Reprisal

Pendleton, North Carolina

Conway Street was nearly at a standstill. Like a parking lot. Between fitful crawls, Will Ryerson idled his ancient Impala convertible in the stagnant traffic and watched the heat gauge. It was staying well in the safe range.

He patted the dash. Good girl.

He glanced at his watch. He'd already had a late start for work this morning, and this was going to make him later. He took a deep breath. So what? The grass on the north campus at Darnell University could wait a few extra minutes for its weekly trim. Only problem was, he was in charge of the work crews this morning, so if he didn't get there, J.B. would have to get things rolling. And J.B. had enough to do. That was why he had recently promoted Will.

Will Ryerson is moving up in the world.

He smiled at the thought. He'd always wanted an academic life, to spend his work days on the campus of a great university. Well, for the last three years or so, his wish had come true. Except he didn't travel there every day to immerse himself in the accumulated knowledge and wisdom of the ages; he came to tend the grounds.

Of course, with his degrees, he could have been at Darnell as an academic, but proving his qualifications would require him to reveal his past, and he couldn't do that.

He glanced in the rearview mirror at his long, salt-and-pepper hair, still wet from his morning shower, pulled tight to the back, his scarred forehead, bent nose, and full, graying beard. Only the bright blue eyes of his former self remained. If his mother were still alive, even she'd have trouble recognizing him now.

He peered ahead. Had to be an accident somewhere up there. Either that or the road department had picked the town's so-called a.m. rush hour to do some street repairs. Will had grown up in a real city, the city with the king—no, the emperor of rush hours, and this little bottleneck couldn't hold a candle to that.

He killed time by reading bumper stickers. Most of them were religious, including a fair number of worn "PTL CLUB" stickers, and others like, born again, listen for the shout—HE'S coming AGAIN, YOUR GOD DEAD? TRY MINE: JESUS LIVES, A CLOSE

encounter of the best kind: jesus, and Will's favorite, jesus

IS COMING AGAIN AND BOY IS HE PISSED.

I can dig that, Will thought.

He considered turning on the radio but wasn't in the mood for the ubiquitous country music or the "new music" that dominated the university's student station, so he listened to the engine as it idled in the press. A quarter-century-old, gas-guzzling V-8 but it purred like a week-old kitten. It had taken him a while, but he'd finally got the timing right.

Will noticed that the right lane seemed to be inching forward faster than the left, the one he was in. When a space opened up next to him, he eased over toward the curb and made slightly better time for half a block. Then he came to a dead stop along with everybody else.

Big deal. He'd picked up fifty feet over his old spot in the left lane. Hardly worth the trouble. He peered ahead to see if the next side street was one he could use to detour around the congestion. He couldn't make out the name on the sign. He glanced to his right and froze.

There was a telephone booth on the sidewalk not six feet from the passenger door of his car.

Usually he could spot one blocks away, but this one had been hidden by the unusually large knot of people clustered at the bus stop next to it. He'd missed it completely.

Panic gripped the center of Will's chest and twisted. How close was he? Too close. How long had he been stopped? Too long. He couldn't stay here. He didn't need much, just half a car length forward or back, but he had to move, had to get away from that phone.

There was no room in front; he had pulled right up to the rear bumper of the car ahead of him. He lurched around in his seat, peering over the trunk. No room there either. The car behind was right on his tail. Trapped.

Get out of the car—that was the only thing to do. Get out and walk off a short distance until the snarl loosened up, then run back and screech away.

He reached for the door handle. He had to move now if he was going to get away before—

No. Wait. Be cool.

Maybe it wouldn't happen. Maybe the horror had finally let go. Maybe it was over. He hadn't allowed himself near a phone for so long, how did he know it would happen again? Nothing had happened yet. Maybe nothing would. If he just stayed calm and stayed put, maybe—

The phone in the booth began to ring.

Will closed his eyes, set his jaw, and gripped the steering wheel with all his strength.

Damn!

The phone rang only once. Not the usual two-second burst, but a long, continuous ring that went on and on.

Will opened his eyes to see who would answer it. Someone always did. Who'd be the unlucky one?

He watched the commuters at the bus stop ignore it for a while. They looked at each other, then at the phone, then back down the street where their bus was stuck in traffic somewhere out of sight. Will knew that wouldn't last. No one could ignore a phone that rang like that.

Finally, a woman started for the booth.

Don't, lady!

