about grabbing the opportunity, about networking, about bettering yourself. You should talk!â
The owner of the voice â a young black woman â stopped on the path and turned. Arms akimbo, bent slightly at the waist, she seemed to be using a good deal of her energy to yell at the young man who had followed her out the door and was holding it open. Glancing at him, Dulcie got the impression of cheekbones and a certain grace, the kind that some men took advantage of. Maybe she had reason to be angry.
âYouâre a hypocrite!â With that one last cry, she spun on her heel and took off. Dulcie stepped off the path to let her pass, unsure whether to offer condolences or turn her head. As it was, she went by too quickly, and Dulcie had only a moment to see her dash a tear from her cheek as she stalked off toward the road.
Head down, Dulcie pretended to be looking for her ID as she approached the main entrance of Dardley House. The double doors were oversized, more fitting for a castle than an undergraduate house, but the dark-haired man managed to almost block them anyway as he stood there, looking slightly stunned. Dulcie got a quick impression of Heathcliff on the moors â lost, dark, and undeniably romantic.
âExcuse me,â she said, as gently as she could. In an ideal world, sheâd have ducked aside for a few minutes and left the abandoned lover to collect himself. However, even if most of her section was likely to be late, she should at least try to be on time.
âWhat? Oh, sorry.â Heathcliff â Rafe â stepped to the side, pulling one of the heavy doors open for her. She smiled up at him. She and Chris didnât have many screaming fights, not any more, but after last night, she could certainly relate. âMaybe you should go after her?â As soon as the words were out, she regretted them. This was a private matter, none of her business. But certainly they must have both been aware of her, scurrying through their private affairs.
âWhat?â He looked over at her, and she saw that his eyes were a startling green. âOh, Darlene? No, no, sheâs right.â He stepped into the foyer beside her, and let the door close, as if those words had decided something. The main entrance where they now stood was tiny, just a short passage that opened at its other end on to a courtyard and, from there, all the interior rooms of the house. Despite the presence of a security booth â Dulcie could see the student guard on duty, tow-head bent over a book behind the glass partition â the enclosed space gave their conversation an air of privacy, if not intimacy. âI have to let her make her own decisions. I mean, Iâve got my own unfinished business.â He shrugged broad shoulders. âAnyway, sorry you . . . ah . . . had to see that.â
âIâve been there,â Dulcie could say, honestly. âRelationships!â She tried to sound world weary, and realized too late that she wasnât making sense. Still, she realized, she might as well take advantage of the occasion. âIf you donât mind â are you Rafe, the senior tutor?â
âYes?â He looked apprehensive, and she wondered just how much unfinished business the handsome young man had. And with whom. The little foyer began to feel claustrophobic.
âIâm Dulcie Schwartz, Lloyd Pruittâs office mate?â Those green eyes looked dazed, and she hurried to fill in the blanks. âIâm here because I teach the eleven oâclock section. English 10 â 10 at eleven,â she was gibbering. âWe still use your syllabus, you know. The way you divvied it all up â matching Jonathan Edwards up with
Moby Dick
is brilliant.â He was waiting. âLloyd talked to you yesterday? About meeting with your visiting scholar?â She leaned in and dropped her voice. The student in the security booth appeared to be reading, but she
The owner of the voice â a young black woman â stopped on the path and turned. Arms akimbo, bent slightly at the waist, she seemed to be using a good deal of her energy to yell at the young man who had followed her out the door and was holding it open. Glancing at him, Dulcie got the impression of cheekbones and a certain grace, the kind that some men took advantage of. Maybe she had reason to be angry.
âYouâre a hypocrite!â With that one last cry, she spun on her heel and took off. Dulcie stepped off the path to let her pass, unsure whether to offer condolences or turn her head. As it was, she went by too quickly, and Dulcie had only a moment to see her dash a tear from her cheek as she stalked off toward the road.
Head down, Dulcie pretended to be looking for her ID as she approached the main entrance of Dardley House. The double doors were oversized, more fitting for a castle than an undergraduate house, but the dark-haired man managed to almost block them anyway as he stood there, looking slightly stunned. Dulcie got a quick impression of Heathcliff on the moors â lost, dark, and undeniably romantic.
âExcuse me,â she said, as gently as she could. In an ideal world, sheâd have ducked aside for a few minutes and left the abandoned lover to collect himself. However, even if most of her section was likely to be late, she should at least try to be on time.
âWhat? Oh, sorry.â Heathcliff â Rafe â stepped to the side, pulling one of the heavy doors open for her. She smiled up at him. She and Chris didnât have many screaming fights, not any more, but after last night, she could certainly relate. âMaybe you should go after her?â As soon as the words were out, she regretted them. This was a private matter, none of her business. But certainly they must have both been aware of her, scurrying through their private affairs.
âWhat?â He looked over at her, and she saw that his eyes were a startling green. âOh, Darlene? No, no, sheâs right.â He stepped into the foyer beside her, and let the door close, as if those words had decided something. The main entrance where they now stood was tiny, just a short passage that opened at its other end on to a courtyard and, from there, all the interior rooms of the house. Despite the presence of a security booth â Dulcie could see the student guard on duty, tow-head bent over a book behind the glass partition â the enclosed space gave their conversation an air of privacy, if not intimacy. âI have to let her make her own decisions. I mean, Iâve got my own unfinished business.â He shrugged broad shoulders. âAnyway, sorry you . . . ah . . . had to see that.â
âIâve been there,â Dulcie could say, honestly. âRelationships!â She tried to sound world weary, and realized too late that she wasnât making sense. Still, she realized, she might as well take advantage of the occasion. âIf you donât mind â are you Rafe, the senior tutor?â
âYes?â He looked apprehensive, and she wondered just how much unfinished business the handsome young man had. And with whom. The little foyer began to feel claustrophobic.
âIâm Dulcie Schwartz, Lloyd Pruittâs office mate?â Those green eyes looked dazed, and she hurried to fill in the blanks. âIâm here because I teach the eleven oâclock section. English 10 â 10 at eleven,â she was gibbering. âWe still use your syllabus, you know. The way you divvied it all up â matching Jonathan Edwards up with
Moby Dick
is brilliant.â He was waiting. âLloyd talked to you yesterday? About meeting with your visiting scholar?â She leaned in and dropped her voice. The student in the security booth appeared to be reading, but she
Similar Books
