to hold in several choice words. Then he took off his glasses, put them on the table and pinched the bridge of his nose.
Adelaide addressed me with what sounded like relief.
“Kristin, glad you’re here. I know you were on the quad this morning when the noose and the leaflets were found.”
There was a kind of strangled gurgle from Donald, but Adelaide ignored it.
“Now, unfortunately, pictures of that, as well as the work of the campus police to remove those items, are circulating around campus, including photos of what the flyers said. Would you give us a brief update and anything the campus police have learned?”
I hesitated. Then, Adelaide glared at me, and I hurried into speech.
“I assume you’ve all seen the photos, including what the flyer said, as they have already circulated widely. I don’t need to rehearse that. I can tell you that the campus police searched the surrounding buildings, but as far as I know haven’t located anyone they thought was involved. But they were there. And more than one.”
I took out my own phone from my pocket, put it on the table and just tapped it to make my point.
“The photos I’ve seen of the active scene were from several different angles, all at approximately the same time. That indicates more than one person is involved. Moreover, I believe this is a hate crime and should be investigated as such. The perpetrators should be found and prosecuted. I also think it is a coordinated effort to stop Dr. Abubakar’s announced lecture.”
I turned in my chair and addressed him.
“Dr. Abubakar, I think we need most of all to hear your thoughts.”
Adelaide nodded, but before Aduba could speak, Donald broke in.
“It is obvious it is too dangerous for him to give this lecture,” he puffed. “I don’t see why we are even discussing it.”
Whitesplaining. Typical. As was the deliberate use of a pronoun rather than a colleague’s title and name. And, of course, what Donald really meant is “I think it is too dangerous for those of us who teach in this department, namely Donald Willie,” but I didn’t say any of it aloud.
Aduba slowly picked up his glasses from the table and put them on.
“I will not be a coward,” he said. “I will give the lecture as planned.” He folded his arms and looked at Adelaide.
“Well, okay,” she said and made to rise.
“It’s not about cowardice, it’s about common sense,” Donald sputtered, rising to his feet again and glaring at Adelaide.
“It’s not your call, Donald,” I said, not bothering to hide the contempt in my voice. I rose as well and emphasized my words by leaning over the table toward him.
“We’re done here,” Adelaide said firmly. For a large woman, Adelaide was very quick on her feet. She was up and out the door in a flash. I could hear her office door open and then shut with a bang.
Willie quickly followed her out the door, not glancing at either Aduba or me.
Aduba waited a moment. I was sure he didn’t want to encounter Donald in the hall. When he rose to leave, I got up as well and followed him. I was stewing about how to send a more welcoming signal to our new colleague than Willie had. Of course, that wouldn’t be hard. Short of tripping him as he walked down the hall, I could hardly do worse than Donald.
“Aduba,” I said, as he paused at our common office door to insert his key in the ancient lock. I made a mental note to tell him that all the doors on this floor opened with the same key and to be careful what he left in the office. But right now, I didn’t think that was what I needed to blurt out.
“Yes?” he said, finishing unlocking the door and opening it, but not entering. He turned to face me. There was a single line across his forehead. Either he was frowning, or he was squinting in the bad light of our hallway.
“Well,” I fumbled. “Well, I was wondering if you and your wife, and your son would like to come to dinner at my house Saturday night.”
“Our son is only six,” he said slowly.
“Oh, that’s okay, my twin sons have just turned seven. It will be informal, believe me.”
“I think that should be fine, but I will consult my wife and let you know. Thank you.” Then he entered the office, went directly to his desk, sat down and turned on his computer.
I thought for a moment about apologizing for Donald’s behavior, but when I looked at his unyielding posture, I decided instead it would be best to give him some time alone, though the divider that separated our two desks and bookcases scarcely provided any privacy. I turned and looked down the hall at the inviting coffee area Adelaide had set up outside her office when she had become department chair. She had installed a De’Longhi espresso machine with all the trimmings. It made quite a change from her predecessor who might have provided free arsenic to both faculty and students if he had thought he could get away with it.
I walked toward the espresso machine like I was on a tractor beam in a Star Trek movie. I really shouldn’t have any more coffee, but I kept moving toward it. I was trying to cut down on my coffee consumption. I realized it had become an addiction. I’d already had two cups and the day had barely started. But, I kept walking toward the coffee.
I felt like I had spent the whole morning so far in one of those tilt-a-whirl things at the amusement park the boys loved so much. You were spun around and around and then the floor dropped out. You hoped gravity would hold you up. But today, I was questioning even gravity. God damn these white supremacists. That was their goal, to make you question whether your commitments would just drop away and let you fall.
I caved into temptation and got a double espresso. I stood there and took a few sips. I would have liked to talk this morning over with Adelaide, but I knew she was teaching in the smaller seminar room. I deposited my donation in the jar for coffee purchases, cleaned up my grounds from the machine, and turned to head back down the hall. I saw Aduba heading for the stairs. He was leaving the office.
I unlocked the door and sat down on my own side. I finished my espresso, and really, it was excellent, and then I opened my computer. I checked my email first, by habit, and was surprised to already see a note from Aduba accepting the dinner invitation and asking the time. Good sign? I hoped so. I sat back in my chair and went over a possible guest list in my mind. I would invite Carol and Giles, though talking Giles out of cooking, and permitting a caterer in “his” kitchen, would be a little bit of a struggle. Adelaide would be a good addition, I thought, and then, of course, Tom Grayson, a surgeon at the university hospital.
I had been dating Tom for nearly a year. He had patched me up after a knife-wielding assailant had made a deep cut in my arm, and I had fallen for his blue, twinkly eyes, his sandy hair that was always too long, and his profound compassion. But I had kept him at arm’s length for months, feeling disloyal, even after six years, to my Marco. It had actually been Marco’s father, Vince Ginelli, who had gruffly told me six years was too a long time to mourn. Tom and I had become lovers this past summer on a delicious trip to Paris. I reminisced about that for a lovely few minutes and then sighed. Since we’d been back, his surgical schedule, and the demands on my time with parenting, teaching, and sporadically working on my dissertation had meant we mostly communed by phone. Less than satisfactory
