Part 30 (1/2)

Erva held her hand over her heart, wanting to hang up on her mother, but this new approach kept her off her balance. She didn't know what to expect. So she stayed on the line.

”I-I don't know whether I am a Narcissist, because I hate that word, but I know I did the things that it listed from the book. I did bad things to you after your father died. h.e.l.l, I did them when he was alive too, but it got a lot worse after he died. I lied to you all the time. I screamed at you. I was so jealous of you. I told you your father had cheated on me when I knew he never had. I hated how you went to him when you were hurt, but also I didn't blame you.”

G.o.d, this was more painful than Erva thought she could bear.

Judith continued though. ”I was too busy getting my hair styled or out shopping. I hated how your father was more your mother than I was. And I took my hatred out on you and your father. I was cold to him while he was alive. I'll never get that time back, because he's dead. And I hated myself for being so mean to him while he was alive. But then I turned all that hatred toward you. Again.”

Tear after tear kept falling from Erva's eyes. She couldn't stop it.

”I forced you to play the piano and sing,” Judith said. ”I know I forced you by manipulating you, telling you you'd never get married if you didn't. I knew I was being cruel, but I didn't stop. It just kept getting worse over the years. I kept saying crazier and crazier things, telling you men would never love you, but always I wondered if I would ever find love again. Worse than that, I didn't understand how your father could have loved me. I still don't understand that. I was awful. Look, I know I'm pretty. I still am. You get that from me, except for your blonde hair. And I hated that you got your father's coloring and my good looks. I know I can pa.s.s for forty, when I'm closer to...closer to another age.”

”Getting off track, Judith,” the calm voice said in the background.

”Oh,” Erva's mother panted. ”I'm sorry, Erva. I got off track.”

Simultaneously, it was one of the most painful moments of Erva's life and one of the most satisfying. Reliving the past through her mother's point of view was always difficult, Erva knew, but going through it with her mother's new found honesty was...G.o.d, there were no words. As much as it broke Erva's heart, it also mended it.

”Erva, sweetie, you still there?”

”Yeah,” was all Erva could muster.

”I got off track in so many ways, Erva. I kept trying to find something about myself that was good, and when you'd show up with your perfect grades, perfect hair, even your perfect little teeth it just...a mother shouldn't have ever done the things I did. Said the things I said. I should have taught you how to love yourself. Instead, I think all I taught you was to hate yourself.” Then Judith's voice drifted further from the phone. ”Did I tell you, Dr. Pete, that my daughter has been in Army intelligence and she has a PhD? Can you believe a child who came from me can do all of that? She's brilliant and beautiful, and she has no clue about either of those traits.”

Erva's heart gushed and then quickly st.i.tched itself back together again at the words her mother had just said.

”Then perhaps it's time to tell her, Judith,” the voice recommended.

Erva's mother sighed. ”Erva, sweetie, you still there?”

”Yeah, Mom, I'm here.”

A few seconds tripped by before Judith said, ”I'm d.a.m.ned proud of you.”

Then Erva cried. All over again.

Of course, that was when a loud knock erupted through Erva's apartment. Surprising her for the millionth time during the phone conversation, Judith let her get off the phone without a guilt trip. Except she did say quickly that she could have visitors in two weeks, and if Erva wanted to come down, she could. The therapist said something about being honest and that the trip would also be another therapy session about making amends and apologizing for past deeds. With another loud knock, Erva got off the phone. She didn't wipe her face, thinking it was Ben coming back to paint another wall, when she opened the door.

”Dean Whittaker,” Erva whispered as she looked up at her intimidating dean. His gray hair was slicked over with some kind of hair product that Erva wasn't too sure companies made any more-Dippity Do or something from a few generations before her own. He was a couple inches past six feet, and although his time served in the Navy had been decades ago, one could always tell a military man from his erect posture.

”May I come in, Minerva?” It was then that he looked her over as she wiped her face. ”Or is this a bad time?” His voice was always gruff, but had softened when he noticed her wet cheeks.

She opened her door wider and ruefully laughed. ”If you don't mind my emotional outburst. Sorry. I-”

He walked through her threshold as he extracted a white handkerchief from his gray blazer's interior pocket. It was a courteous enough sign to stave away her tears, instead it reminded her of Will, of when he'd given her his kerchief for her knee, and she found her eyes welling with too much moisture yet again.

”Or should I say emotional outbursts, since I can't seem to stop crying lately. I'm sorry.”

He turned around and looked at her light blue faux leather couch and ersatz zebra print rug, the little golden flairs that mixed with the blues, whites, and black throughout the room. ”This looks exactly the way I thought it would.” He smiled at her. ”I can only a.s.sume the tears are because you have some sense of loyalty towards Dr. Peabody, or maybe you feel guilty about what happened?”

