Ruth’s cheeks grew hot. Her words had been careless, but at the time she hadn’t known Chloe was really listening. “I didn’t mean—look, I’d love to reduce the number of courses taught by adjuncts, but we can’t afford luxuries. We’re broke and dipping into our reserves to stay solvent. So I can’t give the faculty what they want. I can’t even do what I want.”

  “I understand.” Chloe relaxed her posture at last. “Now that I’ve gotten to know you, I see how hard you work for the college. And I know it’s not easy to balance resource constraints with the mission, especially with the board and the faculty pulling you in different directions. It was just hard to hear you be so flippant.”

  “You’re right. I shouldn’t speak that way, not even behind closed doors. I know the adjuncts are underpaid, and I don’t take any pleasure in their circumstances. I regret that my words implied otherwise. It’s just…”

  “What?” Chloe asked gently, the hard edge gone from her gaze.

  “Ever since I got here, most of the faculty have treated me as the enemy—the bitch administrator out to destroy everything they hold dear. Not all of them, certainly. But dealing with it every day for two years gets to me. So, sometimes, to blow off steam, I’d mock their demands in front of someone like Jack or Piper. I already know the board’s position on adjunct pay, but if I could do something about it, I would. It’s the same with the budget and hiring. So, sometimes I make thoughtless comments. But that’s not who I am. And I’m going to try not to do it anymore.”

  Ruth took a deep breath and exhaled slowly to calm down. She was never vulnerable at work; she’d learned long ago that emotion was a liability, especially for women. But this was important. She couldn’t let Chloe think the worst of her.

  Chloe smiled. “Thank you. I have a close friend who had trouble getting an academic job, and when you spoke that way—well, I guess I thought of her. But I’m glad your real feelings are more sympathetic.”

  “I understand.” Ruth empathized with Chloe’s friend more than she realized. Should she explain her struggle to find another job after New Mexico? Perhaps then Chloe would understand that she meant what she said. She’d suffered, too, from the indignities of the academic job market.

  No. It’s too personal. Ruth had resolved to be professional. She settled on another point. “If we can increase enrollment and turn retention around, perhaps we can revisit adjunct pay—or even the ratio of full-time to part-time instructors.”

  “Really?” Chloe’s hopeful smile touched Ruth’s heart.

  I don’t want to let her down. “I can only promise to try. Maybe you can even put together some more data like this to help make the case.”

  “I’d love that.”

  “Good. We’ll talk about it after we get through the first goal gang summit.”

  Chloe laughed.

  Okay. We’re still on good terms. Ruth decided not to think too much about why that felt so important to her.

  Chapter 13

  Ruth shifted in her chair as a fresh wave of nausea coursed through her. Fuck.

  Jack shot her a questioning look. He knew she detested meetings with wealthy donors, but today she probably looked as if she might vomit on the conference table.

  Attempting to appear normal, Ruth returned a weak smile. Then she turned her gaze to Zachary and silently cursed him for her current predicament.

  Okay, she could blame Zachary for texting late at night, but it wasn’t technically his fault that he’d texted right after Ruth’s phone alarm reminded her to take her nightly antidepressant.

  Still, perhaps if Zachary were capable of reading a student complaint without coming unglued and sending apoplectic texts at all hours, Ruth would have remembered the damn pill—and if his tantrum hadn’t still been on her mind the next morning, perhaps she would have realized it then, instead of hours into her work day when she finally thought to question why she felt unwell.

  Now the onslaught of withdrawal symptoms was underway, and Ruth had back-to-back meetings all afternoon—meetings she couldn’t ditch unless she had an open head wound, and perhaps not even then.

  She needed her pill. But how could she get it?

  There was one person at Pulaski who had been to her home—Piper—but in an unlucky coincidence, Piper was spending the day in Chicago with her daughter.

  What about Chloe? Ruth clenched her fingers under the table. A few weeks ago, Ruth never would have considered asking Chloe for this kind of help, for good reason. It would require tremendous trust to send Chloe to her home unsupervised.

