Chapter Nine
M orning finds Tony flat on his stomach on the living room floor, trying to reach his hair tie.
“Worf,” he growls out.
The cat blinks at him impassively from under the couch.
“C’mon, man. I’m gonna be late for work.”
He shifts forward until he can move the couch just a little with his shoulder and grasps the edge of the hair tie.
“You have real toys,” he tells Worf and boops his nose for good measure. Worf squawks at him in response.
Getting up off the floor is a mistake. His thighs burn, and his knees rub uncomfortably against the fabric of his jeans.
“Told you.” Daniel watches the entire exchange from an elevated vantage point, leaning against the kitchen doorway and sipping his tea. “You sure you don’t want some ibuprofen?”
Tony grits his teeth. Taking painkillers for sex-related injuries seems wrong somehow, like an admission of how desperate he felt last night for Daniel to stay with him, to stay safe. In the light of day, it’s more than a little embarrassing. “I’ll live.”
“Mm-hm.” Daniel takes a long sip. “You’ll live to regret riding me into the floor after about two hours of your highly physical job.”
Tony’s fairly sure it’ll be twenty minutes, but fuck if he’ll admit to that. “Baby.” He presses a wet kiss to Daniel’s cheek. “I could never regret it.”
Daniel scoffs, but he looks pleased enough that Tony counts it as a win. The good feeling carries him through the drive to Kingston, even when his engine starts making a wheezing noise partway across the river.
“Morning, Pa,” he calls as he drops his wallet and phone in his tray by the workbench.
“Morning,” comes from somewhere in the depths of the garage, probably where Pa is doing inventory. He’s not under a car, which is progress. “How you doing, kiddo?”
“Fine.” Tony’s knees still ache, same as his hips. Sore enough that it’ll make sitting down a little uncomfortable, he’s not getting fucked again anytime in the next couple of days. None of these are things he especially wants to share with his father.
Pa ambles out from the storage closet in the back where they keep spare lights and wipers.
“Inventory?” Tony asks.
“Mm. Need to put in an order today or tomorrow. We’re low on headlights.”
Tony shakes his head. “The fucking kid from Lobell the other day with his deer story.”
“That was one light. Carl brought us in another two last week, remember?”
“I guess.” Tony can’t blame Gianna’s friends for absolutely everything stressful in his life. He wants to because he’s angry at her, but he’s self-aware enough to realize it’s not a productive emotion.
“You sure you’re okay?” Pa leans against one of the pillars, studying Tony too closely.
Tony looks away as he pulls a coverall out of the closet. “Uh-huh.” He hides a wince as his hips protest the movement of getting into the coverall.
He’s almost convinced himself this conversation is done when Pa continues.
“You seemed a little upset at dinner the other night.”
The other night, Tony reminds himself. Before the weekend. After he broke down in his stupid car because his stupid feelings are all over the place. Before he yelled at his sister because he still hasn’t worked through a goddamn bit of it.
“Is…Daniel all right?”
Tony freezes. Pa never asks about Daniel by name. He talks around it, mentions Tony staying over in Rhinebeck obliquely, or says “your professor friend.”
“Yeah.” Tony’s voice is rough, which is weird. “I mean, sort of. The professor—the stabbing…”
“Scary stuff.”
“Yeah.” Tony forces himself to meet Pa’s eye. “And he has a whole bunch of stuff to take care of now he’s the dean. He’s been pretty stressed.”
“Right.” Pa doesn’t say anything else, but the way he keeps looking at Tony is enough to make Tony crack. He always gets that expression when he knows something is up.
The first time Tony drank a shitty, lukewarm Pbr at a bonfire in the woods when he was fifteen, it took Pa all of three minutes. Waiting up in the living room with the manual to the latest Buick model and his reading glasses, he gave Tony that look, no disappointment, only endless patience. Tony folded instantly and told him all about the whole night, and Pa didn’t get mad about the drinking. He just asked questions about fire safety, clapped Tony on the shoulder, and told him to be careful.
