Текст книги "Boy in the Water"

Автор книги: Stephen Dobyns

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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 29 страниц)

Hawthorne approached the couch. “Good grief, Burke, you’re a lawyer, how can you keep up this slander? If there’s the slightest chance of this being taken seriously, then I want a hearing immediately. If people have charges, they must be brought into the open. If you refuse, I’ll have to get a lawyer of my own. But I suggest you talk to Alice Beech and Kate Sandler before you take this any further. And you’ll have to talk to the girl as well.”

Burke no longer looked as sure of himself as he had a few minutes before. “Of course I’ll talk to them. Perhaps I’ve been hasty. You know that woman’s ex-husband has called my office four or five times—George Peabody? He objects to your involvement with his wife. It’s certainly not my concern, but it’s no pleasure to have to interfere and frighten him away.”

“There is no affair,” said Hawthorne, “but if I were seeing Kate, then it would be nobody’s business but our own.”

The sides of Burke’s mouth turned downward as his look of disapproval returned. “There’s always been a tacit rule at Bishop’s Hill that people’s friendships should be no more than platonic.”

Hawthorne walked back to his desk. It wouldn’t do to lose his temper. He sat down in his chair and looked at Burke over a stack of papers. “There’s no way the school can regulate relationships among consenting adults. What about Evings and Bobby Newland, for Pete’s sake? And there’re others. Midge Strokowski has been having an affair with Jennings on the grounds crew for years. Just what did you tell Evings yesterday?”

“I obviously said nothing about his relationship with Newland. I told him the board had given him a two-month paid leave of absence, that he could leave as soon as he wanted.”

“And you told him that his position was safe?”

“I said that he could come back in January and pick up where he left off.”

“You’re certain that he had no doubt about what you were saying?”

Burke stared back at Hawthorne with his pale eyes. “Completely.”

Hawthorne frowned. “And what was his reaction?”

“He seemed grateful. We talked about the details of money and benefits. He spoke of going to Florida until January.”

“That far away?” Had Evings ever said anything about Florida?

“It was only a possibility.”

“And he didn’t seem depressed?”

Burke spoke without a trace of doubt. “Not at all.”

“Then I don’t understand it.”

The telephone rang. As he picked up the receiver, Hawthorne assumed the call was from Chief Moulton or had something to do with Evings. Instead it was a woman’s voice.

“Jim, you know who this is. You know I still love you. Lily loves you too—”

“Who is this?” demanded Hawthorne. The woman’s voice wasn’t Meg’s. It was higher than Meg’s voice. He was sure of it.

“Jim, why are you fucking that girl? Don’t you see that you belong to me—”

“Who are you?” demanded Hawthorne. He saw Hamilton Burke attentively leaning forward. Hawthorne realized he had shouted into the phone. Slowly, he returned the receiver to its cradle. As if from very far away, he heard the woman’s voice still talking.

–

The kitten was orange-colored and sleeping on a folded blue towel on Jessica’s lower bunk after having drunk half a small container of cream. Its stomach was puffed out and it purred quietly. Jessica stroked it very gently in order not to wake it. She wasn’t sure if it was a boy or girl and so she was thinking of a name that would do for either. Already she had rejected Candy Stripe and Tiger and at the moment she was leaning toward Lucky since, after all, she had saved it from being run over by a car or worse. Jessica had been walking along the side of the road and there it had been—mewing and unhappy, no more than a foot from the pavement. She had saved the kitten’s life, she was positive. And so she thought Lucky would be a good name. After all, every marmalade cat in the world was named Tiger. Jessica had picked it up and carried it back to school. At the Dugout she had bought the cream, and the rest, she thought, was history. Now it was shortly past noon on Tuesday—lunchtime, but Jessica didn’t plan to go to lunch. She had better things to do.

Earlier that morning Jessica had been running away. She had had enough of Bishop’s Hill and these crazy people. Had she really fucked that old headmaster? She didn’t think so. On the other hand, the whole evening after drinking tequila with LeBrun was pretty vague. Maybe she had fucked him. But she was pretty sure it hadn’t happened, even though the sweatshirt she had been wearing had completely vanished. And it was no secret that she’d had a shitload of tequila—its aches and pains still seemed to be elbowing their way around her gut, nothing at all like the kitten’s stomach, which was still pure. The kitten wasn’t old enough to fuck up yet, and in any case, cats were just cats. For instance, you couldn’t blame Lucky for drinking so much heavy cream that he looked ready to explode.