  Ruth didn’t think Chloe was the type to snoop. She wouldn’t rifle through drawers, searching for secrets. But in the space of a quick walk through the house, Chloe’s analytical brain would catalog the contents of Ruth’s living room and draw all sorts of conclusions about Ruth as a person.

  Most importantly—even if she could make peace with all of that—could Ruth trust Chloe with the information that she took psychiatric medication?

  If word got out, Ruth would have plenty of defenders. Academics tended to be liberal; most supported mental health care. Still, it was inevitable that some people would see her differently—and those people might include members of the board.

  Yet Chloe had proved her loyalty when she’d helped Ruth with the board meeting. They’d worked well together in recent weeks. And Ruth had seen Chloe’s bottle of antidepressants for herself. Surely, Chloe understood the importance of discretion.

  A soft hiss escaped her lips as she struggled to remain still. There was no choice. She had to take her pill as soon as possible—and with Piper out of town, Chloe was the only person she would even consider asking.

  Keeping her attentive smile fixed on her face, she transferred her phone from the table to her lap and tapped out a text message.

  * * *

  Caitlyn was absorbed in a spreadsheet when her phone chirped.

  It was a message from Chloe:

  Text from Ruth.

  She snatched her phone. This was the first time Ruth had sent “Chloe” a text message since the switch. Caitlyn’s gut told her something was wrong.

  A few seconds later, Chloe sent a screenshot of a message:

  Please come to rm 204 in Li Hall ASAP. I’ll step out of the room when you arrive.

  Caitlyn texted back:

  Tell her I’m on my way.

  Chloe responded with a thumbs-up emoji, followed by another message:

  How are you?

  Good. We’ll catch up later, okay?

  Caitlyn wasn’t about to dawdle when Ruth needed her ASAP. She shoved her phone into her pocket and set off for Li Hall, a cube-shaped building on the east side of campus. The thought that Ruth needed her for something—perhaps something important—filled her with a heady sense of purpose. She walked quickly despite the sweltering heat and broke a sweat within a minute.

  When she arrived, she accosted the first security officer she found. “Excuse me. I’m looking for room 204.”

  The officer flicked a skeptical gaze to her ID badge, and Caitlyn had a sudden fear that she’d encountered the only person on campus who could tell her and Chloe apart. Then he pointed to the ceiling. “Second floor, right above our heads. It’s the fancy conference room.”

  “Thanks!” Caitlyn hurried up the stairs. When she emerged on the second floor, panting for breath, room 204 was right in front of her. The door was closed, but a small window allowed her to peek inside.

  Ruth sat at a green marble conference table. Jack was there too, along with the board chair and a few men in suits that she didn’t recognize. One of the men was speaking while the others nodded along.

  As she listened, Ruth planted her elbows on the table and rested her chin in her hands. Her lips were frozen in a tight half-smile.

  Is she okay? Caitlyn couldn’t recall seeing Ruth slouch in a meeting.

  Ruth’s gaze traveled to the door and caught Caitlyn’s eyes. Immediately, she straightened and said something to the group, then pushed her chair back and strode to the door. She pushed it shut behind her and walked down the hall a few paces.

  Caitlyn followed, sensing Ruth wanted to speak privately. Her chest swelled at the implication. Ruth trusts me.

  The hallway was vacant except for a lone custodian about twenty yards away.

  “Thank you for coming.” Ruth let out a shaky breath. “Phew. Sorry.” The air was chilly—a stark contrast to Ruth’s office—but her creamy cheeks were blotched with pink.

  “Are you all right?” Caitlyn whispered.

  “I’m afraid not.” Ruth shifted between her feet. “I need to ask you to do something, and I hope it won’t make you uncomfortable—”

  “Anything.” Caitlyn looked into Ruth’s eyes, and the vulnerability she saw there pierced her heart. Whatever Ruth needed, she would deliver.

  “I take a pill every night. Last night, I forgot. Unfortunately, this is a pill I can’t skip. So I need… What I’m asking…” She took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “Would you drive to my house and bring me the bottle?”

