2. A Well Respected Man
CHAPTER TWO
a well respected man
ROMAN
EMERALD BAY
TWO WEEKS BEFORE FALL SEMESTER
I take a sip of my coffee, scowling a little at the bitterness as the dying August sun beats down on my back, a combination that feels more like a punishment than anything else. I’m almost finished with this last syllabus. All I have to do is send it to my TA and I’m free for a whole week's vacation.
For years I was a starving researcher, voraciously tearing through all manner of academia for something unique to be a part of. I was desperate to contribute, provide some meaningful social change through my work, and maybe I did. But from here, fifteen years in, all that I feel is exhaustion.
I sigh, pushing the cup lazily across my desk as the heat radiates through the tightly sealed windows. People keep asking me if I have plans, and the truth is I do, but telling your co-workers you’re going to be sitting in your shitty, barely furnished apartment and drinking whiskey all week doesn’t usually fill them with a lot of confidence.
Frankie’s the worst, always calling me out as some sort of sad, lonely 40-something, but I like my solitude. It took a while after Christa’s death, a few months, perhaps a little longer, but now I’m used to being alone. More than used to it.
It keeps me stable; balanced.
Or maybe comfortable would be the better word.
Grief steals so much. I think I must have read hundreds of papers on it, and even dozens more books, but two years on, I still couldn’t say I have a full grasp on it.
All I know is I’ve been fighting like hell to dig my way out.
“Knock knock!”
Frankie Hughes’ voice pierces through the door, followed only moments later by his surprisingly commanding 6’3” frame. His eyes are bright and sparkling, a vibrant green that never fails to catch a glance, but today it’s his nervous smile that’s doing the heavy lifting.
I lean back in my chair and take off my reading glasses with another deep sigh, lazily rubbing them off on my shirt.
“Here to ruin my day?”
Frankie straightens with a huff, stopping in the middle of my office as he pushes his shaggy golden hair out of his eyes. Even at 34 he’s still got all those boyish features you expect in someone much younger, all except for the slightly crooked nose he got from a motorcycle accident back during his PhD. He walked away with his life, two metal rods in his legs, and a hell of a lot of trauma that he hides behind bad jokes.
“Why do you always say that? You think that’s all I’m good for, ruining your day?”
“Frankie, you’re the head of the department,” I chuckle. “If you’re not here to give me a raise, there really isn’t any other option, is there?”
He rolls his eyes and slips into one of the chairs in front of my desk.
“Cut me some slack, okay? You know I hate being this kinda guy.”
“So quit,” I fire back, the slightest smirk on my face. It’s a conversation we’ve had many times, and it always ends the same way.
“Are you nuts? Think of the perks! Like my office, you know, the one with the big window you wish you could look through every day of your life?” He heaves his own dramatic sigh. “God, look at your shitty window. I could never.”
“Don’t forget the pay, you’ve gotta be making the big bucks by now.”
Frankie snorts and I watch the disillusionment sink in, the same way it has every other time we’ve done this little song and dance.
“Woah, woah, don’t go crazy on me. This is academia, remember?”
“Right, of course, I almost forgot for a second.”
Frankie spins around in my chair, extending his arms out to the side like some sort of oversized kid.
“And of course, I’m sure they’ll make me organize the inevitable pizza lunch for the faculty to make up for the fact that they don’t pay us enough. Just think, they might even give us a glass of wine to drink. Each!”
“I like pepperoni and mushroom,” I mutter. “Red wine too, if you don’t mind.”
Frankie shakes his head.
“Alright, look, you know I hate to admit when you’re right, but I do have some shitty news to go along with my wonderful presence. Tracy? Your TA? She’s left the program.”
“Goddammit.”
Tracy had been my TA almost every semester since she started the program three years ago, and she was perfect. She knew how to grade papers, how to run tutorial groups, but mostly she knew how to keep my inbox empty. It’s not that I don’t like communicating with my students exactly, but when you’ve been doing this as long as I have, you get sick of answering the same questions over and over again.
“Yep, finally burned out.” He shrugs, as if it was the most natural conclusion in the world. “She submitted her paperwork this morning.”
I huff, staring at my syllabus and already thinking about all the editing I’ll have to do.
“Who’s going to keep me from getting emails at 3:30 in the morning?” I ask.
“Wow, that’s compassionate,” Frankie mumbles. “ What about me? You’re a real prick sometimes, you know that, right?”
“I’m a prick most of the time,” I mutter. “Look, I feel terrible that Tracy had to leave, but she was the TA for this class . You know, the one I have to teach in two weeks ? ”
Emerald Bay is a prestigious university in a quiet town. It attracts a lot of eager young minds. The issue is getting them to stay beyond their bachelor’s degree. While we offer competitive scholarships for graduate students, a lot of them just want to do their four years and start living their lives.
I don’t blame them. Academia is a crumbling tower in a lot of ways. Low pay, long hours, and bundles of stress. Even the conferences, which seem like fun little vacations at first, quickly become an extra expense unless you’ve got someone like Frankie backing you up with extra funds. I’ve seen it dissolve friendships, and even marriages; it takes a certain kind of personality to survive it, and lately, I don’t know if that’s me anymore.
I rub my face with my palms, pressing the heels of my hands into my cheekbones to try and melt away the tension that’s growing in my jaw.
“Calm down,” Frankie chuckles. “I’m gonna get you a replacement soon.”
I frown, narrowing my eyes at him.
“How soon?”
“What, soon isn’t good enough for you now? You don’t think I’ve got your back anymore?”
“Some HR person you are,” I snort. “Isn’t hiring part of your job?”