No, Jessica didn’t think she had fucked anybody, although the other kids were all talking about it and so were the teachers. Even LeBrun. “Got some, right?” he’d said to her. “Cleaned the old guy’s clock. Ha, ha, ha.” Not a real laugh but a sarcastic noise. The pig. So Jessica had a perfectly good reason to be upset—then she got the call from Tremblay that sent her right over the top. He wanted her not to come home for Thanksgiving but to stay at Bishop’s Hill with the other kids whom nobody cared shit about, kids whose parents didn’t want to see them.

“I just think it would be a bad idea,” Tremblay had said over the phone.

“But why? I want to see Jason.”

“I don’t want to deal with it, that’s all. Your mother’s not well and it’s hard for Jason to get settled down.”

“Is Dolly drinking?”

Tremblay didn’t respond, which answered Jessica’s question well enough. She could almost see him leaning back in his black leather chair in the den, staring up at his golf trophies. “I just don’t want you here. I don’t think I can trust you . . .”

“Please, Tremblay, you said I’d be able to come . . .”

“I’ve already made up my mind.”

“Then let me talk to Jason for a minute.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Our deal was for you to stay away and not bother anybody.”

“But you said Thanksgiving would be all right.”

“I said maybe. It’s just not convenient at this time.”

“Have you been messing with Jason? Let me talk to him.”

“He’s perfectly all right. And if I were you, I’d watch my tongue.”

After hanging up, Jessica had broken three windows, but she was careful not to let anybody know who had broken them and she hadn’t cut herself. Then she’d heard that that old guy—Evings—had killed himself; she didn’t really know him, but once he had asked her if she was happy and she’d told him that what the hell, she was okay, and Evings had said, “Well, we can’t ask for much more than that, can we?” Jessica neither liked him nor disliked him but she didn’t want him dead. She didn’t want anybody dead except Tremblay. And she almost felt hurt by Evings’s death. She almost took it personally, as if he had done it to make her feel even worse. So she had decided it was time to clear out, plans or no plans.

As for LeBrun, he frightened her, making her drink the tequila and dance and go over to the headmaster’s, where she did God knows what. She didn’t see why he had made such a big thing of doing it, like it was more than a joke. He still said he would help her rescue Jason. Actually, he seemed eager, but even his eagerness frightened her. So she had put some stuff into her backpack and left. She still had her money and maybe she could rescue Jason by herself. But every step she took down the road made her increasingly nervous. That chubby cop from Brewster had passed twice, and the state cops had gone by and the rescue squad’s ambulance, and she knew very well that every single one had stared at her and wondered what she was doing walking along the side of the road. She didn’t have the nerve to stick out her thumb and hitchhike. She realized that she would never be able to get away from Bishop’s Hill by herself, that she needed LeBrun’s help after all. It was then that she found the kitten. If she had ignored it, if she had just kept on going, the kitten would have been killed for sure. And so Jessica had come back.

Now she was getting ready to write to Jason and tell him about the kitten, how it seemed to love her already and purred extra loud when she scratched its neck. And she would tell him that she wouldn’t be able to come at Thanksgiving, that Tremblay wouldn’t let her, but that didn’t mean the rescue was off, because one day in the next four weeks it would happen. LeBrun had promised. When Jessica had come back to her dorm room a little after eleven, some kids had seen her and they might have seen the kitten, although she had tucked it under her coat. Students weren’t allowed to have pets. She’d already been told this ten times. And so Jessica was half expecting a visit from Mrs. Grayson, the housekeeper, or Ruth Standish, who was in charge of Jessica’s cottage. And if either one of them tried to take Lucky away from her, she would scream holy hell.

It was only ten minutes after that, when Jessica was already writing her letter to Jason, that there was a heavy knock on the door. Jessica ignored the noise, of course, but the kitten stirred in its sleep. Carefully, she drew a corner of her blanket up over its marmalade body. Then she heard a key in the lock. Jessica hated passkeys, unless she had them—they were a total violation.

The door opened and there stood pudgy Ruth Standish with her face arranged in an annoyed pout. Jessica tried to imagine her dancing topless and the thought made her laugh. Behind Miss Standish were several students, probably the ones who had told her about the kitten and who now were feeling virtuous.

“Why didn’t you open the door?”

“I didn’t feel like it.”

“Do you have a cat in here?”

