Part 10 (1/2)
He stared at me deadpan serious.
”I've seen an angel?” I repeated.
He nodded.
I thought back. She certainly looked heavenly. Miss Ling had an aura about her that was striking, especially the way the tips of her hair brushed her shoulders as she walked. Her skin was pale and flawless, almost radiant.
But I wasn't biting.
”Do you really expect me to believe she's an angel?”
”She?”
Humiliation torpedoes come in all sizes. Some are as small as a single word.
The professor's guffaw was so loud he attracted the attention not only of those on the sidewalk, but several people in the parking lot below us. ”You thought I was talking about Miss Ling?” he said through tears.
”No, of course not!” My protest had no legs, but I felt compelled to make it. ”You were talking about the guy with the broad shoulders, right? I knew that.”
”This is rich!” the professor said, wiping his eyes. ”Miss Ling's going to get a kick out of this.”
”Only if you tell her,” I said with growing alarm. ”You don't have to tell her.”
”Tell me what?”
Miss Ling's timing couldn't have been worse.
”Tell me what?” she said again.
”Did the students give you any problems?” the professor asked her, giving me a momentary reprieve.
She handed his textbook to him. ”We covered the material in the chapter,” she reported. ”I gave them their a.s.signment for Wednesday.”
An involuntary chuckle escaped the professor as he received the book and the report. He glanced at me, his eyes sparkling with mischief. I implored him silently not to say anything. ”Thank you, Miss Ling . . .” he said. Unable to resist, he added, ”You're an angel.”
We both burst out with laughter. Miss Ling didn't know what to make of us.
”You have an academic review meeting with Dean Atkinson in five minutes,” she said. ”You've already postponed it twice. This morning he cornered me and asked if you were going to be there. I promised him you would be.”
The professor nodded. Placing the textbook in his lap, he started the wheelchair in motion. ”Oh, Grant . . . come to the library tomorrow morning at ten o'clock. I'll introduce you to Abdiel. You can judge for yourself.”
”Abdiel?” Miss Ling said, shocked. ”You told him about Abdiel?”
”I'll fill you in later,” the professor said. He disappeared around a corner.
I didn't know what to do with the invitation. I'd never been invited to meet an angel.
Miss Ling's heels clicked on the cement as she walked away.
”Miss Ling . . . a moment of your time?”
She turned around, polite but chilly. ”Don't you have a job or something? Or are you so famous now you no longer have to work?” She stood with att.i.tude, one hip thrust out.
”How long have you known the professor?” I asked her.
Miss Ling gave me one of those I don't see how that's any of your business looks.
I explained. ”It's just that he has some rather unusual concepts of reality.”
”You could learn a lot from Professor Forsythe,” she said.
”Are you one of his students?”
”Former student. Now I'm at the University of California, San Diego.”
”Really? Do you mind if I inquire as to your major?”
”Yes, I mind,” she said. She didn't appear to be joking.
I shrugged. ”I didn't mean to-”
”Yes you did. Physics, to answer your question. I'm writing my doctoral dissertation in quantum physics.”
”Impressive . . . but it surprises me. You strike me more as the comparative lit type.”
She sneered at me. ”Is that supposed to be some kind of clever quip, Mr. Austin? Or is it a lame attempt at a pickup line?”
Her persistent antagonism was wearing thin.
”I didn't mean anything by it,” I said. ”It's just that where I attended school, the quantum physics students were geeky types who played Dungeons & Dragons and attended Star Trek conventions.”
She turned and walked away.
I called after her. ”Angels, Miss Ling? A woman of your obvious intelligence, doesn't it bother you that the professor believes in angels?”
She swung around with fire in her eyes. ”I'll have you know,” she said, ”that Professor Forsythe is the most brilliant, dedicated, compa.s.sionate man I know. If you were given two lifetimes, Grant Austin, you would never be half the man he is!”
”What's with the att.i.tude? Ever since I arrived you've treated me with contempt. You've been rude and just plain mean. Are you taking it out on me because I look like some guy who dumped you? You don't even know me.”
Her eyes squinted disdainfully. ”Oh, I know you,” she said. ”I know all about you.”
”We just met!” I argued. ”What is it about me that ticked you off? The rumpled suit? Is that it? You took one look at my rumpled suit and concluded I was a slob, right? Well, I'll have you know, beneath this rumpled suit beats the heart of a nice guy.”
”I suppose you think you're charming, don't you?” she shot back.
”Wait a minute, you can't say that wasn't charming. Admit it. You found me charming right then.”