She continued forward, oblivious to his silent warning. When she reached the booth she hesitated. It was that ring, Will knew, that endless continuous ring that so jangled the nerves with its alienness. You couldn't help but sense that something was very wrong here.

She looked around at her fellow commuters, who were all staring at her, urging her on with their eyes.

Answer it, they seemed to say. If nothing else you'll stop that damned incessant ring!

She lifted the receiver and put it to her ear. Will watched her face, watched her expression change from one of mild curiosity to concern, and then to horror. She pulled the receiver away from her head and stared at it as if the earpiece had turned to slime. She dropped it and backed away. Another of the commuters—a man this time—began to approach the booth. Then Will noticed the car in front of him begin to move ahead. He gunned the Chevy and stayed on the other car's bumper as it pulled away.

Will kept his sweaty hands tight on the wheel and fought the sick chills and nausea that swept through him.

And he didn't look back.

Lisl Whitman sat in her office in the math department at Darnell University and stared at her computer screen while trying to ignore the insistent beeping of her watch.

Lunchtime.

She was only a little hungry now, and she was really rolling on these calculations. A very productive morning. She didn't want to see it end just yet. This was good work. She had a feeling that it was going to make people sit up and take notice.

But that one o'clock advanced calculus class wouldn't wait, and a couple of those eager Darnell undergrads wouldn't let her get away for at least another fifteen minutes after class, which meant she wouldn't get free until well after two. She'd be famished by then and maybe even a little shaky. And when she got that hungry, she always ran the risk of going into a feeding frenzy.

And so what if I do?

One more binge wasn't going to matter. She was already at least twenty pounds overweight. Who'd notice a few more? Will Ryerson might, but her weight didn't seem to matter to him. He accepted her for who she was, not how she looked.

Lisl had never had a weight problem until her late twenties. Until after the divorce. She was thirty-two now and knew she'd let herself go in a big way. She'd been lonely and depressed, so she immersed herself in her doctoral thesis. And food. Food had been her only pleasure. And somewhere along the line she became a compulsive eater. She'd binge, hate herself for it, and then binge again.

Why not? She'd been considered a math nerd all her life, and nerds were supposed to look rumpled and slovenly. It came with the territory, didn't it? She'd never allow herself to look slovenly, but the loose clothes she tended to wear did lend her a rumpled look. She rarely wore makeup—her high coloring didn't require it—but she took scrupulous care of her naturally blond hair.

Eat now, she told herself. Now!

Maybe her weight didn't matter, but she had to draw the line somewhere.

She hit the save button and watched the monitor return to the READY screen. Satisfied that her work was now safely stored away in the memory banks of the university's Cray II, she shut off the monitor and looked out the window. Another bright, warm, glorious September day in North Carolina.

Now. Where to eat? Four choices. Here in the math department—either alone in her own office or joining Everett in his—or in the caf or al fresco. Actually, there were only three choices. Alone could be more company than Ev. Still, he was the only member of the department still on the floor and she guessed she owed him the courtesy of asking him to join her. It was a gesture that risked nothing, and she sensed that Ev genuinely appreciated it whenever she asked.

She stepped across the hall to his open door, everett Sanders, ph. D. ran in black across the opaque glass. He was hunched over his computer keyboard, his narrow back to her. His shiny pink scalp gleamed through his thinning light brown hair. He was dressed in the Ev Sanders uniform: short-sleeved white shirt and brown polyester slacks. Lisl didn't need to see his front to know that a nondescript brown tie was tightly knotted around his neck.

Lisl tapped on the door glass.

"Come," he said without looking around.

"It's me, Ev."

He turned and rose from his seat to face her. Always the gentleman. Only in his mid-forties but he looked older. And yes, another of his muddy brown ties was cinched up high under his Adam's apple.

"Hello, Lisl," he said, his watery brown eyes peering at her through his wire-rimmed glasses. He smiled, showing slightly yellowed teeth. "Isn't it wonderful?"

"What?"

"The article."

"Oh, yes! The article. I think it's super, don't you?"

U.S. News & World Report's annual college issue had given Darnell University a top rating, even going so far as to call it "the new Harvard of the South."

"I'll bet John Manning's sorry now that he left for Duke. All we need to complete the picture is a Division I basketball team."

"And you can coach it," Lisl said.

Ev gave one of his rare, heh-heh-heh laughs, then rubbed his palms together.

"Well, what can I do for you?"

"I'm going to lunch now. You want to come?"

