Chapter 7
Maeve heard the front door close, and a moment later, LeBeast’s engine roared to life. She closed her eyes and exhaled slowly, then got up and walked into the living room.
A moment later she heard a soft ding coming from the direction of her mother’s room.
She found her cell phone on Mary Helen’s dresser, where she’d left it what seemed like hours ago, before Keith’s arrival.
Before they’d learned their mother had mortgaged their childhood home to donate money to a televangelist they’d never heard of.
The text was from Kaitlyn, her best friend at the college.
OMG! Just heard. I can’t believe this is happening. Call me if you want to talk.
She opened her email and scrolled down. When she saw the one from Janelle Howze, the head of her department, she froze for a moment.
Maeve and Janelle had started working at the college around the same time. She’d considered her a good friend, until two years prior, when Janelle was promoted to acting head of the department following the retirement of her predecessor.
At first, things had stayed much as they always had been. But then Janelle had hired a new associate professor to take over some of the classes she’d been teaching.
Pratt Newman had graduated from the same undergrad program as Janelle, and Maeve had later learned they were also close friends.
Pratt was a good-looking, outspoken gay man in his mid-forties, and he’d quickly endeared himself to many of his students.
Maeve liked him well enough and tried not to envy the preferential faculty committee assignments he was given, and his close friendship with their department head.
She’d never really engaged in office politics, and Mary Helen’s prolonged illness had only reinforced her intention to keep her head down and get her work done.
Maeve enjoyed working with the “at-risk” students she was assigned to shepherd through the freshman writing lab.
When Pratt took over one of her teaching sections, she told herself it was a good thing, because she could spend more one-on-one time with first-year students who’d never really learned how to write a cogent sentence.
But over time, the workload shifted again, with Maeve being assigned more and more “challenging” students—mainly members of the school’s championship-winning soccer and baseball teams, entitled jocks on athletic scholarships who routinely skipped classes or ignored writing assignments.
When she’d flunked Maddix Powers III, the baseball team’s starting pitcher, an insufferable prick who only made it to class once or twice a week, Janelle had dropped by her office and casually suggested she should give the kid a second chance, maybe let him write a makeup paper to enhance his grade.
“You know I can’t do that,” Maeve had said. “If I give him a pass, the other players will demand one too. Not to mention it sends a shitty message to my students who actually do the work.”
Janelle had fixed her with a cold stare. “The message I’m getting from you right now is that you’re not a team player. Also, I’m not asking you, I’m telling you. Assign Maddix the paper. He’s not stupid. I’m sure that once he realizes what’s on the line, he’ll step up.”
A week later Maddix Powers III handed in his paper, which she instantly recognized as being AI-generated. Maeve gave him the F he deserved, then reported him to the college’s baseball coach. Which did not go over well.
Exhibit A of how well things didn’t go was Janelle’s email to her, which had arrived at approximately the same time Uncle Keith was informing them that their mother had mortgaged their childhood home to the hilt.
The email was brisk and brutally to the point.
Maeve, as you know, the department has suffered some serious budget cuts this year, which has mandated staff reductions. Regret to tell you that I won’t be able to offer you a contract for the upcoming year. Someone from HR will be in contact shortly. Wishing you all the best, Janelle.
She felt as though she’d been punched in the gut.
No new contract? She’d been teaching at the college since getting her master’s in literature eight years ago, and her PhD five years after that.
She was a recognized Flannery O’Connor scholar, had excellent ratings from her peers and students, had done important research resulting in several publications in academic journals. She was up for tenure this year.
Maeve scrolled through her contacts until she found Janelle’s number, and tapped it. Her call went directly to voice mail. Her voice shook as she left a message.
“Hi, Janelle. I just received your email and I’m frankly shocked. After all these years working together, and what I thought was a friendship, I can’t believe you don’t even have the balls to fire me in person.”
Her phone beeped to notify her of another call on hold. Kaitlyn. She hesitated, then disconnected the call to Janelle and connected to her friend.
“Hi,” she said wearily.
“This is absolute bullshit.” Kaitlyn was practically shouting.
“How did you hear? I just got the email.”
“It’s all over campus,” Kaitlyn said. “Also, Pratt’s in your office right now. Boxing up your stuff.”
“What?!”
“I asked him what was going on, and he tried to play coy. Just said there’d been some departmental ‘reassignments’ and since he was taking over some additional sections, Janelle had suggested he’d be more comfortable in a larger office.”
