Part 30 (2/2)
Erva shrugged. ”I didn't know what to do.”
”You tell me, missy, that's what you do,” he yelled. ”That's my job. I'm there to protect you.”
Erva caved in, her body curving in on itself. The tears flowed immediately.
”Oh, oh, I'm sorry, Minerva. I shouldn't have called you missy. I-I have a daughter your age, and I know that drives her nuts. I-”
But Erva's laugh interrupted what he was going to say. She wiped at her forever tears. ”I don't mind the missy part. Made me think of my dad.” She sniffed. ”I-I forgot that I could ask for help. But also, aren't I supposed to stand up for myself? Do it all on my own?”
He sighed, his shoulders slumping. ”I have that same problem, think the same thing.” He scooted a tad closer and patted her twice on her good shoulder. ”You know, there's an odd problem in our society where we are told we aren't actually successful unless we go the path alone. But that's not at all the truth. When we send our soldiers out to war, we don't ask only one. We ask battalions of men, maybe a platoon, or a small brick to fight. But we never send them in alone. We know the power in numbers, and it's odd that our society, h.e.l.l, Hollywood glorifies the lone soldier. We know that the man who fights alone is usually a psychopath or suicidal. We are stronger when we are together. And I firmly stand with you, Minerva. Not just because I want another military historian to work with, and, Lord, I do, but I believe in you.
”I'm not saying it won't be tough on you, because soon you'll be called to testify against Dr. Peabody in an academic hearing, but I'll try to help every step of the way. I'm here to help. Further, it's when we learn to ask for help, when we learn how to trust others that we become successful. Well, at least at being humans.”
She smiled. ”That's very wise.”
He grinned back at her. ”And so much easier said than done.”
She nodded.
He patted her again. ”I fired Dr. Peabody. I've also let that Military Journal know who the real author of that article was. And you will be defending your dissertation on Monday.”
Her mouth hung ajar.
”I know that's not much time, but I have a feeling you've been presenting your dissertation for years.”
”I-oh,” was all she could manage.
He grinned again. ”No pressure, but I do need you to make a good presentation, because you'll be filling Dr. Peabody's shoes from now on. Only, I need you to get yourself a TA. Maybe two, because they will be filling your shoes, and,” his smile waned into something serious yet filled with pride, ”those are mighty big shoes they're filling.”
”Really?”
He nodded with a smile. ”But the only way I'm going to allow you to work for me is if you come to me from now on. If you need help, I want you to come to me. Oh, and that juvenile man who accidentally threw his water on you is suspended for a week. I couldn't get him into much more trouble than that, I'm sorry to say. But if he does anything else, you will come to me, right?”
The waterworks flew out of her eyes after that. Again. She lurched forward and gave Dr. Whittaker a bear hug. ”Thank you.”
He pulled away, looking rather shocked. ”Of course. I, er, I should leave.”
He unfolded himself from the couch, as Erva noted not to make her dean uncomfortable with future displays of affection. While he walked toward the door, he stopped at her computer and pointed at it. ”Working on anything?”
She quietly laughed, while wiping at her eyes again. ”Yeah, just started.”
He turned back to her, his gray brows lifting. ”Mind if I ask what?”
She shrugged. ”I don't know how to explain it. It's kind of an Eat, Pray, Love meets history.”
It was his turn to have his jaw swing wide.
”Sounds...too touchy-feely?”
He shook his head. ”I love it! G.o.d, Harvard Press has been reeling in the past years from the recent publis.h.i.+ng crisis and wanted to start a new line...This is perfect for...I'm getting ahead of myself. I know I wouldn't be a good enough advisor for a project like this, but let's talk to Dr. Meriwether. She might make an excellent editor for you, help you flesh out this idea of yours. I can always try to help with the history, but, Minerva, you've got this.”
