mother calls me ‘dear.’ That’s what mothers are for,” she said, peering into her backpack. “Where are you, notebook? You’re in here someplace.” Then looking up at Fred, her intense eyes catching his: “But when other grown-ups do—”
Fred nodded, grinning, enjoying this.
She stirred around in her backpack some more. “Here it is!” she said, pulling out a notebook. “You’re going to be featured on the front page of the Clarion in September. The first new headmaster in thirty-five years. Ta-da ta-da!”
“Something tells me there are some people who aren’t happy about that,” he blurted, surprised at himself.
“Something tells me you’re right,” she agreed brightly.
“Well,” he said, grinning again, “nothing’s perfect.”
“Anyway, I’ve got some warm-up questions. You ready for that?” When he didn’t answer immediately she said, “Tell me about your family. You’ve got children?” She poised her pencil over the notebook.
He hesitated, moving his eyes away from her face to the wall behind and above her head.
“Oh! I’m sorry. Did I ask—”
“It’s all right. We have one child. Had one, rather. Sarah. She was killed in a car accident two years ago.”
“I’m so sorry!” Her voice was soft now. “I should have known.”
“No, you shouldn’t. We asked that it not be part of the information about us. We didn’t want people’s first reaction to us to be feeling sorry for us. Of course there are people here who know. News travels. But there are still lots who don’t, at least not yet.”
Karen put her pencil down.
Naturally, Fred didn’t mention that he and Gail had been trying to have another child. That was much too private—though it would have been a whole lot easier to tell this kid than anyone else who’d been in his office this morning, and he liked her so much already. “Sarah would have been a ninth grader,” he said instead.
“Here?”
“Yes. Definitely. Right here!”
“Maybe that’s the answer to that other question,” she said quietly. “Why a male head for a girls’ school? That you chose a school where your daughter would have thrived.” And, after a pause in which that comment registered on him, she added, “I understand. It sort of makes up for her loss, doesn’t it? Being with so many other girls the same age she would be.”
He still didn’t answer. “
So now I know what to say in the article.”
“Please don’t.” “
Still too early?” “
Still too early.” “
But it would help.”
“Not the way I want help.”
“Maybe you should take it any way you can get it.”
“I’m not in that tough a spot.”
She looked intently at his face and didn’t answer. “
Evidently you don’t agree.”
“You’re right. I don’t. The students loved Mrs. Boyd. The only way they’re going to know how to be loyal to her is not to like you. So she screwed up the money part. Who wants an accountant for a headmistress?”
“Yeah,” Fred said. “Who does?”
Karen’s face brightened now. “Time to change the subject,” she announced. “Something light. Like why you wear such funny clothes.”
Fred laughed. “You’re kidding.”
“Actually, now that I think about it, I’m serious. It’s an important question.”
“Not something light after all?”
Karen made a quick dismissive gesture with her hand. “Whatever.” “
What’s wrong with my clothes?”
“Your pants are shiny. And those shoes! They’re weird.”
“I’m just a farm boy, you know,” he said, struggling not to appear taken aback. “Shiny pants are de rigueur on the farm.”
“Yeah, but this is a prep school, not a farm. You’ll get crucified!”
“I thought at Miss Oliver’s we didn’t place value on such things—how people dress. I thought we rose above that kind of judgment.”
“We do for women. This is a girls’ school, remember? Men we judge very harshly around here. My father says that Miss Oliver’s is the most sexist environment he knows of.”
“I hope not.”
“Actually, I hope so. It’s about time we had some sexism in the other direction.”
“We are going to have to argue about that, you and I.”
“Of course. I’d be disappointed if we didn’t. You are the headmaster.”
“Head of School,” he corrected.
“No way. Mrs. Boyd was the headmistress, so you are the headmaster. You think you’re going to hide your gender behind a PC name? Nobody’s ever been able to hide anything at this school.”
“All right,” he said. “Headmaster.”
“You really mean that?”
“Probably not. I dislike the term. But I like your point.”
Karen bent over her notebook; he watched her mouth the words Head of School as she wrote. Then with that quick motion, she lifted her eyes and smiled. “So back to your clothes. Tell me. I’ll write it down and win the Pulitzer.”
“Cotton farming wrecks the land,” he explained. “Sheep farming’s not much better.”
“But—”
“Everybody always says but. I’m getting a little tired of the word.”
“Hey! All right!” She took another note.
“After all, we have very advanced technology and a sophisticated financial system to support it. Why not use that to make more and more unnatural”—he made quotation marks with his fingers—“things so we can leave nature alone? That’s why I wear polyester.”
“That’s why? That’s really why?”
“Either that or bad taste,” he said. “Probably both.”
“Well,”