“I’ll kill them both,” Maeve said through gritted teeth.
“So that’s how you found out? A fucking email? Janelle didn’t even have the decency to call you in for a meeting? And what, the day after your mom’s funeral? She’s such a twatwaffle.”
Maeve nodded a silent agreement.
“Are you okay?” Kaitlyn asked. “Do you want me to come over there? I could run by Frosty’s and pick up a thermos of margs. We could get shit-faced and plot revenge.”
“It’s barely noon,” Maeve pointed out.
“You know what the kids say. If you’re gonna day drink, best get started early.”
“That’s sweet, but no. There’s a lot going on…”
“With your crazy sister?”
“Partly. Also it turns out my mom went completely batshit before she got sick and gave away all her money to some goddamn televangelist.”
She sketched out the details of Mary Helen’s infatuation with Brother Jerome.
“So, what happens with the house?”
“I had it appraised by a woman I went to school with. She thinks it could sell for three hundred and twenty-five grand with six or seven grand worth of improvements, or we could sell ‘as is’ because there’s more value in the lot than the house, which could be a teardown.
But Mom’s new mortgage is for three hundred twenty-five thousand, so no matter which option we choose, we’re under water. ”
“Sucks,” Kaitlyn said.
“In the meantime, Mom did leave us with a coffee can full of twenty-dollar bills that she had deluded herself into thinking would be enough for me and Therese to take a road trip to Ireland together.”
“As one does,” Kaitlyn said. “And this is your crazy actress sister who couldn’t even be bothered to come home and see your mom while she was dying?”
“Correct. She walked into the funeral twenty minutes late.”
“Oh, hell naw,” Kaitlyn shot back. “Tell your uncle to hand over the coffee can money.”
“We tried. He says it’s my mom’s final wish, and he won’t go against that. So that’s that.”
“What are you going to do? About the house?”
“It’s not up to me. Everything gets divided between me and Therese, such as it is. As far as I know the house was the biggest asset, along with LeBeast.”
“Beast? Your mom had a dog?”
“A car. A gas-guzzling ’eighty-three LeBaron, which Therese has already laid claim to.
I’m guessing we’ll do some basic upgrades and then try to rent the house to help defray the cost of the mortgage and taxes.
It’s something she and I will have to work out, but of course, she blew out of here shortly after we got the bad news.
No telling where she’s gone or when she’ll be back. ”
Kaitlyn let out a long sigh. Maeve gnawed at the cuticle on her right thumbnail. It was already bleeding.
“You know what? I think you sue the college. This is sex discrimination. That bitch Janelle literally handed your job—and your office—over to a guy. Who is so not even close to having your experience or academic reputation.”
“Doesn’t matter. The jocks love him, and Janelle loves that they do. He doesn’t make waves. He makes accommodations. On top of everything else I guess I’ll have to start looking for a new job. Not something I had on my Bingo card for this year.”
“Or you could go back to working on your novel.”
Maeve did a double take. “How do you know about that?”
Kaitlyn laughed. “You forget, my office has been right next door to yours for years. You left a couple chapters of your manuscript on that printer we share.”
Maeve’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. She’d never told anyone about the book she’d been writing in secret for years. “Please tell me you didn’t read those chapters. They don’t mean anything. Just some idiotic half-baked ideas.”
“Of course I read them. They’re not half-baked, they’re great. I mean, sure, they need polishing, but I loved your protagonist. What was her name? Laurel? The voice was so clear, and arresting. I’ve been dying to read more, but I didn’t want to freak you out.”
“I am officially freaked out right now. I never meant…”
“Just stop,” Kaitlyn said. “I’m a tenured English professor, remember?
I actually know good writing when I see it, unlike that twatwaffle Janelle.
Look, I realize this is a huge blow, losing your job the same week you lose your mom, but maybe this is a sign.
Maybe it’s the universe telling you to roll the dice and take a gamble.
Finish your book. Stop hiding your light under a bushel basket. ”
“Or maybe it’s just the universe flipping me off. Some sort of cosmic practical joke.”
“I can’t talk to you when you’re like this,” Kaitlyn said. “Call me when you’re done with the self-loathing. We’ll do nachos and come up with a plan to burn down the patriarchy.”
“Thanks. I’ll think about it.”
“In the meantime, I’m gonna start thinking of ways to make Pratt’s life a hellscape,” Kaitlyn said.