To his relief, he managed to steer the discussion back onto a less controversial track. The students, lively and interested, continued to debate the possible motives of Iago’s treachery toward his gullible friend and military superior. Darian listened with pleasure as they came up with several plausible interpretations involving both the psychological makeups of the characters and the cultural mores of Shakespeare’s time.

  Toward the end of the class, he happened to turn and glance out of his classroom window. Through it, he spotted Everett and Timothy standing on the path that led to the library. They seem to be exchanging heated words. At one point, Everett raised both arms, waved them around, and dropped them heavily to his side in a gesture of exasperation. In response, Timothy smirked and shook his head as if to express pity. With a final shrug, he turned to walk away. Everett was still sputtering as the younger man sauntered off in the direction of the dormitories.

  Without interrupting the flow of the lesson, Darian crossed the room and closed the shade. Then he went on with his lecture.

  After his last class, Darian filled his briefcase with work and headed back to the small cottage the school had provided as his living quarters. Though it was theoretically within walking distance, the weight of his books and the stacks of essays he invariably hauled home forced him to traverse the relatively short distance in his aging compact car. In a year, or perhaps slightly less depending how he managed his money, he would be able to invest in something more trustworthy. At least breaking down between home and work wasn’t much of a concern for the time being—at least until winter hit.

  For a while he thought about calling home as a pretext to discussing the Timothy issue. Ultimately, he decided against it. High time he started to handle things on his own. Besides, the whole issue embarrassed him so much he didn’t want to talk about it. The implication that he looked young enough to date students, and was perhaps eager to do so, was best not even put into words.

  After changing into jeans and a sweatshirt, he headed for the kitchen. Maybe tonight was a good time to tackle the meatless lasagna he’d been planning. The recently emailed recipe was tacked to the fridge with a magnet shaped like a moose, and the ingredients lay ready in the fridge and cupboards. No sense waiting until something went bad. Pushing Birchwood and its petty dramas out of his mind, he set about retrieving everything he’d need and spreading it out across the countertop. Then he took down the recipe

  Ten minutes later, he was dialing his cell phone. Housekeeping dilemmas, he reasoned, fell under a different category than overly forward students.

  “I’m trying to make the lasagna,” he blurted the moment his mom Ange picked up. He’d expected her to be alone. Riki, who managed an upscale hotel in Miami, usually didn’t get home until well after dark. As a university professor and department chair, Ange made her own hours to some extent. “You didn’t write down how long I need to boil the noodles. I don’t want them to get soggy.”

  “You don’t have to boil them at all. Layer them in between the ricotta and sauce. They’ll come out just the way you like them.”

  “I don’t need to boil them at all?” Darian repeated, feeling silly. “Won’t they just get brittle and dry up?”

  “Trust me. Come on, Darian. You lived at home until you were twenty-four years old. Didn’t you watch me and Riki in the kitchen? We’ve made that dish dozens of times.”

  “I guess I wasn’t paying attention. Okay, I’ll try it.”

  “That’s the spirit. You know, I’ve been meaning to call you and ask how it’s going up there. Are you warm enough?”

  “Well, I never wake up and imagine I’m back in Florida. But I’m okay. It hasn’t been all that cold yet, except at night. And when that happens, the comforter and the electric blanket seem to be doing the trick.”

  When Darian had told them he got the job at Birchwood, Ange and Riki had gone a little wild with the northern-living catalog. He’d arrived with more jackets, scarves, snow boots, and fleece pullovers than most New Englanders probably went through in a decade. He was almost looking forward to the first major blizzard of the year so he could try out some of the stuff.

  “Glad to hear it. I don’t suppose there’s anyone around there interested in keeping you warm the old-fashioned way?”

  “Mom!” Darian yelped, scandalized. “I’ve only been at Birchwood for a month. Don’t you think I ought to stay single for a while, or at least until I get my bearings?”

  “I don’t see why,” Ange said. “Being new to the area, you should have someone to show you around and help you settle in. We hate to think of you sitting around on your own all the time.”

  “That’s not going to happen. I’m plenty busy at school, and I’ve made some friends among the faculty.”

