Physics Can Be Fatal (6 page)

     In the first year of her tenancy, Edwina discovered that the centrally located fireplace was not sufficient to heat the little house.  Unable to afford oil heat, she purchased second hand a small, cast iron wood-burning stove for the kitchen, which heated the whole house nicely. Upstairs were two small bedrooms and a bathroom. Edwina had decorated the house with curtains she made herself from fabric picked out at her father’s store, furniture collected at second-hand shops, which she re-painted in bright colors, and a few of her Uncle Edward’s amateur watercolor paintings.

     Her time at home was mostly spent working at her laptop at the long refectory table in the kitchen, piled high with books and papers.  The kitchen was a light and airy room that had been re-configured before Edwina’s time.  Separating walls had been removed from a small dining room and adjacent vestibule, and these rooms had been incorporated into the kitchen, making it the nicest room in the house.  A Dutch door communicated from the kitchen to the back yard, which was planted with maple and oak trees that kept the house cool in the summertime.  Edwina had laid a small terrace in the back with slate pavers she salvaged––with Essie Claxton’s permission––from the dilapidated barn at Canaan Farm.  With no idea of how to do it properly, Edwina had used a hoe to scrape out an inch-deep footprint for the terrace, and then she laid the slate slabs together in a sort of patchwork.  She purchased a little table and four chairs at the hardware store, and even though the terrace wasn’t terribly stable, she enjoyed sitting out there. 

*

      Saturday was a beautiful fall morning, crisp and sunny.  After breakfast Edwina washed the dishes, changed the sheets on her bed and threw in a load of laundry.  Too nice a day to spend cleaning the house and grading papers, she put a few provisions into a backpack, jumped on her bike and headed toward the Boat House on campus.  Twenty minutes later she was launching her kayak into the water.

      The river was wide and glistening.  Edwina paddled slowly downriver, listening to the sound of her paddle hitting the water.  She gazed at the trees along the riverbank, knowing they would look different the next time she paddled there, and still different the time after that.  Chlorophyll production had halted for the year, signaling the trees to stop making food, and the lush summer leaves had mostly faded.  The magnificent fall colors would soon arrive, turning the riverbank and countryside beyond into a landscape painting of improbable brilliance.

      Edwina was on the lookout for a familiar outcropping of birch trees on the left side of the river.  Once she spotted it, she headed the kayak toward the bank, and pivoted into a narrow passage that dead-ended in a little cove.  She paddled toward the tiny shore, got out of the kayak in shallow water and pulled the boat onto the beach where it would not float away.  Edwina had discovered the place during her junior year at Cushing. 

     She lay on the shore of this hidden bay, her eyes closed against the sunlight.  Thinking about the events of the previous night made her feel weary, in particular the sad fact that Alan Sidebottom turned out to be a drunk, albeit a brilliant one.

    
What had Helen Mann been playing at?
Edwina wondered. 
She had been so rude to Seth Dubin, such a gentle soul––pushing him out of her way, like that––and then where had she disappeared to?  Sheila Dubin was awfully upset––and good Lord, that dress she was wearing!  Ridiculous, way too young for her . . . and what about Nedda Cake?  What did she mean, hinting at Alan Sidebottom’s dark side?

     The warmth of the sunshine was a tonic, a salve on these troubling thoughts.  As Edwina lay on her back she visualized her toes, and traveling in her mind’s eye slowly up her body, she pictured every single muscle giving way to relaxation, until all the tension in her body gradually melted away into the sandy dirt beneath her.  All she could hear was the delectable sound of tiny waves lapping against the shore.  She grinned.

     Edwina opened her eyes.  She watched the sparse cumulus clouds pinned against a saturated blue sky.  Once again she let her mind wander.  Her thoughts drifted beyond the blue sky to the blackness of space, to the planets and their moons––to Titan, Saturn’s largest moon.  She lazily considered the methane clouds at Titan’s south pole and imagined the exotic weather patterns that might exist there.  Quantifiable properties of things like stars and planets and galaxies were far more comforting to think about than the unruly mess of human relations.   

*

             Mitchell Fender sat at the cluttered desk in his cluttered office.  He hung up the phone and stared out the window.  Pulling a red bandana handkerchief from the back pocket of his trousers he blew his nose loudly, and continued staring out the window.

    
Gloria, you’ve done this to me!
Mitchell thought angrily. 
Leaving me after nearly thirty years wasn’t enough – you had to will this thing to happen!

    
He took a succession of shallow breaths until he was able to calm himself and breathe more deeply. He closed his eyes tightly. 

    
Get a grip, Mitch.  That’s nonsense, and you know it.  Simply nonsense.  Man up, brother!

    
Mitchell Fender got up from his desk and grabbed the red, fleece jacket hanging on the back of the door. 

     “Fresh air’s the thing!” he said on the way downstairs for a long, contemplative walk around campus before teatime.
 

*

     “Why is tea so crowded today?” said Nate Harris, shoving a cookie in his mouth and gazing around Sanborn House Library.  He dropped two coins into the payment basket.   

     “Probably because everyone’s waiting to see if Sidebottom will show up, after his performance Friday night,” said Laura Brenner, standing between Nate and Edwina in line at the tea table.  “Do you have any more change, Nate?  I don’t have any money on me.”

      Nate dug into his jeans pocket and produced two more coins, which he flipped into the basket.

     “Speak of the devil,” Edwina muttered under her breath, picking up two gingersnaps.

     Cups and saucers in hand the three settled onto a sofa next to the main fireplace. The library was, indeed, more crowded than it usually was at five minutes past four o’clock. On a typical afternoon faculty and students trickled in and out of the library during the hour between four to five o’clock, when tea was served.  But today was different.  The library was jam-packed by four-fifteen.