“It…kind of brought up some memories,” Tony admits. “For both of us. About last year, and…”
“Mario.” Pa says his name so blandly it’s immediately obvious he’s suppressing large amounts of rage.
Tony surprises himself by shaking his head. “I mean, I guess a little. But mostly…Stacy Allan. That day in the forest, she…she had both of us at gunpoint.”
To Pa’s credit, he doesn’t flinch. “Christ, kid, you never said. I mean, I knew Daniel was shot, but…”
“Didn’t want to freak you and Ma out. There was enough going on. I thought… For about an hour, I was sure I was going to die, and now…”
“Now you’re thinking about it again.”
“Yeah.”
Pa rests his hand heavily on Tony’s shoulder for a minute while Tony sorts through the inventory folder and fires up the computer in the office to make the orders. If he said one more word, asked one more question, Tony would spill everything—the note on Daniel’s door, the murder weapon, Lily Peterson and her boyfriend. But Pa’s never been one for too many words, and Tony keeps Daniel’s secrets and tells himself it’s better that way.
Gianna comes in at one for her half day, no baby in sight. The first thing she does is tell Pa he needs to go out to Kyle’s because his motorboat won’t start, and he needs a second pair of hands.
Tony retreats into the bowels of the garage. He’s hit his limit on emotional conversations for the day. Even if he could fathom talking out their fight from last night, he has no idea how to tell Gianna what he’s thinking, how he’s feeling.
Probably, he should start with an apology. But the thought of it feels sour on his tongue. He’s not sorry; he didn’t say anything he doesn’t believe. At the same time, it makes him feel like a petulant toddler. He wants her to acknowledge he went through a bunch of shit at the same time she did. He wants her to understand he missed opportunities for her sake. He wants her to understand it hurts him when she acts as if having a family that loves her is a pain. He wants so many things, and none of them are all that important, but he’s not about to back down on them. That would mean admitting he feels vulnerable and stupid to want them in the first place.
Gianna must feel similarly unwilling to make the first step. She lets him work on stripping parts out of Mrs. Cooper’s son’s ancient Volvo in peace for most of the work day. It finally gave up the ghost a month ago, and he traded it in for a newer used car. Though not technically a dealership, they usually know when their regulars are looking to trade up, and it’s easy enough to get buyers and sellers in touch with one another. The upshot is that every now and again, Pa ends up buying very used cars for very cheap. It’s a good deal for everyone. The Volvo isn’t roadworthy anymore, but there are things worth saving about it—vintage upholstery, wiring, and some of the parts under the hood are still in use in newer Volvos.
Tony’s ripping out the upholstery when Gianna finally makes her way to the garage. Tony finds it therapeutic, cutting up along the seams and ripping it all out.
“So,” she says, her voice loud in the quiet space since the radio’s off today. Usually, Kyle turns it on, but it’s his day off (or not, depending on how long he and Pa spend fixing the motorboat). “Are we gonna talk about it?”
“What’s to talk about?” Tony keeps his back turned, bent over the car’s seats.
“Hm, well, let me think.” From the ironic tone of her voice, he can tell she’s probably crossing her arms and cocking her hip. “Maybe how you embarrassed me in front of all of my friends? Lily and Sean aren’t answering my texts. You made me sound like a freeloader.”
“That’s not what I said.” Tony tries not to change his tone and reveal how angry he still is. He wonders for a second if this is how Pa feels when he talks about Mario.
Gianna’s voice is thick, like she’s fighting tears. “Is it so bad to want some time to be a normal college student? I wouldn’t actually move out. It’s not like I’m not grateful or like I regret Lia or anything. I just…want to be normal sometimes.”
Tony doesn’t answer, clenching his jaw as he tears out a tricky bit.
“God, what is with you?” Gianna says in disgust. “You didn’t used to be this way.”
“What way?”
“Emotionally unavailable.”
Tony straightens and tosses the scraps of upholstery on the pile behind him. “I’m available. I’m available all the damn time. You’re the one who’s acting as if nothing’s wrong when your goddamn professor got stabbed. At least your fancy college friends are pretending to care a little.”
