweetness.
"Oh, Sam," she said, glowing. "Would you take me? Please, please, please?"
The Pope got a wild, surprised look on his face, much like I suppose one of those large jungle animals must look when the zoo net comes down on them.
"I'm only going to be there for an hour or so," he began cautiously.
I pressed my advantage. "That'll be perfect! It will give me just enough time to finish my outline. You'll really be helping me," I added sincerely, "just like you said you would."
"Oh, goody," said Savannah, running to grab her doll Annie. "I'll show you my favorite slide, too."
"Now, just a minute," the Pope began. Savannah raced back to his side and slid her little hand into his. She gazed up at him trustingly, with her own special heart-melting look. He capitulated with a shrug of resignation.
"To the park, then, elf. By the way, Francie," he added as he headed out the door, "that paper had better be dynamite."
Okay, so it wasn't the most ethical thing to do. But Savannah needed to get outdoors, and surprisingly, I felt very sure the Pope would take good care of her. I trusted him -- why, I wasn't sure. It was just instinctive. In any case, he was well and truly trapped into it, and I had bought myself some much needed time. Now to make the most of it.
I settled down to work. Once more I was working on the intricacies of the Faerie Queene when I heard a knock on my door.
I thought about ignoring it, but I went over impatiently to see who it was instead. For a moment I couldn't place the middle-aged woman with the foil-covered plate. Then I recognized her. She was the woman who found Savannah that day, along with that other woman and her dog. But what was her name?
"I do hope I'm not disturbing you," the woman began apologetically. "Perhaps you don't remember me. I'm Dorothy. I met you and your daughter earlier this week."
"Of course I remember you," I lied heartily. "Thank you again for finding her." I knew I was rude not to invite her in, but I also knew if I did I would lose my precious time to work.
"How is Savannah?" she said, looking past me into the apartment.
"Oh, just fine. Completely recovered from her little adventure. She's not here right now, though. She's over at the park."
"Oh." Dorothy seemed crestfallen. "I made these cookies for her -- I mean both of you. They're oatmeal. Quite nutritious, actually. I didn't put a lot of sugar in them."
"How very sweet of you. Savannah will love them. Thank you very much." I accepted the plate and started backing up.
"You're very lucky, you know. To have a child, I mean. I would give anything to have a grandchild," she added wistfully. "I only have the one son, you know, and he's decided not to have any. He told me he's not the marrying kind. Now, what do you suppose that means?"
She looked at me, honestly bewildered. I didn't want to touch this subject with a ten- foot pole. What her son decided to do with his life was no concern of mine. Right now my major concern was getting a good start on my paper before Savannah came back.
I smiled sympathetically at Dorothy. How was I going to get her to leave without being uncivil?
"I'd like to stay and chat," I began, "but unfortunately I'm just buried with homework today..."
"Children are our true blessings in life. It's so hard to appreciate that when you're young and so busy."
"Yes, well..." It was getting more awkward by the minute to stand in the doorway. But I knew what would happen if I let her in.
"Francie!" came a voice from down the hall.
I would know that voice anywhere, even though it belonged to the last person I expected to see today. It was my cousin Lisa, who could be counted on to ignore any hints I might put out and stay just as long as it suited her. I couldn't believe it. Were the fates conspiring against me, or what?
"Lisa? What are you doing here? Why aren't you in Seattle?" I hadn't seen my cousin since my grandmother's funeral, and she wasn't very friendly then. I looked at Dorothy, who was murmuring excuses and preparing to leave. She left. Lisa came to the door. I sighed. Lisa would not be denied.
"I had business in town here yesterday," she said breezily. "I decided to stay over. After all, I couldn't very well come to Portland and not see my favorite cousin." Now that was laying it on a little too thick. "May I come in for a few minutes?"
"Lisa, ordinarily I'd love to see you, but right now I've got a paper to finish -- "
"I won't stay but a minute. I just want to see how you're doing. It's been so long since we talked," and with that she flounced in.
