Get Up, Eleanor, page 16
“Are you still talking with that minister in Wisconsin?” Thomas was a man with a theatrical career that enriched even a simple question over dinner. She had first seen him in a large theater in Albany, where he had played Othello. That role might have influenced the way Eleanor heard his voice from then on.
“So, has that movie deal come through, Thomas?” She jumped to the most obvious diversion from the subject. But it wasn’t a serious attempt.
“Am I sensing some reticence about discussing your long-distance relationship?” David stepped easily into faux therapist mode.
Eleanor grinned and reached for her wine. Was that one of her mother’s little grins? She warmed to the idea. “What makes you say that?” She prolonged her sip to drag out the dramatic timing of this scene.
“She is keeping her intimate, long-distance, celibate relationship with a fundamentalist minister private from her friends for the time being.” Jackie was playing along, but she brought out longer barbs than Eleanor would have expected.
Trying not to choke on the long sip of wine sliding down her throat, Eleanor shot a look at Jackie. “He’s not a fundamentalist.” She stopped there to consider the intriguing potential of a partial denial. It seemed a good place to let it lie.
At least three of the others laughed. Jackie seemed to be checking for open wounds on Eleanor’s face. Was she afraid she had jabbed too hard? Eleanor smiled reassurance toward the other side of the table. That elicited a relieved smile from her best friend.
Then she took a leap. This was a high-powered collection of counselors that she would exploit while she had them gathered in one place. “I’m considering retiring after this year and going to live in the farmhouse, so I can focus more on writing.” She only glanced at them before devoting her attention to buttering a dinner roll. Was that real butter?
“What?”
“Retiring?”
“You can’t be serious.”
Maybe they won’t be willing counselors. But she would persist with this impromptu brainstorming session. Topic—Eleanor’s life.
“You are serious, though, aren’t you?” Amanda did the full-faced eye contact that was part of her winning charm. No one wondered why David had married her, against the weight of controversy over marrying a student. They all loved Amanda. Her intense sensitivity was so pure that one might easily doubt its genuineness, if that one didn’t know Amanda as well as Eleanor did.
“I am at least half serious. I want to at least begin considering the possibility of retirement and not just fantasizing about it.”
“Are you fantasizing about that minister?” David was probably not teasing.
“He is part of the picture. We’ve been keeping in touch. We aren’t even beginning to discuss our relationship, though.”
“So, you want to stop just thinking about retiring and start talking about it.” Thomas nodded sympathetically.
“Talking about it with dear friends who know me well.”
“Although we may not know you as well as we used to.” Jackie popped the last bite of one of those rolls into her mouth. They were the sort of sweet dinner rolls that Eleanor never bought for herself, because she knew she would eat the whole package in about two days. Maybe one.
She knew what Jackie was saying. “The things I learned about my relationship with my mother might really be transformative. So, I guess you’re right that maybe I’m not the same person you knew earlier this year. I’m wondering if I really know myself now.”
“Does everyone know about your father’s confession to your mother?” Thomas glanced around the room. Of course, he knew something. Jackie had told her husband.
“My mother knew he was homosexual from early on, as far as I can tell. By the time they were old and retired they seemed entirely reconciled with it. She consciously chose to stay with him. My only question about that has been whether that makes her a heroine, a martyr or a drudge.”
“Surely not a drudge.” David was sitting up straight, fully focused on Eleanor.
“A drudge, in the sense of a woman oppressed by men and accepting of it?” Amanda was the one most likely to check on the definition of vocabulary in a discussion among these friends.
“My mother was a feminist for her day. A liberated woman of the seventies, if not a radical. So, I guess the real question is how I feel about her choice, and how it reflects on me.”
“How could it reflect on you? You had no part in those decisions.” Jackie was still eating at her usual pace. Certainly, this was all less startling to her.
David interjected. “It reflects on you, of course, because our parents teach us things subconsciously. They are key to forming our identity.” The others seldom complained about his expert opinions on the human psyche. David wasn’t a practicing therapist these days, only a professor. So, it felt like his psychological analysis was allowed. He wasn’t doing therapy on Eleanor, just offering an informed perspective out of his field of study.
Eleanor was interested in his point. “That is important, I think. At least it raises an important question. Did I stay single all this time because I was uncertain about my own identity, or even my orientation? Did I inherit something from my parents somehow?”
“Does it really matter?” Thomas tossed back the last of his wine.
“It matters if I’m deciding about pursuing a potential relationship with a man.”
“Is that what you want to do?” Amanda stopped herself in the process of rising from the table. She was probably going for more wine.
“Part of me does want that. The inconvenient thing is that I probably have to decide about retiring before I make a real try of it.”
“What about a sabbatical? That would be less permanent, in case things don’t work out in Wisconsin.” Thomas glanced at Jackie. He might have been wondering if she and Eleanor had already discussed this. Jackie probably didn’t tell him everything.
“I have thought of that. But I’m late in starting that process. Which is not the case with a retirement announcement.” She weighed the facts. “But maybe there is still an option there.”