  Empathy overwhelmed Caitlyn as she processed the reason for Ruth’s discomfort. Something was physically wrong. Ruth could be in pain or worse. Whatever it was, Caitlyn wouldn’t rest until she made it better. “Of course. I can leave right away.”

  “My keys are in my purse in the top drawer of my desk. The gold one opens the front door—that’s the only one you need. I’ll text you the address.”

  No texts. Caitlyn didn’t want to wait for Chloe to check her phone when Ruth needed help right away. “I’ve got my phone right here. Could you type it in?” She opened her Notes app, then pulled up a blank page.

  “Okay.” Ruth accepted the phone and began to type. Her fingernails were short with translucent, pearly gloss—a good match for the understated elegance of her sleek pants and turquoise blouse.

  Caitlyn averted her eyes, admonishing herself. Ruth needed help and comfort, not inappropriate staring.

  Ruth passed the phone back. “The bottle is in my upstairs bathroom next to the sink. There are two bottles, but I typed the name of the one I need.”

  Caitlyn read the screen. Desvenlafaxine. She recognized the name instantly. It was one of the antidepressants she’d tried when she first sought treatment for anxiety, before her psychiatrist had switched her to sertraline.

  Poor Ruth. Caitlyn had experienced antidepressant withdrawal a handful of times, and she’d found it impossible to function. Ruth’s situation was worse—she had to be the president, a role that required poise at all times.

  Trying not to let on that she recognized the medication, Caitlyn pocketed her phone. “Will you still be here when I get back?”

  “No. My next meeting is in my office. Just interrupt me when you’re back, and I’ll step out.”

  “Got it. I’ll leave right now.”

  “Thank you.” Ruth’s gaze was pained.

  “Hang in there,” Caitlyn said softly.

  Ruth gave her a grim nod before going back inside the room.

  As soon as the door closed, Caitlyn took off down the hallway in a sprint.

  * * *

  Caitlyn burst into Ruth’s office and closed the door behind her. She could only imagine what people would think if they caught her digging through Ruth’s purse.

  As usual, Ruth’s desk was pristine. The gleaming mahogany surface held only Ruth’s computer, a fountain pen, and a cube of sticky notes. When Caitlyn opened the hefty top drawer, however, she found it stuffed with a chaotic assortment of snacks, office supplies, and personal items.

  Whoa. Caitlyn had never seen Ruth eat candy, but the drawer contained a sizable stash of Caramello bars. Is this her secret weakness? In addition to the bars, there were a few mini bags of chips, a box of tampons, and lavender-scented deodorant.

  Behind those items, Ruth’s purse had been stashed in a second compartment. It was a plum-colored satchel purse with chunky handles and a magnetic clasp.

  Caitlyn pulled it open and dug past a tube of lipstick, a compact mirror, a small hairbrush, and another Caramello bar until she found a ring of keys. The gold house key gleamed under the fluorescent lights as she power-walked to the exit.

  Traffic was light, and Caitlyn sped through town with little regard for the speed limit. The first red light gave her time to contemplate what she’d learned. Ruth took antidepressants. Most likely, she suffered from depression, anxiety, or both.

  Caitlyn knew mental health issues were often invisible, but she couldn’t help feeling surprised. Ruth had always presented herself as icy cool and confident, in contrast to Caitlyn, who was a jumble of nerves and insecurities. It was hard to imagine Ruth struggling. Then she thought back to Ruth’s confession about how hostile faculty members made her feel and how she hid behind sarcasm and flip remarks. She’s afraid to show weakness. It made Caitlyn even more determined to come through.

  Google Maps led Caitlyn to a suburban neighborhood with homes that looked about mid-twentieth century. Each lot was a perfect square. Three turns later, she arrived at a modest house with gunmetal-gray siding. She parked in the driveway and hustled to the door with Ruth’s keys bouncing against her thigh.

  Caitlyn’s heartbeat accelerated as she slid the key into the lock. Holding her breath, she pushed open the door and stepped into Ruth’s house.