Lisa, a few years older than me, was the successful one of all the cousins in our family. She had graduated with honors from Stanford, worked in a public relations firm in Seattle near the family, and was engaged to a stockbroker. She always looked stylish, probably even taking out the garbage, in marked contrast to myself. She usually kept her hair styled in a sleek black bob, and she wore lots of black to complement it, from black pants and turtleneck sweaters to sheer black stockings and little black dresses, accessorized with understated pearls by day and sparkling jewels at night. Lisa was sharp, and always made all the right moves at the right times. She never would have let herself be caught like I was a few years back -- uneducated, unemployed and pregnant.
And here she was now, looking intimidatingly professional in a black suit, while I was standing in the middle of tiny, untidy apartment in an old Portland State T-shirt.
I dusted some playdough crumbs off a chair. "Have a seat." I tried not to sound ungracious, but it was difficult. "Can I get you some coffee or tea?"
"Tea would be great. Earl Grey, if you have any."
"I don't, but I've got some good old orange pekoe." Generic, actually, but I decided not to add that. I started moving dishes out of the sink so I could fill the tea kettle.
Lisa poked idly through the papers on the table. "Writing a paper, are you? I remember those days. I enjoyed them, actually. That magic time between adolescence and adulthood..."
I banged the kettle down a little forcefully on the stove. All I needed to make the day perfect was Lisa's patronizing.
"I think I've graduated to "adult," even though I'm still in school," I said, in what I hoped was a dry tone. "And as far as 'magic times' go, Professor Pope is doing his best to eliminate them by assigning a ton of reading and endless papers, like the one I'm trying to write today."
"Did you say Pope?" said Lisa, her interest piqued. "I wonder...no, it couldn't be. It must be a coincidence. I knew a Pope when I was at Stanford. A graduate student, in English if I remember correctly. He helped me study, and he wasn't too hard to study himself. He certainly got me involved in more than Shakespeare. And I think the interest wasn't one-sided, if you know what I mean."
Lisa and the Pope? What a disgusting thought. If that's the kind of woman he goes for -- flash and glamour and brains and good looks -- well, I was just surprised, that's all. I thought he was different. Not that I cared, really.
"By the way," said Lisa, looking around, "where's that darling daughter of yours, Samantha?"
"Savannah. She's out with -- er, with a friend of mine. Well, he's not really a friend, I suppose. He's one of my teachers." I wasn't about to tell her it was the Pope.
"Really." Lisa raised her penciled eyebrows. "College has certainly changed since I was a student. Sounds like you have that course sewn up."
I started to say something, then I realized it would be a waste of time. "What do you want, Lisa?"
"Honestly, Francie." She sounded hurt. "I just wanted to make sure you were doing all right. I was worried about you. You were so curt at the funeral."
"I wonder why. I got so many cold shoulders, I almost had frostbite. It made me feel as though I was crashing my own grandmother's funeral. I wouldn't have gone at all except -- well, anyway, I went for her, not the rest of them. But why are you so concerned now? The funeral was a couple of months ago."
Silk rubbing silk produced a sigh as Lisa crossed her legs. "I've just been thinking of you, that's all." Delicately she sipped her tea. "It's such a shame that relations between you and the family are so strained. I'm sure Aunt Margery misses you."
"My mother thinks I'm a tramp," I said bluntly. "The things she said to me the day I told her I was pregnant -- well, I'm not going to repeat them. There's no point. She thought I should find Paul and marry him. When I told her there was no way I'd marry that jerk, she pushed for an abortion. And when I refused that, she washed her hands of me."
"And your Dad?"
"Are you kidding? He wouldn't dare cross her."
"So now you're not speaking." It was a statement.
"Oh no, nothing as honest as that. My mother calls occasionally, we chat, polite as you please. I send her pictures of Savannah, whenever I can afford to have them taken. But my parents don't come down from Seattle to visit. And I don't go up there. I get the distinct feeling I would only embarrass them with our presence."