“It’s none of your business.” Jessica remained on her bunk with her knees up and her sweatshirt pulled down over them to her ankles.

“Of course it’s my business. Having a pet violates school regulations. Give it to me this instant.”

It was then that Jessica began to scream. She didn’t care that she woke the kitten. She didn’t care if she woke everybody alive.

Downstairs in the common room, Scott McKinnon was sitting with some other students in the ten minutes between the end of lunch and the beginning of classes. Scott would have liked to be someplace smoking a cigarette but he had no cigarettes and no money and no one would lend him a cigarette, even though he almost always paid them back. Scott was talking about Evings’s suicide with Ron French, Adam Voigt, and Helen Selkirk, Jessica’s roommate. The others tried to talk about it as if it were nothing out of the ordinary but Scott knew they were shocked. Even Scott was pretty shocked, though he’d had an uncle who had committed suicide because he had cancer. Offed himself—Uncle Bob had offed himself. But there had been nothing wrong with Evings that anybody could see, except that he was old and ugly, and that didn’t seem like a good enough reason. Ron French didn’t see how a person could just back out, as he put it, just call it quits. And Adam thought it might have had something to do with Jessica and how she had been caught in the headmaster’s rooms and maybe she’d been involved with Evings as well, even though Evings was a fag, because it surprised you what some people would do. And Helen Selkirk had no opinions at all but she thought the whole business was a shame.

That was when Jessica began screaming. Scott knew it was about the kitten, since he had seen her bring it into the dorm but hadn’t told anyone.

“She’s got a cat,” he said, “and old Standish doesn’t want her to keep it.” He enjoyed being the person with all the answers.

“A cat?” said Helen, who knew nothing about it.

“Well, a kitten, sort of tiger-striped.”

“How cute,” said Helen, getting interested.

“She won’t be able to keep it,” said Ron French.

“If they’re going to kick her out of school,” said Adam, “then they should let her keep it. I mean, she can take it with her.”

“You think they’ll really kick her out?” said Helen. She didn’t like Jessica—she was scared of her—but she also didn’t want her to get in trouble, not too much, anyway.

Ron French made a scornful noise. “Getting drunk and fucking the headmaster or whatever she did. She’ll be lucky to stay out of jail.”

Scott disliked the way the conversation was drifting out of his control. “The main trouble with having a cat is that someone might kill it. Look what happened to Mrs. Grayson’s cat. When I saw it hanging from the branch, I knew we had a crazy person right here at Bishop’s Hill. Somebody who liked torturing animals. You don’t think that kitten’s safe, do you? It’ll get hanged as well. As for Dr. Hawthorne, he never fucked her. She was drunk, that’s all, and Hawthorne called the nurse.”

“Do you think Evings fucked her?” asked Adam.

“No way,” said Ron French.

“No way,” said Scott.

“Personally,” said Helen, “I hope they let Jessica keep the kitten. I love cats.”

–

When Hawthorne heard about Jessica’s kitten later in the afternoon, he decided not to take it away from her, at least for the time being. Having the kitten might be good for her. Jessica would have to take care of it and she needed to have the consent of her roommate. But if those details were worked out, then Hawthorne didn’t see the harm.

Fritz Skander felt differently. Pets, he said, were nothing but trouble. They were dirty, they carried fleas, and they made the students quarrel with one another. Skander and Hawthorne were in the headmaster’s office and it was shortly after three o’clock. In less than thirty minutes the faculty meeting to discuss the students in the lower school would begin, but Hawthorne and Skander had other business first. They had been going over Evings’s memorial service. Skander thought it should be very modest. In fact, he would have been happier with no service at all.

“We can’t just pretend that Clifford never existed,” Hawthorne had said.

And while Skander had agreed, he hadn’t agreed entirely. He was distressed by Evings’s suicide—he truly felt sorry for the man—but one couldn’t deny that it had been, at least to a relative degree, a solution to their problem, although a deplorable solution.

Hawthorne had been shocked. “Are you saying we’re fortunate he’s dead?”

They were interrupted by a telephone call from Ruth Standish about the cat. Both Jessica and the kitten were now in the infirmary, where Alice Beech said they would remain until the matter was resolved. And she made it clear that she herself stood firmly on the side of Jessica’s keeping the cat.

“We’ve always had clear rules about pets at Bishop’s Hill,” said Skander after Hawthorne got off the phone.