“You still have some hesitation about the retirement?”
“I do. Some significant hesitation.”
The next afternoon, Eleanor sat in her living room with one foot propped on the corner of her glass coffee table, the sole of her leather slipper protecting her foot from the sharp edge. She held her cell phone out in front of her, on speaker. “I want to ask you something, with the proviso that it is entirely preliminary. Purely in the testing phase. But I know I have to make arrangements immediately if I’m going to go ahead with it.”
“Are you thinking of retiring?”
“I am. But I’m also weighing the option of just taking a sabbatical at first.”
“That’s two different things, two different processes.” Gerald Grossman, the academic dean, had never been Eleanor’s friend. As a colleague, he had been prickly at best. Getting him to cooperate with her sudden shift to a break from teaching was the most unattractive part of her exploration.
“I understand that, and that you oversee both. So, I’m coming to you to float the possibility.”
“Possibilities.”
“Yes. Possibilities. I would need to apply for either option right away, I know.”
“Technically, it’s too late for the sabbatical to begin in the next academic year. You can retire any time you want. You would receive a full pension.” Was he promoting the retirement option?
“I would really prefer the sabbatical, if its available, so as not to lock myself into retirement so hastily.”
“I hope you don’t mind me asking, but is this because of your mother’s death?”
“That has something to do with it. And I now have a farmhouse in Wisconsin. I need to take some time to decide what I want to do with it. I might like to live there, at least in warm-weather months.” She wasn’t going to dig deeper into her continued need for mourning her mother. Not with Gerald.
He released a heavy sigh over the landline in his office. He was working on a Saturday. No surprise to Eleanor. No matter how much they butted heads, she recognized that Gerald was hardworking.
He held a long pause. It was certainly his turn to talk. “I will discuss the sabbatical with the rest of the committee. That’s all I can offer you for now. It is late. But I will give it a try for the coming year.” Gerald had never been her advocate for anything. She hadn’t needed him to be.
“Thanks for considering it. I very much appreciate it.”
“You are welcome. I’ll have an answer in a few days, I would think.”
“Okay. Thanks again.”
Her discussion with the people at dinner the previous evening had clarified one thing for Eleanor. Her urge to get to know Virgil wasn’t the primary motivation for her prospective retirement. The value of that monumental change didn’t depend on starting a relationship with him. So, she didn’t mention her explorations to him, waiting until she knew something for sure.
“How is it different? Being back to work after your mother’s passing?”
“Actually, I’m a little annoyed at myself for how easily I can just go right back into it, into this academic flow, and sort of set aside what I learned about Mom and what I still have back there at the farm.”
Virgil made that knowing sound that often began his response. “Ahhh. So, it’s more than your mother, it’s something about the house as well.”
“As much as I tried to talk her out of living there by herself, I was always sympathetic. The place has undeniable charm. I could see myself writing there. I’ve even thought that I could turn her bedroom into an office. It has the best view, unless I converted her studio. But that would feel like a sacrilege this soon.”
“Well. I can see that you’ve put a lot of thought into this already.” He paused.
She jumped in. “I’m probably conflating all these things together. I mean, the wonder and joy that my mother brought to people there is something seductive for me. I want some of that. I want to experience it and to spread it around. I can do that, to some extent, with her paintings. But that would require considerable focus. And I can only imagine doing that with the paintings around me.” She paused this time. “And, of course, this is all still about mourning her, mourning my loss.”
“Yes. Of course it is.” His voice rose to a slightly higher note. “You wouldn’t consider just shipping the paintings back East?”
“It would be interesting to see the reaction of East Coast buyers to mother’s Midwestern rural art. The rustic appeal might be winning. I know she has some patrons around Chicago. But that’s different, I think.”
“Sure. Midwest versus East Coast, not just urban versus rural.”
Virgil’s agile intelligence warmed her in a way that she liked to savor, even during a phone call. It was so easy to understand him and to be understood by him.
“Well, I should get some sleep. Thanks for talking.”
“I always enjoy talking with you, Eleanor. Thanks for calling.”
“Good night, Virgil.”
“Good night.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
In the middle of her second week back at school, Eleanor sat in the small conference room near the academic dean’s office. Gerald was there with Beatrice Smith and Lon Woodley. Eleanor felt like she had been called to the principal’s office. But really, she had requested this meeting.
“Eleanor, how are you holding up after your trip to Wisconsin?” Beatrice introduced the subject of Connie’s death without naming it, without naming her.
“I’m fine. Back to work. Keeping busy.” It was a political answer, of course. What personal struggles was she willing to reveal to this committee?
“The reason we ask is because of the lateness of your sabbatical request.” Gerald skipped right to the point. “It is technically too late for us to grant it for next year, unless there is a hardship.” He paused as if waiting for her to get the translation. “The death of your mother qualifies as a hardship, in our opinion.” She could almost imagine Gerald using the royal plural even with no other committee members involved in the decision.
A hardship? Was she a hardship case? Eleanor didn’t want to be anybody’s hardship case. She blinked back that thought for a few seconds.