Gianna hesitates a moment. Her eyes go wide, and he thinks this will be when she finally opens up.
Then, her chin juts out. “Maybe I don’t want to talk about that with you.”
“Fine. Then don’t come complaining to me about this.”
“Fine.” She stalks off, grabs her keys and phone off the workbench, and heads for the door.
“Where are you going?” he calls after her. “Day’s not over.”
“You can close up today.” She’s barely loud enough to be heard across the garage, not even doing him the decency of yelling. “I’m gonna go take care of my daughter since babysitting is such a burden to Mom.”
The door slams behind her.
“Fuck,” Tony says to no one in particular.
He goes back to the Volvo. Ripping out cloth and foam is less satisfying now that he feels guilty. Guiltier.
Eventually, he caves and gets his phone out.
All he has is one text from Daniel: Emergency meeting w counseling this afternoon about the stupid police searches. home by six. maybe six thirty.
Tony rolls his eyes. Baby, he answers. You are not the only dean at the college. You’re also not a counselor. Delegate or sth.
He remembers what Gianna said about counseling at Lobell once, how they were no help to someone like Andrew Clayfield, who was veering into psychosis. They probably need all the support they can get. On the other hand, what help can Daniel be to them? He keeps trying to send Lily to them every time she comes to talk to him, and it’s clearly not working. Counseling services at a small liberal arts college don’t exist to handle violent crime, they’re meant to tackle homesickness or stress from too much classwork. One meeting with Daniel will not suddenly equip students to handle the disaster on campus right now.
With his brain already on the Lily Peterson track, Tony can’t help but retrace every concern about her he’s had in the last few weeks. Every time he’s seen her, she’s looked anxious, even desperate. She was nervous the day “Sean hit a deer,” but last night, she seemed all over the place. And who’s there to help her besides Daniel? Gianna? Gianna has her own shit to deal with. Sean? He’s trying his best, but his best is getting overwhelmed at the thought of handing out flyers. He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who’s able to handle an unstable girlfriend in meltdown. All this new business with police searches is hardly helping.
What Lily could possibly have to hide from the police is beyond Tony. Maybe an embarrassing sex toy collection. Maybe pot. Maybe, the paranoid part of his brain adds, proof of the murder or a handy stack of magazines with the letters cut out. She was worried about being a suspect, which could mean she did it. If watching his way through several procedural crime shows with Daniel in the name of science has taught him anything, it’s that if someone is trying to look innocent, they probably aren’t.
Great, and now he’s thinking like Daniel was last year when he started suspecting every troubled student who intersected with Mario of murder, including Tony’s own sister. Daniel believes Lily didn’t do it, and Daniel is the most suspicious person he knows. If she were going to do anything to him, she would have already done it.
“You’re being ridiculous, Anthony,” he tells himself firmly.
Daniel is a professor, not a psychologist, and it’s clear Lily needs the latter right now.
Daniel doesn’t get the text. The checkmarks at the bottom remain grayed out instead of blue. Tony reopens their thread more times than he wants to admit, just to be sure. He debates telling Daniel he fucked up with Gianna again. But he doesn’t want to reopen night’s conversation. Then he would have to admit there are things he needs to talk about and that maybe Lily isn’t the only one who could do with a psychologist.
It doesn’t seem fair to mention it to Daniel. Not right now, not with everything going on. There will be time enough to deal with all of Tony’s shit when the killer has been caught and Daniel’s home and workplace aren’t literally life-threatening. Again.
Anyway, it’s harder to talk about—harder to think about—in the cold light of day when he can’t hide in Daniel’s arms.
Instead, Tony texts again to ask if Daniel wants rice or pasta for dinner.
Tony closes up shop alone. Apparently, Kyle’s boat was more messed up than he thought. Either that, or Kyle offered Pa a beer, and they got caught up. Good thing it’s a Tuesday. There are less walk-ins in the middle of the week, so Tony’s had the shop to himself. Lucky in that he doesn’t think his customer service face is up to scratch right now, unlucky in that he’s been alone with his thoughts all afternoon.