Skander sat on the couch picking lint from the sleeve of his blue blazer. Hawthorne was pacing back and forth on the rug. He was still upset by Skander’s suggestion that Evings’s death was somehow convenient. It reminded him of how insensitive Skander could be, as if his world were made up of numbers and not people. Hawthorne himself had begun to see the death, among other things, as a personal failure—he’d been unable to convince Evings that his job was safe.

“I think it would be good for her to have the kitten,” said Hawthorne, “as long as she takes care of it and her roommate agrees.”

“Then they’ll all want pets.”

“I don’t think so. But a few pets, what’s the harm?”

Skander leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and rubbed his hands together as if washing them. He looked worried and his thick gray hair trembled slightly as he shook his head. “The trouble with your giving Jessica permission to keep the kitten is that some people—perhaps more than some—will think you’re granting her permission to break an established rule because you had relations with her.”

Hawthorne paused in his pacing. “I can’t believe they’d think such a thing.”

“It’s how people’s minds work. You can’t deny human nature.”

Hawthorne and Skander had already spent some time discussing the events of Thursday evening—Jessica’s appearance, Hawthorne’s phone calls to the nurse and Kate Sandler. The issue seemed to be that Jessica had been observed going to Hawthorne’s quarters at least an hour before he had phoned Alice Beech. The night watchman swore to it and the Reverend Bennett had seen Jessica walking in that direction. All Hawthorne could do was to deny that it had happened. But soon, Burke had said, the county prosecutor would learn of it, and then it could easily be turned over to the grand jury. Hawthorne had told Skander he would welcome an investigation.

“I’m certainly not going to take away the kitten because I’m afraid of gossip.”

“I’m sure you’ll do what you think best,” said Skander. “I’m just thinking of what’s best for the school itself. Even that girl’s staying in the infirmary will cause unpleasant talk.”

“What do you mean?”

Skander shifted his position, as if the couch were uncomfortable. “Naturally Alice Beech is one of my favorite people and she does a wonderful job, but what if she has some other sort of interest in Jessica?”

“What are you suggesting?”

“There are her own personal preferences to consider,” said Skander stuffily.

Hawthorne could hardly believe that Skander was serious. “Are you saying that she might have a sexual interest in Jessica?”

“Of course not, of course not, but I’m just trying to show you how people’s minds operate. Jessica spent Friday and most of Saturday in the infirmary and now she’s gone back again—and she’s not even sick. You know how people are. They see an action and they think it exists simply to hide another action. They’ll think Alice has a less than professional interest in the girl.” Skander gave a resigned smile.

Hawthorne looked at Skander angrily. “The girl doesn’t have to stay in the infirmary. She can return to her room and she can take the kitten with her.”

“Then they’ll all be getting kittens. There’ll be fleas and cat messes in the closets and the cats will be dragging in dead birds and rabbits. I really wish you would rethink your position. The wisest course, I believe, would be to expel the girl from school for that unfortunate business with the tequila, et cetera. Then all this talk about the two of you having a relationship would disappear. We certainly don’t want a police investigation.”

Hawthorne sat down on the edge of his desk. He told himself that he was mistaken to feel anger. What Skander was expressing was no doubt the common view, and the only effective way to deal with it was to stay calm. And it occurred to him that if there was an investigation, then he could tell the police about the portrait and the phone calls and the bags of food. But why should they believe him? Why wouldn’t they just think he was crazy?

“I’ve told you what happened on Thursday night. The more important question is where the girl got the tequila, but she refuses to talk about that. If the police get involved, then so be it. I’d certainly prefer that to the alternative of expelling Jessica from school. Surely you can see she needs our help.”

Skander finally agreed, but Hawthorne realized that he hadn’t been convinced and was just dropping the subject for the time being. Later that day or the next he would bring it up again. Hawthorne could see he was bothered by loose talk, how it might affect enrollment and the school’s reputation. Skander wanted to stop the gossip as quickly as possible by whatever method was most expedient. But Hawthorne doubted that silence and truth could ever be reconciled, that drawing a zipper across one’s lips was better than talking about what had happened. Hilda rapped on the door. It was nearly three-thirty and they had to get to their meeting.