     Alan Sidebottom, looking refreshed and cheerful, strode across the library to the tea table.  Oblivious of the line of people waiting their turns, he approached the table directly and helped himself to a steaming cup of black tea with milk and two sugars.  Mitchell Fender motioned for Alan to join Nedda Cake and himself.  The three chatted amiably for a short while.  There was a faint sheen of sweat on Mitchell’s upper lip.   

     “I’m so sorry,” Mitchell soon announced, leaping to his feet.  “Must skedaddle––I have a tutorial in a few minutes.  Alan, your cup is empty.  I insist on getting you a refill before I scoot upstairs.  Milk and sugar?”

     “Thanks, old man,” Alan said, holding out his cup and saucer.

     Mitchell returned moments later with a fresh cup of steaming tea and gingerly handed it to Alan, careful not to spill any of the piping hot liquid.

     “Righto then, see you both later!” Mitchell said, and hurried out of the library.

      Nedda Cake turned to Alan Sidebottom.

     “I must say, Alan, I’m impressed Mitchell has made such peace with you after that business about the plagiarism,” she said.  “Seems to be a habit with you.”

     Professor Sidebottom closed his eyes and took a long, slow sip of tea.

    “Synchronous ideas happen all the time,” he shrugged. 

    “But onto more important things, dear lady––how are
you
?” Professor Sidebottom said quickly.  “How long has it been?  You look marvelous, by the way.  You’ve hardly changed at all.  You must tell me all about your work!”

     The two engaged in shoptalk, discussing various popular ideas of the day and carefully avoided any mention of their old days in Oxford.  Neither mentioned Nedda’s late husband, Frank Cake.

     “May I?” Donald Gaylord interrupted, hovering next to a vacant chair with tea in hand.

     “Sit down, dear boy,” Professor Sidebottom said.  “Do join us.”

     The three chatted together until five o’clock, joined at times by other faculty members, who would stay long enough for a bit of conversation and a cup of tea.

     At the stroke of five o’clock, librarian Charlotte Cadell began packing up the tea table, and collected stranded cups and saucers from around the library.  She glared sullenly at Alan Sidebottom at every chance, trying to attract his attention, but he appeared to take no notice of her. 

      Donald Gaylord stood to leave.

     “Oh, Donald, before I forget,” Alan Sidebottom said casually, “Tommy Walker said to say ‘hello’.  You remember Tommy.”

      Donald fumbled with his briefcase and accidentally dropped it.  It hit the floor with a thud and opened, spilling the contents.  Charlotte Cadell scurried over to help him gather up the scattered papers, shooting Professor Sidebottom an acid look.

     “Oh, what a clumsy clod I can be!” Donald said, red-faced.

     Across the library Edwina had been filling in her friends, Nate and Laura, on the events of Friday night when she escorted Alan Sidebottom back to the Carriage House after the party.  Their curiosity piqued, and watching from a discreet distance, they had observed the professor throughout teatime.  Although they witnessed what had just taken place with Donald Gaylord, they were too far away to hear what was said.

     When Professor Sidebottom suddenly approached Edwina, Laura Brenner and Nate Harris, the three bumbled clumsily trying to appear nonchalant.  Nate dropped a cookie on the floor, and he and Laura bumped heads leaning over to pick it up.

     “Miss Goodman,” Professor Sidebottom said to Edwina, “I wonder if you might be free for dinner this evening?  I wanted to apologize for the other night.”

     Edwina’s first thought was that dinner might be a repeat of the escapades of Friday night.  She felt in an impossible situation.  Nate and Laura, as if reading her mind, signaled their helplessness by smiling sheepishly.

     “It’s certainly not necessary, Professor,” Edwina said, “but I would love to.  How’s six thirty?  I’ll meet you in town at The New World.”

     Donald Gaylord and Charlotte Cadell lingered unobtrusively, straightening out the papers from Donald’s briefcase.  They heard the exchange between Alan Sidebottom and Edwina, and were murmuring quietly between themselves. 

     After all overheard bits of other peoples’ conversations really can’t be helped in the graciously intimate surroundings of old Theodore Sanborn’s cozy library.  At least, that’s what the collectors of gossip were telling themselves.

*

            Edwina was one of the last people to leave Sanborn House as she headed out to meet Professor Sidebottom for dinner that night.  She locked her office door and started down the hallway.

    She was surprised to find Seth Dubin in the reception area, measuring out coffee for the coffee maker.

     “You’re working late, Seth,” Edwina said. 

     “Oh, Edwina, hi––you surprised me,” he said.  “I thought everyone had pretty much left.  Sheila’s away for a couple of days.  Figured I’d get in some extra work.”

     “I’m having dinner with Sidebottom.  Why don’t you join us?” Edwina said.

     “Thanks for the offer.  I’ve got a microwave dinner in the freezer waiting for me.  Thanks, though.  Have fun.”

     “See you tomorrow,” Edwina replied.

*

             The ambience in the New World Tavern was redolent of age and local history.  Its low ceilings and creaking, uneven floorboards had stories to tell––stories of everyday, sometimes exciting, sometimes heroic, life in the colonies before America became the United States. Of course, the original meaning of the place was long gone.  In the Darwinian way of survival, the tavern had evolved into something new––into a popular meeting place for lunch, dinner, and drinks, with students and swells alike.  Its importance for once being a meeting place where crucial political discussions of the day took place had fallen by the wayside.  That the old tavern was still thriving was remarkable.