By the time he’s locked up, Daniel still hasn’t texted back. It’s five thirty though. He’s probably still talking to counseling. Tony has an easy hour and a half before it will be time to start dinner. Maybe he can sort things out with Gianna, if only so it stops weighing on his mind, and he and Daniel can enjoy a nice meal together after last night’s failure. With that thought in mind, Tony heads over to his parents’ house instead of across the bridge.
“Ma?” He unlocks the door and kicks off his shoes. “Gianna?”
“Gimme a second,” Ma answers. He hears footsteps, farther away than usual, and then she’s coming down the stairs. “Your sister took the baby on a drive. She wouldn’t stop crying.”
For a moment, Tony’s uncertain if Ma means Gianna or Lia.
Ma chooses not to clarify. “She said you’d had a fight?”
Tony winces. “Yeah. I was hoping to apologize.”
“Good kid.” Drawing up close, Ma presses a kiss to his cheek. “She deserve it?”
“I think so?” Tony has no idea whether or not Gianna’s to blame for their fight. The righteous indignation still burns under his skin. He’s not interested in groveling. He’ll do it, though, to keep the peace.
Ma gives him a look, part fondness and part exasperation. “Tony Baloney,” she says, chiding.
It shocks a laugh out of Tony. “You haven’t called me that in ten years.”
“I was looking at some old albums in the attic. Thinking I should start one for Lia. I have so many pictures on my phone.”
“Gigi would love that.”
She pats him on the shoulder. “I think she’d love it if you apologized, whether or not you should.”
He smiles weakly.
“You staying for dinner?” she asks over her shoulder as she walks toward the kitchen.
“Nah.” He pulls out his phone to check the time. Past six already, Daniel’s probably headed home. “Just a pit stop. I guess you don’t know when Gianna will be home?”
“Sorry. You want to take anything with you? I made meatloaf.”
Tony debates trying to explain how he can’t bring meatloaf to Rhinebeck because Daniel tries not to eat meat on weeknights to lessen his carbon footprint. An incoming text from Colette thankfully distracts him from that Sisyphean task. She rarely texts him. “No thanks,” he says, distracted. “We’ve got stuff at home.”
Have you heard from Daniel? Colette has texted him. He’s late picking me up and he’s not answering his phone.
Frowning, Tony tries to call Daniel. It goes straight to voicemail. He texts a question mark. Only one check mark. Daniel’s phone must be off.
“Hey, Ma?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I gotta go. Tell Gianna I was looking for her?”
“You got here three minutes ago.” Ma pokes her head back in from the kitchen door.
“Sorry.” Tony pulls his shoes on with one hand, texting Colette with the other. “Something came up.”
He thinks about Gianna while he drives. It’s easier than worrying about Daniel. He’s kind of glad he missed her, all told. If he had seen her, if she’d been there—Tony can imagine what would have happened. He’d have apologized, she’d have accepted, and then he would have left, still pissed off that she thought she deserved an apology.
By the time he’s blown past the bridge, a little over the speed limit and his car complaining about it all the way, he’s accepted that it wouldn’t have helped. It would be a quick fix, a bandage on what’s bothering him with the bullet left under his skin. His whole family seems to have moved on from everything that’s happened in the last year and left him behind.
He finds Colette standing beside Daniel’s car in the faculty parking lot. She has her phone out, frowning at it.
Cutting the engine and getting out of the car is less work than rolling down the windows, so Tony gets out. “Anything?”
She shakes her head. “You?”
“No.” There’s no point in saying it’s not like Daniel to go radio silent or miss an appointment with Colette without giving her a heads-up. They both know, or she’d never have texted him. Instead, Tony offers, “We could check his office?”
Colette shrugs. “I went there before I texted you. He wasn’t in.”
Neither of them has a better idea, so they take the winding pathway to Condelmuir to check again. They walk—briskly, but a walk all the same. Running would be admitting there’s something to worry about.