His eyes widen and he puts his hand over his chest with all the drama of a high school production.
“How dare you refer to me as HR.”
Frankie likes the idea of responsibility, always has, but he’s never been great at pivoting quickly to adapt when change suddenly hits. Sometimes I think he just wanted the title and the email signature, but even with all that in mind, he’s done a pretty good job for the department.
“Well, there goes the t-shirt I was going to get you for your birthday,” I grumble, sipping my coffee. “It said World’s Best HR Rep. Got a picture of your face and everything.”
“You’re so fucking funny,” he snipes.
“Thank you, nobody ever says that about me.”
Frankie reaches across my desk, holding my gaze as he rips one of my post-it notes off of the stack, balls it up, and tosses it straight in my face.
“Alright, new topic. Are you coming out tonight?”
I shift in my chair, trying to avoid his gaze, but he doubles down with a more pointed look.
“What’s that face for?” He tilts his head. “You don’t even know what I invited you to, do you?”
I wince.
“Come on, man, Abi’s birthday? I texted you and everything. Like a dozen times.”
“No, you didn’t.”
Frankie looks overwhelmingly unimpressed, crossing his arms as he leans back in the chair.
“How about you check your phone, champ.”
I sigh, pulling out my phone from the desk drawer and powering it up. I’ve hated these things and their incessant vibrations and beeps for as long as I’ve had one. I hate having it on when I’m trying to focus, hate how it goes off at the worst possible times. Worst of all, the idea of being constantly accessible makes me extremely uncomfortable.
I watch the thing boot up, doing my best to ignore Frankie’s burning stare as I look down at the screen, hoping beyond hope that there won’t be any messages.
But, of course…
FRANKIE: Abi’s party. Tomorrow night at Hi-Dive. This is your final warning! NO BAILING!!!
“Frankie, look, It’s nothing personal but I’m just too old for?—”
“For company? For joy? For camaraderie?!”
We’ve had this conversation many times before: Christa died two years ago, and I need to start picking up the pieces. Start to move on. But the thing is I tried, I really did. I sold the house and moved into the little apartment I’ve got now. I tried to dive headlong into my passions, my work, anything to get myself away from the same old thoughts, but I couldn’t escape my grief. The opposite, even. It pounded at the door louder and louder, no matter where I holed up, always demanding my full attention.
And so, of course, I let it in.
“Look, correct me if I’m wrong, but you do the same thing every night, right? You go home, eat the same thing, drink the same thing, and maybe, just maybe , watch the Food Network if you’re feeling spicy.”
“What do you have against the Food Network?”
Frankie rolls his eyes, and I already know that he’s not going to take no for an answer.
I used to be so different. I was jovial, funny, social, but that joy for life was sucked out of me when I watched Christa’s casket being lowered into the ground, and the self-loathing only got worse when I started unearthing her secrets.
I wasn’t enough to keep her demons away.
“Look, drinks are on me. It’ll just be four of us. Completely relaxed, chill even. Besides, Abi asked for you specifically. You gonna turn down the birthday girl?”
“I don’t believe that for a second,” I scoff.
“Okay, so maybe Logan told me to bring you, but does that make a difference? Just do us all a favor and show that gorgeous face in public for once.”
Logan’s been one of my closest friends for at least three years. We’ve spent a lot of time sitting around a bottle of whiskey talking about what it means to lose someone.
But I even shut him out eventually.
I do it to everyone.
I’ve tried to find my old self, tried to breathe new life into the man I used to be, but I think he’s gone, and I don’t know if he’ll ever make it back.
“Come on, Roman,” Frankie urges, his eyes pleading. “The party’s already started.”
The pressure’s on, and even though all I want to do is go home and fall onto the couch, I know Frankie well enough to be certain he’d show up and kick down my door.
And I have to admit, sometimes I love him for it.
I slide my laptop into my bag, slinging it over my shoulder as I follow Frankie into the hall.
“So, what does Roman Burke do on a full week’s vacation?”
“Why are you so curious?”
He chuckles, shaking his head.
“Because I’m your friend? And I’m naturally curious?”
“Nothing,” I sigh as we step inside the elevator and I hit the button for the lobby. “I’m doing absolutely nothing, Frankie. No plans, no work–”
“I don’t believe that for a second,” he laughs, staring up at the numbers as they flick on and off.
“I’m serious. I guess I’m going to cook, take Mitzy to the beach, sleep in–”
“Get laid…” Frankie wiggles his eyebrows and I roll my eyes. “Oh, come on, dude! If I looked like you, I’d be swimming in pu–”
Carol Barton’s tight bun and stern expression greet us as the elevator doors slide open, and I can practically feel Frankie bite into his tongue as she steps in to join us.
“Dr. Burke… Dr. Hughes.”
“Dr. Barton,” I murmur. “Nice to see you.”
She gives Frankie the stink-eye, but he’s already staring up at the ceiling like his life depends on it, and then it’s all silence until we hit the lobby. The swift click of Carol's heels against marble tile finally brings Frankie back to earth as we wait for the doors to close one final time.
“Do you… do you think she heard me?”
“Well, there’s a chance she didn’t figure it out, but there’s only so many p-words someone would be excited to be swimming in,” I laugh as the elevator dings for our floor, and we stumble out between the parked cars. “She’s probably adding it to your file.”
“You know what’s crazy? That’s not even the worst thing in there,” Frankie chuckles, playfully punching me on the shoulder.
And there, for a just brief moment, I feel the old me start to emerge.
I wonder how long he’ll manage to stick around this time.