It was held in a second-floor classroom and about a dozen teachers were already seated at the small wooden desks when Hawthorne and Skander entered. Hilda was at a table in front with the files of the twenty or so students to be discussed. She wheezed quietly. Hawthorne nodded to Kate and a few others. Bobby Newland and Ruth Standish, as mental health counselors, also had files. They sat together by the window but they didn’t appear to have been talking. Hawthorne didn’t know if they were friendly and he wondered if that was the sort of thing he should pay attention to. Betty Sherman, the art teacher, was filing her nails. Tom Hastings, Herb Frankfurter, and Ted Wrigley sat in back—there was a gravity to their appearance, even a disapproval, that Hawthorne couldn’t help noticing. The afternoon was dark and the fluorescent lights gave everyone an unhealthy pallor.

Hawthorne sat down on the edge of the teacher’s desk at the front of the room. Looking at the faculty, he couldn’t help but compare them to the students in his history class, except this bunch was more recalcitrant. Skander joined his wife, making a groaning noise as he lowered himself into his chair. Hawthorne tried to count the friendly faces. Kate, certainly, and perhaps Bill Dolittle. Then there was indifference, distrust, and dislike. Roger Bennett had his hand raised.

“I know this isn’t what we’re here to discuss,” said Bennett, pushing back his hair, “but I’d like to know how I’m supposed to teach algebra when all the class wants to talk about is whether the headmaster is having sex with one of the students?”

The silence that followed had a palpability that seemed to give it physical shape.

“That’s rather out of line, Roger,” said Dolittle, somewhat apprehensively.

Kate begin to speak, then stopped herself. After all, she too was the subject of gossip. Usually when the faculty meetings strayed from their purpose Skander was the one who spoke up. Now he sat quietly and watched Hawthorne.

“Is this what you want to talk about?” asked Hawthorne. “Gossip and slander?”

“I just want to know what to tell my students,” said Bennett.

“You can tell them that it’s not true,” said Hawthorne.

There was a silence of several seconds. Bennett glanced around at his colleagues.

Ted Wrigley raised his hand. “Perhaps it’d be best to know what the official line on this is supposed to be.”

“You can tell them the truth,” said Hawthorne. “A girl was drunk, she came to my rooms and I called the nurse and Kate Sandler.”

Bennett spoke up again. “My wife said she saw the girl going to your quarters an hour before you called the nurse.”

“Perhaps she was mistaken,” said Dolittle.

“My wife is never mistaken, Mr. Do . . . little. Are you accusing her of falsehood?” Bennett’s expression was almost joyful. “In any case, the night watchman saw the same.”

Kate got to her feet, facing Roger Bennett. “That’s not true. I talked to Jessica. She had just gotten there.”

“Did you see her enter?” Bennett surveyed his colleagues again, this time with a smile.

“No, but it was clear that she had just arrived.” Kate sat back down.

“From what I’ve heard,” said Herb Frankfurter, “there are quite a few rumors about Miss Sandler as well. She can say what she wants but many people will argue that she’s just looking out for her job.”

Frankfurter stroked his beard and leaned back in his chair. Hawthorne wondered if Frankfurter would have attacked Kate if he hadn’t been forced to return the car he had taken—seemingly on permanent loan—from the school. Hastings, Wrigley, Bennett—they had all had their perks that Hawthorne had removed. Larry Gaudette had told Hawthorne that Roger Bennett had taken a pie from the kitchen every week. Looking at these men’s faces, Hawthorne saw that what had happened with Jessica on Thursday night was less important than the offense of making them stop seeing the school as a natural resource available for them to plunder. Surely everyone felt this to different degrees, but Herb Frankfurter was practically bursting with indignation—not that Hawthorne might have misbehaved, but that he himself had had to return the car. And so if he could blame Hawthorne now, then he was only getting even.

Betty Sherman raised a hand. “Shouldn’t we be getting on about the students?”

There was another pause as several of the faculty glanced at one another.

“Who’s first?” asked Hawthorne.

Hilda Skander opened the top file on her stack. “Julie Petrowski. She’s fourteen and in eighth grade.”

“I’ve been working with her,” said Ruth Standish, getting to her feet. “Julie’s not been handing in her homework in any of her classes and recently, in the past month, she’s been trying to subsist only on cantaloupe and cottage cheese . . .”

Sluggishly, like an old car grinding its way out of a ditch, the meeting got back on track. Herb Frankfurter was looking out the window. Roger Bennett drew circles on a pad of paper. Fritz Skander sat next to his wife and stared down at his hands. Hawthorne could feel his disapproval. It surprised him that Skander hadn’t spoken up to get the meeting started. He tried to catch Kate’s eye, but she was looking down at the top of her school desk.