There are no voices to be heard in the hallway outside Daniel’s office. Why would there be? It’s past six, and classes are at an absolute minimum. No one wants to spend more time on campus when there’s a killer around.
Tony raps on the door to Daniel’s office with his knuckles.
No response.
He tries the doorknob. The door falls open with a creak.
He and Colette exchange a glance. Tony wonders if she’s thinking what he’s thinking—that going inside might be as stupid as the time she and Daniel decided to investigate an active crime scene with the murderer.
They do it anyway, of course.
Daniel’s computer is still on, his cup of tea half-drunk, and an untouched glass of water sits on the other side of his desk, leaving a ring of condensation in the wood.
“He was meeting someone from counseling,” Tony remembers. “Maybe he’s still there?”
“Maybe there was an emergency?”
“I hope not.”
Colette shrugs. “Sorry. I’m probably overreacting. After Mario…and then that knife…”
“No, I get it.” Tony rests a hand on her shoulder. “Everything with…with Amelia Lawrence keeps reminding me of… Well.”
“Of course it does.” Colette leans toward him slightly, bumping their sides together. “It’s a natural response to trauma.”
They survey Daniel’s empty office together.
“So now what?” Tony asks.
“Let me try calling counseling. Maybe he’s still there.”
Colette uses the landline in Daniel’s office to call the counseling center on the other side of campus, pressing an extension to reach them. It’s very old-school, matching the vibes of the building. Angel Automotive has had a dedicated office cell phone since the phone company jacked up the prices for the landline.
“Hello, this is Professor Ravel,” Colette says smoothly. “I’m calling to ask if Professor Daniel Rosenbaum has been in this afternoon.” There’s a brief pause, and then, “Oh, no, not as a patient. He mentioned a meeting with counseling, and he hasn’t come back to his office.”
Tony runs his fingers across one of the bookshelves—solid wood, not some IKEA shit. Daniel should get shelves like this for the apartment, not what he has now.
Colette makes a series of listening sounds that remind Tony so intensely of his own customer service voice he wants to laugh.
“He didn’t. No, of course, I understand completely. Thank you for your help.” She sets the phone down in its anchor. “Daniel hasn’t been in today.”
“Great.” Tony slouches against the bookcase. “Any other ideas?”
Colette stares at him blankly.
“He was here,” Tony offers, “or the door would be locked.”
“Maybe…” Colette hesitates. “Maybe Lily Peterson stopped by?”
“He promised he would text every half hour when he saw her.” But that was on Saturday, and he didn’t plan on seeing Lily today. On the other hand, Daniel decided she didn’t do it, so maybe he also decided he could relax around her.
“I could try to email her.”
“Odds on her answering in the next ten minutes?”
Colette snorts. Not likely, then. “I suppose…”
“Hm?”
“I could try her boyfriend. I do have his phone number.”
At Tony’s encouragement, Colette calls with the phone on speaker.
After a long while, Sean picks up, sounding confused and a little panicked. Which is fair; Tony would have been the same if one of his college professors cold-called him. “Professor Ravel?”
“Yes, hello Sean.”
“What’s, uh…what’s up?”
“I’m afraid this is a very odd question, but you mentioned your girlfriend Lily to me?”
“Uh-huh?”
“She sees Professor Rosenbaum in his office frequently, and now I can’t reach him. Could you get me in touch with her?”
“Um…”
“Just to ask if she’s seen him.”
Colette uses the same voice with Sean as with counseling services, as if she needs to psych herself up or practice her phrasing before talking to a student. Maybe she does. Tony’s only ever seen her truly at ease when there’s no one but him and Daniel around.
“She’s…I mean, she’s not answering me right now, so…”
“Ah.” Colette pauses. “Is it because of what we talked about?”
Something loud happens on Sean’s end, a door slamming or something else abrupt and startling. “No, no, I didn’t…do it. Yet. But I think she knows I want to, and it’s… I think she’s doing worse. So, uh, if you can reach her, maybe that would be good. I’ll text you her number.”
“Thank you, Sean. Let me know if you need anything.”
“Thanks, prof.”
