Page 78 of The New Place

“Just to follow up? You know, a thanks for meeting with us. You did already email her that, right?”

Abbot locks his phone and slips it back into his pocket.

“Abbot. You didn’t? Not even a quick thanks to her yesterday after we left?”

“We said as much in person.”

“Yeah, but sending an email afterward—you have to.”

“Then you can.”

“It’s different coming from you,” Ned says, his voice rising. “You set up the meeting. And she knows you already, and wants you to work there, so can you please just⁠—”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s extremely not fine. What else am I going to do if Newbury doesn’t work out?”

“I don’t think a difference of one email⁠—”

“It’s only one quick email. Please?” Ned ducks to the side, catching Abbot’s eye. “You can’t avoid her if we work there.”

No, Abbot can’t, which is a problem he’ll deal with some other time. Later, as fall approaches. It will be fine. She’s a dean of the college, not exactly his new department chair.

Though she’ll stop by his office. Pop in to ask how his day is and want to chat. Offer to have him over for dinner, or to take him for a coffee, or a walk around campus to catch up.

Chris did much the same when Abbot started at Callahan. Still does, though less frequently than in the beginning, bringing him over to his house and serving a table full of food like he was determined to see Abbot stuff himself.

But Chris talks. And talks. About anything and everything, a constant chatter Abbot allows because it takes up so much space in the room that he doesn’t have to contribute.

And Chris doesn’t ask questions. He simply lets Abbot be.

I think you’ll really love Callahan, Chris said all those years ago, coaxing Abbot with the open position at a university so far from Geneva. Unspoken was its location on the East Coast, its proximity to Boston’s airport, the understanding that Abbot could fly back whenever he needed to. An accommodation Chris silently extended, one of the few things he’s ever been quiet about.

Abbot doesn’t want to work for Beverly. She’s not the same as Chris, not at all.

“Who is she?” Ned asks.

“You met her.”

“Who is she to you?” Ned steps closer. “Do I need to dislike her too? Because that might be good for me to know up front, and frankly, she seems like a lovely woman.”

How to possibly explain? She is lovely. Abbot thought so when he was little, looking forward to her visits for how the house filled with her and his mother’s laughter. The treats they baked together, how he was allowed to stay up late, the gifts she’d bring him. How even his father smiled, warmed by the antics of his wife and her best friend.

No, he can’t. Not in a way that makes sense, because he can still barely sort it himself. His delight in Beverly, and how quickly he came to dread her visits, how her presence meant his mother couldn’t be at home with him, because she was in the hospital.

His assiduous avoidance of that fact. That place. Even now, he can barely allow his mind to touch those memories. The last thing he wants is to speak about them to Ned.

“I don’t dislike her,” Abbot finally manages.

“What you said is that you don’t know her well, and that you hadn’t seen her in a while.”

“I haven’t. And I don’t.” Not really. He’s not lying.

He’s not telling any truth either.

Ned knows too, because he sighs. “Okay. Listen. You never want to talk, but this time, we can’t just sidestep it. This is both of us, and it’s my job, so I have to have Newbury work out.”

“It will.” Of course it will. Beverly will bring Ned on as faculty, and Abbot will—he’ll⁠—