"You don't know that for sure." Lisa got up and started to roam through the small apartment. Probably bored already. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if this was a duty visit. Hey, Lisa must have told the family, I'm going down to Portland, I'll drop in on poor Francie and see how she's doing.
Lisa lifted a corner of the old quilt from the couch, exposing the tears and stains in the upholstery. She'll have a lot to report, I thought grimly.
She bent down to pick through the cardboard box where I kept Savannah's toys. "Remember all the dolls you had when you were little, Francie? I remember being really jealous -- especially of that one rag doll Grandma let you play with."
I smiled at the memory. "Now she's my Savannah's Annie. Her favorite toy as well."
"So where is that old doll? I'd love to see it again."
"With Savannah, naturally. If you want to see it you'll have to stay till she gets home. It ought to be soon," I said, wincing, as I realized my study time was evaporating.
"I wish I could stay," she sounded genuinely regretful. "But I really better hightail it out to the airport if I'm going to make my plane. I have to get back today, unfortunately. Give Savannah my love." A quick succession of air-kisses on both my cheeks and she was gone.
I stood bemused in the middle of my apartment for a few minutes. What was that all about? Why had she even bothered to stop by at all? Just to upset me? No, that was being paranoid.
Still, I was upset. Damn it, I wasn't going to let her do that to me. I had work to do. Lisa may have gotten a first-class free ride through college, but I was traveling coach and paying for my own ticket. And I had a long way to go before I reached my destination. I had no time for distractions, or distracting emotions.
I sat down, face-to-face with Spenser again. It was hard, but I managed to regain my concentration. But I had developed only the rudiments of an outline when the door opened and Savannah burst in.
"Mommy, we didn't have to buzz you. The door was open."
"Yes, it seems to have been that way all afternoon." I locked my arms around her narrow back. "I've had lots of visitors."
"I hope by that you mean Edmund Spenser and his faeries," said a cool voice from the doorway.
"No, I mean my cousin Lisa and her demons," I retorted. "And Dorothy from upstairs with a plate of cookies, and -- oh, sometimes I think this is just hopeless!"
Savannah wiggled out of my arms and regarded me dispassionately.
"What's for dinner?"
I think I actually screamed. Or maybe it was only on the inside.
"Perhaps you should take a break," the Pope offered.
"Pizza," announced Savannah. "You said we could go to your restaurant, Mommy, and get a good deal."
Sometimes it's better to know when to give up. At least for the time being. "A break. Pizza. Well, why not." I got up resignedly. "Sam, you're welcome to come with us. It's the least I can do after getting you to take Savannah to the park."
"I wouldn't dream of imposing," he replied. "And don't apologize for the park. I had a delightful time with your daughter."
It was said graciously, and I was once again surprised by him.
"We would like your company." I meant it. "I get the pizza practically for free -- it sort of makes up for the crummy wages, or at least that's what the owner thinks."
Savannah's hand stole into the Pope's. "You'll love it," she pronounced solemnly, with a firm shake of her head for emphasis.
He looked bemused. I didn't give him time to demur. "I'll be right back," I told him. "I want to change into something a little more presentable."
I took a few clothes out of the closet and headed for the bathroom. One of the disadvantages of a "no-bedroom" apartment was having no place to change clothes if company was present. This usually wasn't a problem, since Savannah and I rarely had company. But the Pope was presenting all sorts of new situations for us to handle.
I felt much better in a flowered skirt and sleeveless white blouse, with my hair brushed and caught back in a colorful barrette. When I emerged from the bathroom Savannah had the professor down on the floor playing Candyland.
"Mommy, I get to move to Queen Frostine!" she said triumphantly. "Sam was ahead of me, but now he's stuck in the swamp."
"Story of my life," he said with a grin.
"Well, I'm ready to go, but if you want to finish the game..."
"Yeah," said Savannah, reaching for a card.
The Pope stood up a trifle too eagerly, and dusted his knees. "Actually, I am rather hungry. Perhaps we can finish the game later, Savannah."