"No, I don't think so." He glanced at his watch. "I'll be stopping work in two minutes. After that, I'll be eating lunch here and catching up on some reading. You're welcome to join me."

"That's okay. I didn't bring anything today. See you later."

"Very well." He smiled, nodded, and reseated himself at his computer console.

Relieved, Lisl turned away. Asking Ev to lunch was a private game she played. He always brown-bagged it, always ate in his office. It was a safe courtesy to ask him to join her. He never accepted. Ev Sanders was nothing if not predictable. She wondered what she'd do with him if he ever did accept.

She grabbed the vinyl-covered cushion from behind her office door and headed for the caf.

The caf's lasagna was good as a rule, but the weather was a little too warm for a hot lunch. She picked out a fruit cocktail and a turkey on white.

There. That looked sensible.

Then she came to the dessert counter and snatched a piece of coconut cream pie before she could stop herself.

Who'll notice?

She scanned the tables in the faculty room and saw no one she cared to sit with, so she headed outdoors to the grassy knoll behind the caf. She hoped Will would be there.

He was. She spotted Will Ryerson's familiar figure leaning against the wide trunk of the knoll's only tree, a battered old elm. He was sipping a can of pop and reading, as usual.

Her mood buoyed at the sight of him. Will was a tonic for her. Ever since she had started dabbling with this idea of submitting a math paper, Lisl had found that her insides tended to twist into tight little knots of tension when she was working on it. Her underarms would dampen from the intense concentration, like someone doing hard physical labor. All that tension uncoiled within her now as Will looked up and saw her. A welcoming smile lit through his graying beard. He closed the little book in his hand and slipped it into his lunch box.

"Beautiful day!" he said as she joined him under their tree. Their tree. At least that was the way she thought of it. She didn't know how Will thought of it.

"That it is." She dropped the cushion on the mossy ground and sat on it. "What were you reading there?"

"Where?"

"When I came up."

Will suddenly seemed very interested in his sandwich.

"A book."

"I gathered that. What book?"

"Uh …The Stranger."

"Camus?"

"Yeah."

"I'm surprised you haven't read that one by now."

"I have. I thought I'd try it again. But it doesn't help."

"Help with what?"

"Understanding."

"Understanding what?"

He grinned at her. "Anything." Then he took a savage bite out of his sandwich.

Lisl smiled and shook her head. So typical of the man. She'd once heard something described as an enigma wrapped in a mystery. That was Will. The philosopher groundskeeper of Darnell University.

Lisl first met him two years ago under this very tree. It had been a day like today and she had decided to sit outside to correct some test papers. Will had come up and informed her that she'd taken his spot. Lisl had looked up at a tall bearded stranger in his late forties. His accent was definitely from somewhere to the north, he smelled of motor oil, his hands were heavily callused and looked to be permanently stained with engine grime, his green overalls were dusty and sweat-stained, his work boots were clumped with grass clippings. He had clear blue eyes and long, dark brown hair heavily streaked with gray, pulled back and fastened into a short ponytail with a red rubber band, a nose that had been badly broken, and a wide scar on the right side of his forehead. An aging hippie-type handyman who'd managed to land himself a steady job, she'd thought as she smiled and moved exactly three feet to her right. He'd seated himself and produced a sandwich and a Pepsi. Again, typical. But when he pulled out a copy of Kierkegaard's Sickness Unto Death and began reading, Lisl had to revise her assessment. And she had to talk to him.

They'd been talking ever since. They became friends. Sort of. She doubted Will had a true, deep friendship with anyone. He was so secretive about himself. The most she knew about his origins was that he was from "New England." He would tell her his deepest thoughts on life, love, philosophy, religion, politics—and listening to him it was quite apparent to her that he had done a lot of thinking in those areas. He would expound on any subject but Will Ryerson. Which made him all the more intriguing.

Lisl sensed that he was a lonely man and that she was one of the few people in his life with whom he could communicate on his own level. The other groundskeepers weren't in Will's league, or he wasn't in theirs. He had often complained that as far as his coworkers were concerned, if it wasn't in the sports section or didn't have big breasts, it didn't really matter. So he used his lunchtimes with Lisl to ventilate the thoughts that had accumulated during the time they were apart.

That was why she couldn't understand why he was being so evasive about the book in his lunch box. She was sure it wasn't The Stranger. But then what was it? Porn? She doubted it. Porn wasn't his style. And even if it were, he'd probably want to discuss it with her.