  Ange sighed. “Friends are nice to have, but we were hoping you could find something a little more exciting. After all those years you spent living at home and barely dating at all, I would have thought you’d be eager to get out there and check things out. Surely there are some sexy bearded mountain men up north who could take you on a hike or something.”

  “I think I need to work on that lasagna now.” Darian suspected she could hear him blushing over the phone.

  “All right, all right, I’ll shut up about it. But I’m serious about staying warm. If you’re worried about making a good impression at the school, you don’t want to get pneumonia during your first year. The fast track to success at any job is taking as few sick days as possible. Employers notice that kind of thing, even in academia.”

  “Don’t worry. I haven’t been sick yet. And I haven’t missed a single day.”

  “Things are going well, then?”

  “Uh…yeah. No problems so far.”

  He knew as soon as he said it that she would pick up on the little catch in his voice. “Spill,” she demanded. And just like when he had been ten years old and hiding something from her and Riki, the words uncorked his whole sorry bottle of worries. He told her all about the encounter with Timothy, right down to the mortifying implication that he was open to a hookup with Darian. He also described his conversation with Everett, though he skipped the drama surrounding Aaron Macklin’s wedding budget.

  “It does sound like this young man is the manipulative type,” Ange said. “I’ve seen the type in my own classes. They seem to have an instinct for getting under people’s skin.”

  “I won’t let that happen,” Darian promised, though he suspected he already had. “I’m actually more worried that he might spread some kind of rumor about me—saying I jogged down to the pond to meet him, or whatever. He’s not underage, at least—technically he graduated last year, but he’s still taking classes so he can boost up his grades and apply to the kind of college his parents expect.”

  “Ah, one of those types. Yes, I’ve had them in my own classes plenty of times. Bad relationship with their parents, rebellious underachieving, the whole nine yards. That does sound like someone you should stay away from. Their aggression toward their fathers tends to come out sideways. You don’t want to be part of the collateral damage.”

  “Thankfully, he isn’t in any of my classes. It would be easy enough to avoid him if I just go about my regular routine. Now that he knows where to find me, I’m concerned he might show up there again.”

  “Possible,” Ange agreed.

  “There’s another angle to consider, too. What was he doing there in the first place? I don’t flatter myself he was waiting for me to jog by. I wondered if he might be meeting someone in the shelter—someone he didn’t want to be seen with on campus.”

  The oddly animated conversation between Everett and Timothy flashed through his mind. He shook his head, dismissing that. It had been a long day and he’d probably misinterpreted the scene.

  “Maybe you could invite someone to run with you.”

  “I guess I could, but it’s nice to have some time to think, and I don’t want to talk to anyone while I’m running. Besides, adjusting my speed to keep pace with someone else would defeat the whole purpose.”

  “It’s me time,” Ange agreed. “I get that. Still, couldn’t you find an alternate route for the future? Someplace where you wouldn’t run into any creepy kids, or where they wouldn’t think to look for you?”

  Darian considered the suggestion. The circular path around the pond was convenient for a variety of reasons, plus he had come to know the terrain. Still, a change of scene might freshen things up a bit. He would just have to pick a locale where he was unlikely to run into anyone he knew—or didn’t care to know.

  “That could work. I’d have to scout around for a good place, though. And it would have to be close enough to school so I’d have time to shower and change before my first class.”

  “There you go. The perfect plan. Just get through the rest of the week, and then use the weekend to find another place.”

  Already he felt the stress melting from his shoulders. He should have known calling home would always be the right answer. The only drawback was the slight twinge of longing for the comforts of family and sunshine. “Okay. I’ll just finish up with one last trip around the campus pound tomorrow—a kind of farewell tour, you might say. By Monday morning, I’ll be kicking up the gravel somewhere else.”

  The lasagna, as promised, turned out fine, with the unboiled noodles absorbing just the right amount of moisture from the sauce and cheese.

  The other issue, unfortunately, had a less positive outcome. At six a.m. the next morning, Darian stood on the muddy bank and stared down at the body floating there, naked as the day he was born. Though the unfortunate victim was face-down in the murky water, he had no trouble recognizing Timothy Pryor.

 

 

  Jade Astor, Resurrected Hearts

 

 

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