style="font-size:15px;"> “Do you remember Professor Harrison? Gilbert Harrison?”
“Harrison,” Sandra said slowly, searching her mind. “No, I… Oh, wait. Yes. He was my advisor. I saw him twice, that was it. Once to get my class list approved, and then later to have him sign my withdrawal slip when I quit. Is that who the letter is from?”
“Yeah,” David said. “Here—read it yourself.”
Sandra accepted the paper and shifted closer to the candle.
“He says he’s planning a reunion of a select number of students and he’s inviting you to come and bring your lovely wife, Sandra? He realizes that it’s short notice and while it would be nice if everyone could arrive at once he realizes that might not be possible. But he does hope we’ll come to the campus before the fall semester starts.” She looked over at David who met her gaze. “This is strange, David. It’s certainly a weird way to have a reunion. Do you think Professor Harrison has gotten senile since we were at Saunders?”
“I doubt it,” David said. “He’d only…let’s see…oh, probably be in his mid-to late fifties now. That’s a tad young for dementia.”
“I know, but this last line here where he says it’s actually imperative that all those he is inviting arrive before the fall semester starts has a…a frantic tone to it, don’t you think?”
“What I think is that your journalist mind is working overtime,” David said. “A summer reunion just makes more sense because he’ll be so busy when fall classes start up again.”
“Mmm,” she said. “Okay, I’ll give you that one. But who are these select number of former students, and why are you one of them?”
“I don’t have a clue.”
“And we’ll never know, because we aren’t going to his planned-at-the-last-minute reunion.”
“Why not?” David said, frowning. “The week after next the kids are scheduled to attend that sport camp. We’ll have a whole week free. Well, we’d have to pay Henry and company to cover the store but…” He shrugged. “What the hell, it’s only money.”
“But…” Sandra said. “I was hoping you and I might be able to have a few days in a…a romantic bed and breakfast and…I got some brochures for you to look at and…” She sighed. “Never mind. It would be more than our budget could handle, anyway.”
“Honey, listen,” David said, reaching over and taking one of her hands. “The bed-and-breakfast thing sounds nice, it really does but…look, when I was at Saunders I had a lot going on with Professor Harrison. He was my advisor, I was in his freshman and sophomore English classes, and he was the batting coach for the baseball team.”
“Oh,” she said. “I forgot about that.”
“I owe the man a lot,” David continued. “He was good to me, a friend as well as all the other roles he had in my life. When I plain old flunked out he was upset for me, not at me, you get what I mean?
“My father practically disowned me because I wasn’t going to be a pro baseball player, has never really forgiven me because he lived his life through me after my mom died. You know how strained things still are between my dad and me.
“Anyway, I just feel that if Professor Harrison wants me at this reunion thing, whatever it is, I should be there. Lord knows, he was always there for me when I needed him.”
“I understand, David. Okay,” Sandra said quietly. “I wonder how many days he wants you to be on campus? Having to go back and forth between Saunders and here is a wicked drive in the traffic. Well, whatever. Sure. It’s fine.”
“Hey, how about this?” he said, squeezing her hand. “I know you’re disappointed about the bed-and-breakfast plan. What if we stayed in Boston in a hotel, eat out, the whole bit? I’ll even go to a couple of museums with you. What do you think?”
Sandra smiled. “That sounds wonderful. Thank you, David. But I do keep wondering how long Professor Harrison expects you to be there for this reunion?”
“Even more,” David said, frowning, “I wonder why the sudden reunion in the first place?”
At the church bake sale the next morning, Sandra and one of her close friends, Cindy Morrison, shuffled goodies around on the long table to make more room for the offerings. As they worked, stopping to smile at people who picked up their selections, Sandra told Cindy about the letter from Professor Harrison.
“That’s not a reunion,” Cindy said, shaking her head. “It’s a demand—okay, I’ll be nice—a request to a chosen group to come back to the campus. A college reunion is a whole slew of people that were in the same graduating class of whenever, stuff like that. I’ve never heard of anything like this Professor Harrison guy is asking for. If this was a movie I’d have the creeps by now.”
Sandra laughed. “There’s nothing sinister about it, Cindy, it’s just unusual. Strange. Well, borderline weird.”
Cindy sighed. “Well, all you can do is show up and find out what the scoop is. Plus, you get some delicious private time with that sexy husband of yours. The last time I suggested such a thing to Paul he said it sounded great, just be sure and call ahead to make sure the hotel I booked was near an eighteen-hole golf course. He’s as romantic as a rock.”
“But you love him,” Sandra said, smiling.
“Yeah. He’s a jerk, but he’s my jerk. I may even forgive him for giving me a Crock-Pot for Christmas last year.” Cindy paused. “Back to the mystery. You don’t know the names of the other people Professor Harrison wants to see. Right?”
“Right.”
“Darn. There might have been a clue there.” Cindy tapped one fingertip against her chin. “You know, like they all played baseball and he’s getting nostalgic in his old age and wants to see the team he helped coach. You know, like A League of Their Own.”
“Yes,” Sandra said, nodding slowly. “It’s probably something that simple. If he would have said get together instead of reunion I probably wouldn’t have gotten into such a dither. It’s just that, like you said, a reunion usually means a whole bunch of people and this is a chosen bunch of people and…We’ve been over all this. I’ll give you a full report when we get back.”
“Including details about your private time with sexy David?” Cindy said, wiggling her eyebrows.
“No!”
“Mom,” Michael said, coming to the front of the table carrying a plate. “Can we buy these?”
“Michael,” Sandra said, “I made those cupcakes. There are still some left at home.”
“Not many and they’re good.”
“Well, thank you, sir,” she said, laughing, “but go pick something someone else baked so we can have a surprise.”
“What if it’s gross?”
“Then we’ll all die of food poisoning, or some dread disease,” she said. “Live wild, Michael.”
“Lame,”