Lisl shrugged it off. If he didn't want to tell her, that was his business. He didn't owe her an explanation.

She watched him tear into his lunch. It was one of those belly-buster subs he favored, where anything within reach was sliced up and piled between two halves of a loaf of Italian bread and splattered with oil and vinegar.

"I wish I were like you."

"No you don't," he said.

"Metabolism-wise, I do. Lunch-wise, at least. Good Lord, look at the size of that sandwich—and I can imagine what you eat for dinner. Yet you don't put on a pound."

"I don't sit at a desk all day either."

"True, but your body does a far better job than mine of burning calories."

"Not as good a job as it used to. I'm nibbling around the edges of fifty now and I can feel the machine slowing down."

"Maybe, but men age better than women."

Will was aging pretty well in Lisl's estimation. Maybe it was because he carried his weight so well: very lean and muscular, a good six feet in height, maybe a little more, with broad shoulders and no gut. Maybe it was his long hair and beard, both of which had grown grayer over the past two years, although his clear blue eyes remained mild and gentle—and impenetrable. Will had equipped the windows of his soul with steel storm shutters.

"Men just don't worry about it as much," he said. "Look at all the guys on the maintenance crew with beer bellies."

Lisl smiled. "I know what you mean. Some of them look eight months pregnant. And if I put on any more weight, so will I. If only I could shed the pounds like you."

Will shrugged. "I guess it's just like everything else about us—opposites. What you can't do, I can. What I can't do, you can."

"You know, Will, you're right. Together you and I make one well-rounded, well-educated person."

He laughed. "What I said: I know next to nothing about the sciences, and you might well be classified as culturally deprived as far as the humanities go."

Lisl nodded, agreeing fully. These pastoral lunch hours with Will had made her realize how painfully lopsided her education had been. She had her Ph.D., yes, but it was as if she had gone through high school, college, and graduate school with blinders on. Science and math, math and science—they'd been her whole life, all she'd cared about. Will had shown her how much she'd missed. If she had it all to do over again, she'd do it differently. There was a whole other world out there, rich, colorful, filled with stories, music, art, dance, schools of thought on ethics, morals, politics, and so much more that she'd missed. Missed completely. She still had plenty of time to catch up. And with Will as a guide, she knew it would be fun. Still, the thought of all that wasted time irritated her.

"Well, thanks to you, I'm certainly less deprived than before we met. Can we keep this up?"

She sensed his face soften behind the beard. "As long as you want."

Just then, Lisl spotted someone waving from the base of the knoll. She recognized Adele Connors's stout, compact figure.

"Yoo-hoo! Lisl! Look, y'all! I found them!" she said in her squeaky voice.

She trundled up the slope jingling a set of keys in the air.

"Your keys?" Lisl said. "Oh, good!"

Adele was one of the stalwarts of the secretarial pool. Lisl had found her wringing her hands and lamenting the loss of her key chain yesterday. Adele had searched most of the afternoon with no luck. Finally, since she couldn't start her own car without her keys, she'd ^sked Lisl to drive her home.

Which had vaguely annoyed Lisl. Not that she minded doing Adele a favor, it was just that the secretaries tended to treat her like "one of the girls." And Lisl wasn't "one of the girls." Although she wasn't tenured yet, she was an associate professor in the university's mathematics department and wished sometimes they'd treat her as such. But she had herself to blame. Being the only female in the department, perhaps she'd become too chummy with the secretaries when she first arrived. Unaccustomed to being in a position of authority, she'd been oversensitive about coming on as a tight-assed bitch with the secretaries. Plus, a little girl talk had come in handy—she'd got the lowdown on everyone in the department without even asking.

But still… as useful as the camaraderie had been, there'd been a price to pay. She couldn't help noticing how the secretaries addressed all the other Ph.D.s in the department as "Doctor," while she was always "Lisl." A minor point, but an irritating one.

"Where'd you find them?" she asked as Adele reached the top of the knoll.

"Right behind my seat cushion. Isn't that something!"

"I thought you said you searched the entire area."

"I did! I did! But I left out one thing. I forgot to ask for the Lord's help."

Out of the coiner of her eye she saw Will pause in mid bite. She groaned inwardly. Adele was a Born Again. She could go on interminably on the subject of Jesus.

"That's great, Adele," Lisl said quickly. "By the way, this is Will Ryerson."

Will and Adele exchanged nods and hellos, but Adele was not to be turned from her favorite subject.