I laughed inwardly. If he was hoping she'd forget, he'd find out differently.
"Aww," Savannah began.
"Sam's right, Savannah. Let's go before the restaurant gets too crowded."
"But Mommy, I was winning."
"No buts. It's time to go. Find your jacket. Now. And leave that doll here." I turned to the Pope. "The last time I let her take Annie to the pizza parlor with us it took me an hour to wash the pizza sauce off the doll's face. I still haven't gotten it all out of the cloth, I'm afraid."
Savannah didn't argue any further. It was a short walk to Pizza My Heart, the pizza parlor where I worked. Professor Pope and I strolled leisurely, while Savannah skipped ahead. We cut across campus, threading our way through people chatting under the elm trees and book-laden students headed for the library. The sun was still warm and golden, and the campus had the relaxed feeling that comes with the weekend.
It was late afternoon, yet before the evening dinner rush, when we got to the restaurant, so we had our pick of the tables. I chose one of the picnic tables out on the small patio behind the main dining area. Savannah was enchanted by the sparrows that flew in and out of the small outdoor space. The birds sat chirping on the fence, then swooped down to grab any crumb they could spot. Some of the birds were bold enough to hop up on the tables looking for food.
Savannah wanted to get near them. First she rushed them, and the birds scattered quickly and noisily. Then she changed tactics, creeping slower and slower towards them, till finally she got within a foot of a little brown sparrow. She stopped, and watched while the bird pecked an infinitesimal bit of discarded pizza crust off a nearby bench.
The Pope contemplated her as he sipped a beer. "She reminds me so much of my little sister," he said, half to himself. "I took Katie to feed the ducks once, and she threw whole slices of bread at them, till she realized that scared them. Then she'd break off the tiniest little bits off the loaf, and watch delighted as the ducks gobbled them up."
"Did she look like Savannah?"
"No, she had darker hair, but my mother usually braided it, like you do to Savannah's, to keep it out of her way. I remember that in the sun, though, her hair had deep red highlights."
He took another swig of his beer. There was something about his manner, something in his eyes, that spoke of melancholy. I ventured another question.
"Do you see Katie much?"
"No. She died when she was a little girl." He lifted his mug and drained it. "One of those home accidents you hear about, though this was in a neighbor's pool."
I could see the pain in his eyes. "I'm so sorry," I said, feeling my words were inadequate.
"The worst thing," he went on as if he hadn't heard me, "is that I wasn't home at the time. I was away at school. You see, Katie came much later than me in the family, and I never really got to spend much time with her. I never really knew her. And she was gone so soon."
There was nothing to say and I didn't try. I recognized his grief, though. Grief is universal, even if it has a million different causes and expressions. He had to live with his pain; I had to live with the grief of being estranged from my family. Grief is losing something you know you can never recover, and there's no easy way to experience it.
"That pizza ought to be here soon." The Pope abruptly changed the subject, and a subtle barrier had been raised. I knew he didn't want to talk about his sister anymore. Was he regretting he'd told me anything about her?
I saw Mac, whom I worked with at the restaurant, step into the waning sunlight with our pizza.
"Here, you go, Francie, a large pepperoni, one-quarter of it with anchovies for your ankle-biter, over there." Savannah ran back to the table, and he patted her head.
"Anchovies?" The Pope was incredulous.
"Savannah insists she likes them," I explained. "I brought her here when I first started working, and made the mistake of telling her she would hate them, because I do. I think she was feeling contrary that day because she took a slice of pizza with an anchovy on it, covered it with Parmesan cheese, and declared she loved it. And she won't back down."
"I do like the 'chovies, Mommy," said Savannah, using both hands to nearly empty a bottle of grated cheese on her slice. "They taste good."
The Pope laughed. "You are a most remarkable little girl, Savannah. Even without the anchovies."