By five o’clock the meeting was over. Eight students had been discussed but few teachers had participated and the ones who remained silent made it clear they were there under protest. Naturally, Hawthorne also spoke about Clifford Evings and the shock of his death. He said that a memorial service would be held for Evings during first period on Thursday morning. Bennett said he had scheduled a test for that time and Hawthorne suggested he reschedule it. Several people expressed their remorse about Evings, but Hawthorne could tell they had already talked about it and his death had immediately become old news. Others didn’t seemed to care. Herb Frankfurter, oddly, confessed that he hadn’t spoken to Evings in the past five years. After the meeting Hawthorne wanted a chance to talk to Kate, but she left while he was talking to Bennett about rescheduling the algebra exam. Then Bill Dolittle again inquired about his anticipated move to the apartment in Stark Hall.

“Do you think someone on the board dislikes me?” asked Dolittle nervously. He wore a white sweater that was too small for him. In fact, for some weeks Hawthorne had been thinking that all of Dolittle’s clothes seemed too small for him, as if he had experienced a sudden growth spurt during the summer, even though he was over forty.

“I’m sure it’s not that,” said Hawthorne almost impatiently. “As I think I said before, the board would have to hire a new faculty or staff member before you could make the move. And there’s no point in hiring new faculty until it’s certain that the school will remain open.” He wondered if Dolittle had any sense of the school’s problems.

“I looked in there the other day. The night watchman let me in. It was quite dusty.”

“I expect it is. No one’s lived there for several years.”

“Do you think it would be all right if I did a little light housekeeping? You know, just touched up a few places with a wet sponge?”

Hawthorne had to remind himself that Dolittle was one of his allies among the faculty. “If it would give you pleasure, then do it by all means.”

When Hawthorne at last shut off the light, he found Bobby Newland waiting in the hall.

“I’m sorry I lost my temper this morning.” Bobby leaned back against a locker and folded his arms. He wore jeans and a black turtleneck. Despite his apology, he seemed full of skepticism and dislike. Hawthorne thought of Kevin Krueger’s remark that Bobby looked like a younger version of Evings himself.

“That’s all right,” said Hawthorne. “You had reason to be upset.”

“I keep thinking how Clifford said everything was over and I misunderstood.”

Hawthorne tried to persuade Bobby not to feel guilty and repeated Hamilton Burke’s assurances that Evings had understood about the leave of absence, even that he was looking forward to it.

“And you believe him?”

Hawthorne was surprised. “Why should he lie?”

Then Bobby said, “You might find out more about Gail Jensen.”

At first Hawthorne couldn’t place the name.

“She was the student who died several years ago. They said it was appendicitis.”

“And wasn’t it?” asked Hawthorne.

“I’m not sure.”

“Then what was it?”

Bobby smiled humorlessly. “That’s what you need to find out.” He pushed himself away from the locker. “I appreciate your having a memorial service for Clifford. I look forward to it.”

A few minutes later, Hawthorne was on his way to the infirmary in Douglas Hall. Dinner was at six and he still had forty-five minutes. Although he could have avoided going outside, Hawthorne wanted a breath of fresh air. The faculty meeting had shaken the last of his composure—the attacks on his credibility, the reluctance of the faculty to engage with the subject, the gossip. It made him miss the residential treatment centers he’d worked in. Six weeks ago it had struck Hawthorne as ridiculous that some teachers would prefer to see Bishop’s Hill shut down than change. Now he saw that point of view as one of his greatest obstacles.

Jessica Weaver was still in the infirmary with her kitten. Hawthorne had learned that Jessica’s roommate would be happy to have the kitten in the room.

“You’ll have to take care of it,” said Hawthorne, “make sure the kitten eats properly and that it has a cat box and the litter’s changed regularly. And if you’re going to keep it, I expect you to fulfill your obligations as a student at Bishop’s Hill. No drinking, no smoking, no cutting classes, and you have to go to meals.”

There was more of this. Hawthorne felt foolish saying things that struck him as obvious, but they had to be said. The girl wore an oversized sweatshirt but Hawthorne kept remembering how she had looked that night. He couldn’t erase the image from his mind. He asked himself if there was truth to the accusations, if he wanted to have sex with her, but he only had to raise the question to see its absurdity. Jessica was a child. Even if he had seen the girl dancing in that Boston club, he wouldn’t have been attracted. He was sure of it.

The girl sat cross-legged on the floor, teasing the kitten with a long strand of her hair as she listened to Hawthorne.