"But let me tell you how the Lord intervened for me," she said. "After you dropped me off home last night, I got big Dwayne and little Dwayne together and we knelt in the middle of our living room and prayed for the Lord to help me find my keys. We did that twice last night, and once again this morning, just before the school bus came for little Dwayne. And you know what?"

Lisl waited. Apparently it wasn't a rhetorical question, so she took a wild stab.

"You found your keys."

"Praise the Lord, yes! When big Dwayne dropped me off this morning, I went to my desk, sat in my chair, and felt a lump under my cushion. I looked and—Praise the Lord—there they were! It's a little miracle, that's what it is! Because I know they weren't there yesterday. God found them and put them where I was sure to happen across them. I just know he did. Isn't the Lord wondrous in his ways?" She turned and started back down the slope, bubbling and babbling all the way. "I'm spending the whole day just witnessing and praising Him, witnessing and praising my wonderful Lord. Bye, y'all!"

"Bye, Adele," Lisl said.

She turned to Will and saw that he was leaning back against the.tree and staring after Adele's retreating figure, the sandwich lying forgotten in his lap.

"Incredible!" he said.

"What's the matter?" she asked.

"People like that make me lose my appetite."

"Nothing makes you lose your appetite."

"The Adeles of the world do. I mean, how empty-headed can you get?"

"She's harmless."

"Is she? I mean, where's her perspective? God isn't a good luck charm. He's not there to help you find your keys or make it a nice day for the church's Labor Day picnic."

Lisl sensed the growing heat behind Will's words. He usually avoided the subject of religion—anything else was fair game, but he didn't seem to like to talk about God. This would be good. She let him roll.

"God helped her find her car keys. Great. Just great. Praise the Lord and pass the mashed potatoes. Where's her head, anyway? We've got thousands—no, hundreds of thousands of people starving in places like Ethiopia. Desperate fathers and mothers kneeling over the bloated bellies of their starving children, crying out to heaven for a little rain so their crops will grow and they can feed their families. But God's not answering them. The whole damn region remains a dust bowl with children and adults alike dropping like flies. Adele, however, sends up a couple of quick Our Fathers and God hops right to it. He locates those lost keys and shoves them under her seat cushion where she's sure to find them first thing in the morning. There's still no rain in Ethiopia, but Adele What's-her-name's got her goddam car keys." He paused for breath, then looked at her. "Is there something wrong with that scenario, or is it just me?"

Lisl stared at Will in frank shock. In the two years she'd known him she had, never heard him raise his voice or become angry about anything. But Adele obviously had touched a raw nerve. He was seething; the scar on his forehead was turning red.

She patted his arm.

"Calm down, Will. It doesn't matter."

"It does matter. Where does she get off thinking that God's ignoring prayers for rain in the Sudan to go put her car keys where she can find them? It's not fair for her to go around telling everybody that God's answering her ditsy prayers while prayers for things that really matter go unanswered!"

And suddenly it was clear to Lisl. Suddenly she knew why Will was so angry. Or at least thought she did.

"What did you pray for, Will? What did you ask for that didn't happen?"

He looked at her, and for a moment the shutters were open. In that moment she had a glimpse into his soul—

—and recoiled at the pain, the grief, the agony, the disillusionment that welled up in his eyes. But mostly it was the overriding fear that shook her so.

Oh, my God! Oh, my poor Will! What happened to you? Where have you been. What have you seen?

And then the shutters slammed closed and once again she faced a pair of bland blue eyes. Opaque blue eyes.

"It's nothing like that," he said calmly. "It's just that the childishness and superficiality of that kind of religion gets to me after a while. It's so prevalent around here. You hear of bumper-sticker politics, but it seems to me they've got bumper-sticker religion in these parts."

Lisl knew from what she had glimpsed in his eyes that it was much more than that, but sensed it would do no good to probe. Will was shut down tight.

Lisl added another mystery to the mental list she'd been keeping about the enigmatic Will Ryerson.

"Not just around these parts," she said.

"Yeah," he sighed. "Ain't that the truth. It's all over the country. Televangelism. God as game show host. A heavenly Wheel ofFortune."

"Except the money comes from the contestants instead of to them."

He looked at her. "You've never said much about it, Leese, but I gather you're not very religious."

"I was raised a Methodist. Sort of. But you can't get too far into higher math and stay very religious."

"Oh, really?" he said with a smile. "I've looked into some of those journals you bring up here. I'd say it takes quite a leap of faith to get involved in that stuff."