”Something happened?”

His green eyes narrowed. ”You haven't heard? I a.s.sumed you called in sick because you heard.”

”Heard what, sir?”

He inhaled and then gestured toward her new couch. ”Maybe it's best if we have a seat.”

She rolled her eyes. ”Sorry, my manners. I should have-”

”There is no need to apologize.”

She nervously motioned toward the couch too and sat opposite him. As far away as she could. Not that the dean made her uncomfortable, but everything seemed to make her feel, well, odd. She was still so raw from Will, from her mom, and now Dr. Whittaker just showed up on her doorstep? What the h.e.l.l?

Not making Erva feel much better, Dean Whittaker gave her a small smile that seemed both nervous and disarming. She didn't know what to make of it, so she sat mute.

”You know, I've been following your career from the time you interviewed, young lady. When I read in your CV that you'd been in the Army, I, of course, took notice. But the fact that your research was about the American Revolution, something I've always wanted to research more myself, I thought you'd be quite a catch for the university.”

Erva smiled, thinking of his own CV, how he'd been in the Navy during Vietnam, serving in multiple tours over there, and of his Civil War research. He was also the only other military historian on Harvard's staff.

She wasn't too sure what to say and wanted to broach the topic of Dr. Peabody, but didn't know how. So she, embarra.s.singly, started blabbering. ”Thank you. I came to the university because I knew of Dr. Peabody's area of expertise, the political and social aspects of the American Revolution. I thought she would be a perfect supervisor to help me with my dissertation.”

He nodded. ”I can understand that. But you are a military historian, while she is...not. I had thought at the time I read your CV that the campus was in need of another military historian.”

Erva's heart sank at his words, ”at the time.” Was he saying that the university didn't need her now?

He cleared his throat and looked toward her black lacquered coffee table that looked a bit rock and roll and a bit Out of Africa. ”I need to tell you-no, let me start from the beginning.” He glanced at her with a noticeable wince. ”I might sound like an eavesdropping old man, but I need to tell you everything. About four months ago I overheard you talking to Dr. Peabody about your dissertation. I heard her tell you that you needed to edit it, that it was now too big. Honestly, I had wondered what had happened to your dissertation, since I thought you were to present it a couple years ago. I know things can happen during the last years of one's dissertation. My own took three more years than I expected. But it was then that I realized I hadn't heard anything about yours. Thus, I had the temp secretary, one of the best I've ever had, give me a copy of what you'd tried to give Dr. Peabody.”

He scooted a little closer then. ”Minerva, your dissertation is perfect, as is.”

Erva held her hands over her heart.

Dean Whittaker looked down then. ”Of course, everyone could stand to have a few more rounds of edits, but your research is sound and clear and abundant. I've already made plans to usurp Dr. Peabody's role and have called upon other professors to hear your Defense. As I was setting this up, that red-headed temp secretary, showed me an article by Dr. Peabody in a Military Journal. As soon as I read it, I knew it was your work, not hers. Then I realized how greatly Dr. Peabody was abusing her position as your supervisor. Or I thought I did, until I caught you teaching her cla.s.ses.”

He was quiet for a long time, his face growing sterner and sterner with every ticking second. Finally, he turned to her, fierce anger in his eyes. ”Do I have this correct, Minerva? That you not only are teaching all of Dr. Peabody's cla.s.ses, but she had purposefully tried to keep you from defending your dissertation, as well as she's plagiarized your work?”

Erva looked down at her hands, folded uncomfortably on her lap. ”I didn't know about the plagiarism until just a couple days ago. And I thought-I hoped she was trying to help me write the best dissertation I could. But...” she couldn't finish. It would be too humiliating.

”But?”

She looked up at her dean and realized he was here to fire her. By putting up with Dr. Peabody's s.h.i.+t for so long, she looked like an idiot. A pushover idiot, someone who would let another person cheat from her work. A patsy of the worst kind. So why not tell him the humiliating truth? She didn't have anything to lose any more.

As her heart crushed into itself and ground into tiny little fragments the size of sand, she said, ”I felt she wasn't doing me any favors, wasn't really helping me.”

”Then why on earth did you put up with it?” He huffed.

She could tell him about her mother, how living with a woman who threatened her love daily had messed her up. But who was she kidding? She was an adult. Maybe she should have figured out all this emotional garbage a long time ago, but she hadn't and as a consequence it would suck away her chance at teaching at Harvard. Although she'd realized with Will she wasn't sure she wanted to be a professor, still, it was always nice to have more doors open than shut.