The number he sends goes straight to voicemail, same as Daniel’s.
“What did you talk to him about?” Tony asks.
“Breaking up with Lily.”
“Oh.”
Colette tries Lily’s number again and then types out a message on her phone.
“Is that…” Tony tries to think of the right words. “Is that a good idea? I mean, she’s unstable…”
“And he’s a student who needs to focus on his academics. Her mental health is not his responsibility.”
It echoes everything Tony has thought about himself and Daniel so sharply it makes Tony flinch. “You’re right.”
“I know it sounds callous.”
“I’m guessing you didn’t just tell him to do it.”
“No, of course not. It was his idea. I told him he should prioritize his own needs. No one else will do it for him.”
“Sound advice.” At the memorial for Professor Lawrence, Tony agreed with it wholeheartedly. The other night at the pizza place, he thought a little less kindly of Sean, but he had so much anger and resentment getting in the way. Still, Tony remembers those dress shoes and Sean’s entitlement about room searches. “Although he doesn’t seem to be struggling.”
“Appearances can be deceiving. And many of our students are wealthy adolescents who’ve never been on their own before. That can be its own struggle.”
“I guess. So no dice on Lily?”
Colette shakes her head. “She probably has nothing to do with this.”
“Daniel would have said if he was meeting her.”
Wouldn’t he? Or would he hide it to protect Tony from his own worries? But then, surely, he would tell Colette she needed to take the bus home. And why would he leave his office unlocked and turn his phone off? It’s not like him, and the only explanation could be—has to be—
“Tony.” Colette’s firm voice snaps him out of it. “We can’t do anything now except wait. It’s only been an hour or so.”
Tony agrees shakily. “Sorry. My brain is…a mess. Let me drive you home. I’ll make dinner, and we can wait up for Daniel together.”
“The human brain often is messy. Thank you.”
He makes pasta with store-bought pesto and some cherry tomatoes, and because he’s feeling anxious, he toasts some additional pine nuts to go along with it. Pine nuts are too expensive to use regularly in Tony’s opinion, but maybe eating something that costs as much as his wiper blade replacement will distract him.
Colette watches from one of the bar stools by the kitchen counter. “It was probably the husband,” she says conversationally while Tony rinses the cutting board.
The board slips out of Tony’s hands and clatters into the sink.
“Statistically, I mean,” Colette continues. “Amelia Lawrence was probably killed by her husband, and Lily Peterson has nothing to do with it. Most violent crimes are committed by intimate partners.”
“That sounds like you took it from Bones .”
The stool creaks as Colette leans forward on it and rests her elbows on the island. “A stopped clock is right twice a day. It wasn’t only the husband’s outburst at the memorial. Amelia talked about how difficult it was raising a child when she had to work all the time.”
Tony turns around to eye Colette suspiciously. “She told you that?”
Colette looks away. “She told other colleagues.”
“You’ve been snooping.”
“Staffroom exchanges are not snooping.” Colette says it with a hefty dose of dignity, but she’s lying through her teeth.
“Come on.” Tony ladles a spoonful of the hot pasta water into the pan the pesto is heating up in before dumping the rest of the noodles into the strainer. “You’re not teaching high school. You don’t have a staffroom. You had to go all the way to the psych department to find someone to ask.” In point of fact, he didn’t know this about college professors until he started spending time with Daniel, but he does know now.
“I did not.” Colette maintains the facade until Tony tosses the pasta into the pesto pan, stirs it, and then plates it up. He’s dotting the top with cherry tomatoes and pine nuts when she finally admits, “I happened to chance upon a few psychology professors in the dining hall.”
“You hate the dining hall.”
“It’s practically inedible. I don’t know why anyone would eat there. I suppose hard scientists are gluttons for punishment.”
Tony laughs and slides her plate across the kitchen island along with a fork. She digs in immediately. “So did you learn anything else?”
She swallows delicately. “Why should I tell you anything if you’re going to judge me for it?”