She laughed. "You're not the first person to feel that way."

"Speaking of higher math," Will said, "what about that idea you had for a paper? How's it coming?"

Just thinking about the paper started a buzz of excitement within her.

"It's going great."

"Good enough for Palo Alto?"

She nodded. "I think so. Maybe."

"No maybes. If you think so, you ought to enter it."

"But if it gets rejected—"

"Then you're right back where you started. Nothing lost except the time you spent working on it. And even the time isn't completely lost because you'll no doubt learn something. But if you don't do the paper, and don't submit it, you're betraying your potential. It's bad enough to let other people stifle you. But when you stifle yourself—"

"I know, I know."

They'd been over this ground before. Lisl had grown so close to Will over the past couple of years. She'd opened up to him as she had to no man before, more even than to Brian during their marriage. She never would have believed she could be so intimate with a man without sex edging into the picture. But that's the way it was.

Platonic. She'd heard of platonic affairs but had always thought them fantasies. Now she was living one. Once she had broken through Will's shell, she'd found him warm and accepting. A great talker and a better listener. But she'd remained wary of him. The deep discussions during lunch hours here on the knoll during the week, the long, aimless, languorous drives on weekends… through them all Lisl had stayed on guard, dreading the inevitable moment when Will would put the moves on her.

And dread really said it. The nightmare of divorcing Brian had been still too fresh in her mind, the wounds had barely stopped bleeding and were a long way from healing. She hadn't wanted another man in her life, no way, no how, especially not someone about twenty years older. And she knew—just knew—that Will was going to want to expand their relationship beyond the purely intellectual to the physical. Lisl didn't want that. It would back her into the position of rebuffing him. And what would that do to their relationship? Wound it, surely. Perhaps even kill it. She couldn't bear that. Shje'd wanted things to stay just as they were.

So Lisl had faced each of those weekend drives-to-nowhere with growing anxiety, waiting for the inevitable invitation back to Will's place for "a couple of drinks" or where they could "be more comfortable." She waited. And waited.

But the other shoe never dropped. Will never made that "inevitable" pass.

Lisl smiled now at the memory of her own reaction when it had finally dawned that Will wasn't going to put the moves on her. She'd been hurt. Hurt! After spending months afraid he'd make a pass, she was wounded when he didn't. There was no winning this game.

Of course, she'd immediately blamed herself. She was too dumb, too frumpy, too dull, too nerdy to attract him. But then logic reared up and asked, If he truly saw her that way, why would he spend so much time with her?

Then she blamed Will. Was he gay? But that didn't seem to be the case. As far as she could figure, he had no men friends. No friends at all other than Lisl.

Asexual? Maybe.

A lot of maybes. One thing had been certain, though. Will Ryerson was the kindest, gentlest, deepest, weirdest man she had ever known. And despite all his quirks—and there were quite a few of them—she'd wanted to know him better.

Over the two years, Will gradually had assumed the role of tutor and Dutch uncle, conducting mini seminars on the knoll as he casually guided her through the terra incognita of philosophy and literature. He was a good uncle. He demanded nothing of her. He was always there for her, to give advice when asked for it or merely serve as a sounding board for her problems and ideas. And always encouraging. His opinion of her capabilities was always far more sanguine than hers. Where Lisl saw limits, Will saw endless possibilities.

Lisl liked to think that their relationship wasn't just a one-way street, that she gave something back. She wasn't sure why or how, but she sensed that Will had benefited almost as much as she from their interaction. He seemed far more at ease with the world and with himself since they'd first met. He'd been a bleak, melancholy, almost tortured man then. Now he could make jokes and even laugh. She hoped that had been at least partly her doing.

"Go for it," Will said.

"I don't know, Will. What will Everett think?"

"He'll think you're making a bid to get tenure in the department, just like he's doing. Nothing wrong with that. And why on earth should you defer to him? You both joined the department the same year. Even if you are younger, you're his equal in seniority, and you're his match—if not his better—in ability. And besides, you're a hell of a lot better-looking."

Lisl felt herself flushing. "Stop that. That's irrelevant."

"Of course it is. But no more so than any of those cop-outs you allow to hold you back. Go for it, Leese."