“It would probably be a good idea for you to take some time. Perfectly normal and healthy, I’d say.” Beatrice was a biology professor, elected to the academic dean’s faculty committee, along with Lon and two other members not present.
Lon spoke up. “We’re all in agreement.” He flipped a thumb toward Gerald and Beatrice. “And we consulted the other members of the committee.” Lon taught computer science classes, an associate professor these days.
Eleanor had asked for this break. But now she felt ashamed for asking. Her mother’s mute grin presided over this meeting. Connie would never have allowed herself to be a hardship case. Dying as suddenly as she did had suited Connie. No one would ever have to wipe her chin or help her take a bath.
Grieving, processing her mother’s exit from life, had happened entirely in the context of Eleanor and Connie, with occasional accompaniment by her father, and sympathy from her closest friends. This committee wasn’t welcome inside the tight-lipped space created by Connie Petersen and her frozen death.
Shaking her head for just a moment, Eleanor managed to push past these hesitations, like pushing her head through the tight neck of a sweater. “Thank you. Thank you for granting my late request.” She would not thank them for thinking of her as a hardship case. No thanks for that.
“So, you and I should meet again next week to discuss your scheduled classes and the parameters of your sabbatical. In the meantime, I will start the process of locating another history instructor to help fill in. Who would you recommend for acting chair of the department while you’re gone?”
She shifted from supplicant to administrator. “Dierdre would be good at it, but I’m not sure she would accept. Peter might be more likely to accept. It might be a stretch for him. But I think he could grow into the opportunity.”
“Good. I’m glad you’ve thought that through. I will approach Dierdre first and Peter after. Good choices, I think.”
A scene from It’s A Wonderful Life came to mind here. The one where George Bailey suddenly sees himself shaking hands with Mr. Potter and considering the old miser’s job offer. Gerald was taking Eleanor’s side, praising her choices. When had he ever been this agreeable? Was he anxious to usher her toward the door? Was he hoping the sabbatical would serve as an anteroom on her way out of the university?
But that was her original motivation. Moving away from her current responsibilities was her plan. Not a bad plan, just an uncomfortable one when Gerald endorsed it. She shook free once again.
* * *
“They said ‘yes.’ So why are you grumbling?” Jackie sat behind her desk, a modern black lacquered desk, more like what you might see in an architect’s office than the old banker’s desk Eleanor used. Eleanor’s desk was more historical. Jackie’s desk was more … black. That had been the joke between them, years ago.
Nodding and sucking in a purging breath, Eleanor denied nothing. “You’re right. It was just a shock to find myself under the sympathetic gaze of the academic dean. It was hard not to interpret his smile as malignant, his willingness as hope for a future free from me.”
“I doubt he spends that much of his time scheming ways to get rid of you.”
“It took him very little time. I handed him the opportunity.”
Jackie leaned back. “You do need a break, Ellie. I think this waffling is proving that fact.”
“Am I waffling? I’m just concerned that I may have made more of a decision than I intended. I gave Gerald an opportunity too easily.”
“Gerald has aligned himself against some of your opinions, and you against many of his. But that doesn’t mean he’s out to get you.”
Stretching a tightness in her neck, which she could still trace back to her father’s old bed, Eleanor found that her worry had lost its satisfaction. No more energy to ruminate on regret remained.
“Okay. I’m done venting my spleen.”
“You’ll have to go to Beatrice and the Biology department for that anyway.”
“Huh. Hmm.” She stood and looked past Jackie, toward the window behind her. “I haven’t even started to get excited about having the time to read and travel and write. I hope I get around to that part.”
“You will. Of course, you will.” Jackie stood with her. “I always said you were a born writer. History professor is just your alter ego. What do they call it in the superhero movies?”
Eleanor snickered. “I don’t know. Ask your husband. He would know about that.”
Jackie rounded the desk. “You probably haven’t stopped to think about how much I’m gonna miss you.” She slid a hand down Eleanor’s arm to her elbow.
“Oh, but I have. I’ve been daydreaming about you coming out to visit me for a week or two during the summer.” She grabbed her friend’s hand. “Get away with me, Jackie. Thomas has that movie shoot, doesn’t he?”
“Hmm. I was planning to do some of my writing during that alone time.”
“Come out and do it on the farm. We’ll turn off our phones and just write for hours.”
“That sounds very enticing.” Her broad grin and glistening eyes confided just how attractive she found the offer.
“Good. We’ll set the dates as soon as you know Thomas’s schedule. My plans are fluid at present.”
Eleanor spent the next few weeks solidifying her plans. She persuaded her colleague Dierdre to take the stint as acting department chair. She interviewed for an additional history instructor. A young man working on his PhD at Princeton looked like a good fit for the survey courses. And a couple of her seminars could be postponed for a year. A pair of them could be taught by Dierdre, including a joint seminar with Jackie.
“You know she’ll drive me crazy with all her Britishisms. That’s why you’re sticking me with her.”