I smiled, and we went on to have a surprisingly pleasant time. Savannah ate part of her anchovy slice, and then took one with pepperoni on it. She tore her crusts into bits and threw them to the chirping sparrows. The Pope regaled me with some stories of his years as a graduate teaching assistant, and I recounted one or two anecdotes about Savannah which he seemed to appreciate.
Halfway through the meal he got up to make a phone call. "I like Sam, Mommy," Savannah announced. "I don't think he's so mean."
"No, I have to agree with you. His bark is a lot worse than his bite."
Savannah was mystified by that expression and it took me a while to explain it to her. The Pope's call must have been a long one, because he was still wasn't back by the time Savannah was done eating. I wasn't sure what to do -- leaving didn't seem appropriate, but Savannah was getting restless.
I gave her a quarter to buy a trinket from a vending machine at the front of the restaurant. I stood in the doorway leading to the outside patio and watched as she ran up to the machine with her coin. She nearly collided with the Pope, who was coming in the door.
He waved to me, and waited as Savannah put her money in the slot and the machine disgorged a clear plastic bubble with a gold plastic ring inside. Savannah ran back to me, delighted with her treasure. The Pope followed.
"Sorry about that," he said. "The phone in here was busy. I had to go out to the street corner. Awfully hard to hear in those booths."
"I'm afraid your pizza's cold by now," I said, leading the way back to the table.
"That's okay," he said, with one of his charming smiles. "My appetite's pretty much satisfied. It was a good meal, Francie. I thoroughly enjoyed it."
I felt ridiculously pleased, and embarrassed because of it. I turned to my daughter to hide my confusion. "Come, Savannah, it's time to go now."
As we left the restaurant Mac caught my eye, nodded towards the Pope and pursed his lips in an exaggerated kiss. I dismissed him with a wave of my hand.
Twilight was falling as we cut back across the campus to my apartment. The Pope insisted on walking us home. The sky was a palette of soft blues and purples, a promise of rain tomorrow. It would be welcome after all the warm weather. Too much sun made me nervous, and long for the cool grey clouds and soft rain that is so typical of Oregon west of the Cascade Mountains. I guess I had the temperament of a true Northwest rain forest dweller.
"This is fine," I told the Pope when we reached the front door of the building, which was again wedged slightly open. Savannah ran through it and scampered ahead. "With any luck I can get her upstairs and in bed in fifteen minutes. And then it's back to the Faerie Queene."
"I wish you luck. From what I've seen, I doubt that child ever gets tired."
Just then I heard Savannah call from the top of the stairs. "Mommy, Mommy, our door's already opened!"
A sharp stab of unease pierced me. "Stay there, Savannah, I'll be right up." I bounded up the stairs and found my daughter in the hallway. The door to our little apartment was ajar, and the lights were on.
I stopped in the doorway. What I saw defied reason, and I was paralyzed by shock. The place had been totally ransacked. Drawers were opened and upended on the floor, boxes emptied, their contents strewn. Candyland cards, with their little squares of bright colors, were scattered all over the floor. Even Savannah's toy box had been dumped.
And then I noticed the spiky heel of a shiny black pump protruding from behind the couch.
"Stay right there," I had to repeat my instructions to Savannah, who was still in the doorway, and would have bounded in the apartment if I hadn't stopped her.
I looked behind the couch. A woman lay sprawled, her face a ghastly shade of blue, her eyes popping out of her head. It was Lisa, gorgeous Lisa, her sophistication mocked and disfigured by death. Pearls from her broken necklace were scattered around her head.
Shock felt like a kick in the stomach, and I doubled over. Somehow the Pope materialized beside me. He must have been quietly following me all the way up the stairs.
He knelt beside her and gingerly felt for her pulse.
"Is she, is she -- " I asked the question , although I already knew the answer.
"Oh yes," he replied. "Better not touch anything, Francie. She's most definitely dead."
I looked again, in spite of myself, and then wished I hadn't. It wasn't only the sight of my cousin's dead body that increased my nausea. It was the broken picture frame beside it, and the picture of Savannah clutched in Lisa's lifeless hand.