That was Uncle Will: supremely confident that she could attain any goal she set her sights on. Lisl wished she could buy into his unabashed enthusiasm for her abilities. But he didn't know the truth—that she was a fake. Sure, she'd earned her Ph.D. and managed to be the first woman accepted into Darnell's traditionally all-male department of mathematics, but Lisl was sure that some sort of fluke had let her slip past the review board, some sort of affirmative action thing that had opened the doors for her. She wasn't that good. Really.

And now Will was pushing her to try to move up in the department. The International Congress of Mathematicians was meeting in Palo Alto next spring. Ev Sanders was submitting a paper for presentation there. If it was accepted, he'd be the fair-haired boy in the department, a shoo-in for tenure. And tenure was getting harder to come by. Darnell had been tightening up on the number of tenured positions the past few years, and now that it was being called "the new Harvard of the South," the situation was sure to become even tighter. But John Manning had left his tenured professorship in the department last month to take, that position at Duke, which meant math had an open spot. If Lisl's paper was also accepted, Everett would no longer have the post position. And if Lisl's paper was accepted instead of Ev's…

"You really think I should?"

"No. I just like the sound of my own voice. Do it, dammitr

"All right! I will!"

"Good. See? Wasn't that easy?"

"Yeah. Sure. Easy for you. You don't have to deliver a paper."

"You'll do it."

"Uh-huh. Can I call you when I get stuck?"

"You can try."

"Oh, right. The man without a telephone. How could I forget."

Even after all this time, Lisl still could not get used to the idea that Will managed to live in the modern world without the benefit of a telephone. She realized no one would ever get rich as a groundskeeper, but the men had a union that had bargained them up to decent wages and good benefits. So Will's lack of a phone could not be due to a lack of money.

"You've got to get a phone, Will."

He finished off the last of his sub. "Not this again."

"I'm serious. A telephone is an essential tool of modern living."

"Maybe."

"And I know they've got phone lines out there on Postal Road." After realizing she had nothing to fear from him, Lisl had visited his home a number of times. He lived in an isolated cottage but it wasn't in the boonies. "What if I call the phone company for you. I'll even pay—"

"Forget it, Lisl."

She sensed from his tone that he wanted her to drop it but she couldn't. No phone… it was crazy. Unless…

"You're not one of those Luddite types, are you? You know, antitechnology?"

"Now, Leese, you know better than that. You've seen the place. I've got a TV, a radio, a microwave, even a computer." He looked at her. "I just don't want a phone."

"But why on earth not? Can't you give me a hint?"

"I simply do not want one. Can we leave it at that?"

His voice carried only mild annoyance, but his eyes surprised her. Just before he looked away, she could have sworn she caught a trace of the fear she had seen before.

"Sure," she said quickly, hiding her concern and the curiosity that burned inside her. "Consider it dropped. When I hear that my paper's been accepted, I'll let you know immediately—by carrier pigeon."

Will laughed. "You'd better drive right out and knock on my door. Promise?"

"Promise."

"What's up in the faculty world?" he said in an obvious attempt to steer the conversation away from the subject of telephones.

"Not much. Dr. Rogers is having his annual Welcome Back party Friday night and he invited me."

"He's in the psychology department, isn't he?"

"The chairman. The party's just for his department, but since I helped him out with some tricky math glitches he was having over the summer, he says I'm an honorary member. So I'm invited."

"And knowing you, you turned him down, right?"

"Wrong," she said, lifting her chin, glad to be able to surprise him. "I've decided to show up with bells on."

"Good for you. You need to get out more with the rest of the faculty instead of spending your free time with a broken-down groundskeeper."

"Right. You're positively decrepit, and intellectually backward as well."

Will glanced up at the faculty office building.

"Will Professor Sanders be going?"

"No. Why would—?" she began, then broke off as she caught his meaning. "Oh. Is he watching us again?"

"Yep. Having his after-lunch cigarettes."

Lisl glanced up at the second-floor window of Ev's office. No face was visible in the dark square, but at regular intervals a puff of white smoke would drift out through the screen.

Everett Sanders stared down at Lisl Whitman and the grounds-keeper as they sat together beneath the tree. They seemed to be staring back at him. But that could be no more than coincidence. He knew he was invisible to them when he stood this far back in his office.