  The living room was cozy, with a plush, gray sofa, a television, and bookshelves lining the walls. On the sofa, a fuzzy blanket had been left unfolded with a hardback book on top of it: Caste by Isabel Wilkerson.

  Ruth reads sociology! She imagined lounging on the couch with Ruth, sharing the blanket, each with a lofty book and a mug of tea.

  Focus. Forbidden daydreams could wait. Ruth needed her.

  Caitlyn took the stairs two at a time and searched around for the master bedroom. She wandered into the first open door and found herself standing in front of Ruth’s bed.

  Warmth flowed through her at the sight of the intricate patchwork quilt. The bed was made, technically, but it looked as if Ruth had spent about two seconds yanking the quilt toward the pillows before abandoning the task.

  Two framed photos adorned the dresser. One showed an older couple in front of a Christmas tree. Ruth’s parents? In the second, Ruth posed in her graduation gown. Caitlyn’s feet moved her closer before she could stop herself.

  In the photo, Ruth’s eyes were bright, and her grin was infectious. Her hair fell to her shoulders, and she looked younger, although Caitlyn wouldn’t have guessed she had aged more than ten years since then.

  Caitlyn wanted to know everything about the woman in the picture. What had grad school been like for her? Was she one of those students who seemed to excel at everything while hiding the personal costs? Perhaps, like Caitlyn, she’d started taking medication during her program.

  Medication. That’s why I’m here.

  Caitlyn moved past the bed and stepped into Ruth’s spacious bathroom. She scanned the sparse collection of products cluttering the counter and spotted two bottles of pills between the toothbrush holder and lavender hand soap. The one facing front said desvenlafaxine.

  Caitlyn grabbed it and exited the bathroom, then hurried down the stairs to the front door. Hold on, Ruth. I’m coming.

  * * *

  Ruth was miserable. The pain started in her brain and radiated through her body, while her stomach sloshed and her skin crawled. Her pill was seventeen hours late, and the withdrawal had only gotten worse.

  She wanted to curl up in bed, where she’d be free to fidget and squirm and groan. Instead, she had to sit through an interminable meeting about Pulaski’s partnership with a Chicago-based software firm that sponsored scholarships.

  The CEO, a shrewd older woman named Marilyn, kept shooting questioning glances at her. She seemed to sense that Ruth wasn’t fully present, although she hadn’t said anything.

  Marilyn’s deputy, a thirty-something tech bro, remained oblivious—as did Zachary, who wasn’t even supposed to be in the meeting. He had hung around after the donor engagement to bless an unrelated discussion with his extemporaneous thoughts.

  Normally, Ruth cringed at Zachary’s tendency to dominate conversations regardless of his familiarity with the subject, but today she was grateful for his incessant chatter. As he bloviated on about the future of software, as imagined by a man who hadn’t worked a single day in the industry, Ruth watched the clock on the wall tick at an agonizing pace.

  Her office door opened a few inches, and Chloe stuck her head through the crack.

  Their eyes met, and Chloe gave her a thumbs-up sign.

  Thank God. “Please excuse me for a moment.” Ignoring Zachary’s puzzled expression, Ruth lurched from her seat and reached the door with a few quick strides. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it.

  “I got it.” Chloe held out the medication.

  “Thank you so much for this.” Ruth exhaled as she accepted the pills and popped off the top.

  “Would you like some water?” Chloe held out a bottle. “I keep a case in my car, so it’s a little warm—”

  Ruth grabbed the bottle, twisted the top off, and let the cap fall to the floor. She washed the pill down, then took a few more gulps of the tepid water. Just knowing the pill was in her system caused her shoulders to loosen. “I’ll pay you back for the water. And the gas.”

  “Don’t worry about that. I won’t accept money.” Chloe’s earnest gaze said she meant it.

  “Okay. Thanks.” Ruth wondered if Chloe knew what she was experiencing. Had she recognized the medication? If not, had she Googled it?

  “Seriously, it was nothing. Oh, and I have your keys.” Chloe reached into her pocket and held them out.