She couldn't help but smile through her tears once more. ”Thank you.” She wanted to tell him how grateful she was to have someone she could rely on, to turn to if things got bad. But she wasn't sure she could convey how appreciative she was. Besides, she wasn't too sure if he'd listen, since a hug made him want to leave. But she knew soon she would probably give him another giant hug and maybe a card to tell him how much it meant to have someone who would protect her when she needed it the most. Then again, she might dedicate the book to him. To him and Will.
Now she was getting ahead of herself.
She let Dean Whittaker out, after he said something about liking her hair and had asked if she truly had been at the hospital. When showing him her st.i.tches, he seemed impressed and even happier to leave. As soon as he was gone, she rushed back to her computer, hopeful to remember Will again. But instead of writing something professional about him, her hands insisted on writing about his wide shoulders, the way his chest felt under her hands, his heart beating against her palm. She knew she couldn't keep any of that in the book, but she couldn't help but write it. Then she wrote how much she missed him. That thanks to him she knew she had the strength to go on, but her heart never would.
She fell asleep on her couch, beside her laptop, staring at what she'd written, and knowing how much she had fallen in love and how bittersweet that was.
Chapter 31.
Will woke with a start, sitting up in a bed with black satin sheets. He hadn't screamed or even gasped. Nay, he hadn't the air for either activity. Instead, he stared at the black wooden bureau across from the bed with a flat screen telly on it. Somehow he remembered everything the muse sisters had taught him, including the invention of the television. But, Lord, it was such a blur.
His chest felt unusually cool. Glancing down, he realized he was naked.
”s.h.i.+te, they didn't.” He checked under the soft sheets, noticing he hadn't a st.i.tch of clothing on. The muses had taken his uniform. ”No, no, no,” he growled, wondering what to do, where he was.
The bed he sat upon was stark white, the opposite of the bedding and bureau and a gothic chandelier that hung not too far off. But he caught sight of a matching white fluffy area rug that looked as inviting as the indulgent bed. An odd scent permeated the room. Was that paint? The walls were a soft cream, relaxing the black and white, romanticizing it. Suns.h.i.+ne poured through wide-open windows, but the air was cool, like autumn had already taken a crisp bite out of the season. Gripping the sheets to his crotch, he lifted to his knees and peered outside a window. He was in a very tall building. Taller than anything he'd ever been in. Looking down, he agreed with himself that it was indeed fall, and a beautiful one with deciduous trees blooming golden orange and vibrant reds. He scooted closer to the window when he knocked something over.
All his earthly possessions sprawled from a wooden box with an intricate, ancient Greek design around it. He growled again, but this time at the mess he'd made on the wooden floor. Still holding the sheet close, he scooped over to retrieve his diploma from Oxford and another from Cambridge. That was when he heard a squeak in the direction of the chamber's door.
Glancing up, he froze. A butcher knife clattered to the floor. She'd been holding it, but then let it drop, gripping her fingers over her lips as she kept blinking. That was his girl, his Minerva.
He straightened and smiled. ”Going to kill me?”
She squeaked again.
G.o.d, she was beautiful, but completely changed. She wore dark blue jeans, a ripped apart t-s.h.i.+rt, and her tresses! ”Your hair's blue, darling.”
Her hands instantly fluttered to her glorious locks, similar to Princess Elizabeth lilac in color. ”And purple.” Her voice shook. ”Your hair.”
He felt with one hand through his newly shorn mop. ”The muses thought I'd fit in better with it short. Do you like it?”
At that she broke down. A lone tear strayed from her wide eyes. ”It's you.”
He found his own throat had tightened, but said, ”That's first thing you said to me when we met. Remember?”
Before he knew what she was doing, she tackled him to the bed, kissing his cheek and forehead. ”Why don't you look as surprised to see me as I am of you?”
She kept kissing him as he answered. ”Well, I knew I was coming to see you. But honestly this time traveling does whittle your wits, doesn't it? What day is this, darling?”
”Sat.u.r.day. It's been a depressing two days without you.”
He gave her a sympathetic frown. ”I was stuck with the muses for what felt like an eternity. Lord, I don't how I know what I know. Ach, listen to my asinine discourse now. What did they do to me?”
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