He drew deeply on his cigarette, his sixth for the day, his first after a lunch of eight ounces of tuna salad, a cold potato sliced and smeared with mustard, and a medium-sized peach. The same lunch he brought every day and ate right here at his desk. He kept rigorous track of his nutrition, and balanced it carefully. His fourth cup of coffee cooled on the desk. He allowed himself a dozen cups a day. Excessive, he knew, but he'd found he couldn't function well on less. He smoked too much too. Twenty cigarettes a day—opened a fresh pack of Kool Lights every morning and finished the last just before bed. Coffee and cigarettes—he wanted to give them up, but not yet. He couldn't give up everything. But maybe in a few years, when he was more confident about his level of control, he'd try to get off tobacco.

He watched Lisl and wondered again at the type of man with whom she chose to spend her precious time. Here was one of the most brilliant women he had ever met wasting her lunch hours dallying with a common laborer—one with a ponytail, no less. A mismatch if he ever saw one. What could they possibly have in common? What could a man like that possibly have to say to interest a mind like hers?

It plagued him. What could they talk about, day after day, week after week? What ?

The most frustrating aspect of the question was knowing that he would never have the answer. To obtain that he would either have to eavesdrop on them or join them, or ask Lisl directly what they talked about. None of which he could do. It simply wasn't in him.

Another question: Why on earth was he wasting his own time pondering such an inconsequential imponderable? What did it matter what Lisl and her big gardener friend discussed at lunch? He had better things to do.

And yet… they looked so relaxed together. Ev wished he could be so relaxed with people. Not even people—he'd settle for just one other person in the world with whom he could sit down and feel perfectly at ease discussing the secrets of the universe and the inconsequentials of daily existence.

Someone like Lisl. So soft, so beautiful. Maybe she wasn't beautiful in the accepted modern sense, but her golden blond hair was thick and silky smooth—he wished she'd wear it down and loose instead of twisted into that French braid she favored—and her smile so bright and warm. She was small-breasted and carrying too many pounds for her frame, but Ev wasn't impressed by exteriors. Appearances meant nothing. It was the inner woman that counted. And Ev knew that beneath Lisl's dowdy, pudgy shell was a wonderful, brilliant woman, sweet, sincere, compassionate.

What did that handyman see when he looked at her? Everett sincerely doubted the other man was attracted to Lisl for her mind. He didn't know him, of course, but it seemed that the groundskeeper possessed neither the values nor the depth of character that would set him in pursuit of a woman's mind.

So what was his angle?

Were they sexually intimate? Was that what it was all about? Pleasures of the flesh? Well, there was nothing wrong with that, as long as it didn't interfere with Lisl's future. Tragic if she were drawn away from her career. A brilliant mind such as hers did not belong at home all day changing diapers.

And of what concern was any of this to Everett Sanders?

Because I want to be where they are.

Wouldn't that be wonderful. To have her as a friend, a confidante, a sharer. To have almost anyone to share even a few hours. Because, Everett knew and freely admitted to himself, he was lonely. And although loneliness was far better than other problems he had known in the past, it could be a terrible burden at times, a constant gnawing ache in his soul.

Lunches with Lisl, silly chitchat with Lisl. It was more than he could hope for.

More than he would hope for.

The whole idea was ridiculous. Even if it were feasible, even if it were possible, he couldn't allow it. He couldn't permit himself to become involved in an emotional relationship. Emotions were too unpredictable, too difficult to control. And he couldn't let any area in his life slip -from his control. Because if one area broke free, others might break loose and follow. And then his whole life might slip free from the iron grip in which he clutched it.

So let Lisl Whitman dawdle with her groundskeeper friend and/or lover. It was none of his business. It was her life and he had no right to think he should control it. It took all his resolve to control his own.

Besides, he should have been reading instead of wasting time at the window like this. Especially on a Wednesday. He had the weekly meeting tonight so he had to do his daily page quota on this week's novel earlier in the day. It was Daddy by Loup Durand. A few years old, but someone had recommended it to him as a thriller with a twist. And indeed it did have a twist. More than one. He was enjoying it immensely.

Everett had come to find fiction a welcome relief from the constraints of working with numbers all day, so years ago he had resolved to read one novel a week. And he did. He started a new novel every Sunday. Faithfully. Daddy was 377 pages long. So, to finish the novel in a week he had to read 53.85 pages a day. This was Wednesday, which meant that he had to reach page 216 before he slept tonight. Actually, he was a little ahead of the game today because he had gone past his daily page increment last night and continued to the end of the chapter. That wasn't a bad idea in itself, but he didn't like breaking his own rules.

He stubbed out his cigarette and lit another immediately. He allowed himself two in a row after lunch. He opened the book to the top of page 181. Thirty-five to go. He settled himself at his desk and began reading.