“I’m not judging.” He shovels a forkful of pasta into his mouth. When she doesn’t answer, he finishes chewing before continuing. “I just want you to be honest about what you’re doing. Trust me, I get it. I’ve been freaking out ever since that knife ended up on the door.”
“Yes.” She drums her fingers on the island’s fake marble top. “I’m not anxious for police attention, and I truly think Detective Taylor would find a way to blame us. But either Daniel or I are definitely being threatened.”
The idea of the threats being meant for Colette hadn’t even occurred to Tony.
“Amelia Lawrence was well-liked among faculty.” Colette picks her fork up and then sets it back down. “And she did too much in her efforts for tenure. She was at the least a decent professor, and her courses were reasonably popular. She had a young daughter and a husband who works from home, and she struggled to prioritize them over work.”
“I don’t understand the whole tenure thing,” Tony admits.
“Neither do I, and I’m trying to get it. Academic jobs have become far more competitive with more people getting degrees, which means the few positions with a lifetime guarantee—”
“Tenure?” Tony checks.
“Yes. Those positions go to fewer and fewer of the applicants for them. Most positions are limited to a few years at a time and subject to contract renewals and negotiations. Conditions are terrible—too many teaching hours for too little pay and not enough time for your own research. I’m sure Amelia didn’t want to move her whole family again for a different job, and her field of study doesn’t exist in the private sector.”
“Hm.” Tony knows Daniel’s tenure got fast-tracked in the spring when he took over most of Stacy Allan’s responsibilities, and he knows Colette is up for tenure soon as well. “So you and Daniel were pretty lucky.” That aligns with everything Mr. Lawrence said last week, which keeps him out of the running as a suspect as far as Tony’s concerned.
“Daniel is extremely talented at his job and occupies a very specific academic niche.” Colette shakes her head. “He’s very good at making his research seem like something anyone could think of, but it isn’t, and that’s part of what makes him such a good teacher.”
Warmth suffuses Tony, which is dumb. It’s not his accomplishment. It’s Daniel’s. He just enjoys hearing that Daniel’s as good as Tony thinks he is. “And you?”
“I was very lucky.”
Tony has a sneaking suspicion Colette is also very good at her job and downplaying her own accomplishments. He lets it slide. “You serious about moving back to Europe?”
She doesn’t instantly say no, which is worse than he’d been hoping for. “I don’t know. There aren’t many positions for anthropologists in Europe either.”
“What about your family?” It’s something Tony’s wondered about, on and off, since he met Colette, especially since she mentioned her sister the other day. He knows much more about Daniel’s family and how Daniel ended up living so far away from them. He also gets to be around for more of Daniel’s Skype calls to his family these days, so he knows distance is only an impediment if you let it be.
Colette hardly mentions her family.
“I wouldn’t mind seeing my siblings more,” she says. “Even if they’re all doctors and lawyers.”
Tony lets the silence grow longer while he eats.
Eventually, Colette continues. “My parents are…complicated. From a different time, a colonial time, in my father’s case at least. They’re not welcoming of…alternative lifestyles.”
“Ah.”
Colette’s never talked about it specifically, and she hasn’t dated anyone in the time Tony’s known her, but Daniel confirmed Tony’s gut instinct that she’s not interested in the opposite sex. Maybe she’s discrete about it. Maybe she’s waiting until there’s something worth talking about. Tony can relate. He remembers how his father asked about Daniel today, a little awkward but with his heart in the right place. He’s suddenly, overwhelmingly thankful.
Colette spears a piece of fusilli on her fork. “On the other hand, France has less insane policies on gun control.”
“I think you mean France has policies on gun control.”
“Precisely.” She leans against the uncomfortable metal cross forming the back of the stool. “I don’t know. I like it here. I like my work and my home. I hate the politics. And…it’s lonely sometimes, always being foreign. It’s easier to play into it than to try to assimilate when you know you’ll never pass as a native.”
With a start, Tony realizes he’s part of a couple that Colette is a third wheel to. He wants to comfort her, wants to say she always has a place with them, but it seems presumptuous.
Instead, he offers a weak smile. “Want to keep going on Bones while we wait for Daniel?”