Page 41 of Open Water
"I know. But it's okay." I looked at him. Held his gaze. "Go row. I'll find you after."
His jaw was tight. The anger was there, behind the eyes, in the grip on my arm, in the way his body had gone rigid the second the officers walked in. Not the explosive kind. The controlled kind. The kind that meant he was choosing not to break something.
He let go.
The officers walked me out. The November air hit my face. A police SUV was parked on the access road, engine running.
One of them opened the back door.
"Am I under arrest?"
"No. Dean Patterson requested your presence regarding an incident report filed last night."
An incident report. Marcus.
I got in. The seat was cold. The door closed. Through the window I could see the boathouse. The fading burgundy paint, the dock , the river beyond. And in the doorway, a figure in a Riverside crew sweatshirt watching me go.
Don't embarrass me, Alexander.
My father's voice. On schedule.
I closed my eyes.
The Kingswell Dean of Students office was in Whitaker Hall — a stone building from the 1890s with arched windows and oak doors that weighed more than I did. The kind of building designed to make you feel small. It was working.
They walked me through the lobby, past the reception desk where a woman with reading glasses looked at my bruise and my bandaged hand and my Riverside crew shirt and said nothing. Down a hallway lined with class photos going back a century.
Dean Patterson's office was on the second floor. Dark wood paneling. Bookshelves floor to ceiling. A desk the size of a rowing shell. Two leather chairs positioned across from it.
Patterson was already seated. Mid-fifties. Silver hair. Wire glasses.
A second man sat to his left. Younger but still old, he had a fancy pen and a legal pad.
"Mr. Harrington. Please sit."
I sat. The leather chair groaned under me.
"I'll be straightforward," Patterson said. "We received an incident report last night from Marcus Caldwell. He alleges that you physically assaulted him in the Bancroft Library at approximately eight PM."
"I did."
Patterson blinked. The counsel made a note.
"You're admitting to the assault?"
"I hit him. Yes."
A pause. Patterson adjusted his glasses.
"Mr. Caldwell required medical treatment. Split lip. Contusions to his face and jaw. A possible hairline fracture." He said it evenly. Like a list. "A student who was present in the library corroborates his account."
My hand throbbed. The knuckles pulsing in time with my heartbeat.
"Mr. Harrington, I want to be clear about where we are. The university has a zero-tolerance policy for physical violence. Under normal circumstances, an assault of this severity would result in immediate expulsion proceedings."
Expulsion.The word hit the back of my throat like acid.
"However." Patterson folded his hands. "Given the circumstances and the fact that Mr. Caldwell's report was, shall we say, incomplete regarding the events leading up to the altercation. I'm placing you on interim suspension pending a formal disciplinary hearing."
