Taking his lunch out of the bottom drawer of his desk, he looked at the outside of the brown paper bag and, despite his worries, couldn't help but grin. She'd drawn a smiley face with the words "I love you silly" written underneath. Inside, Tom found his regular lunch: a ham sandwich, a thermos of chicken noodle soup, and an apple. Though Kinsey subsidized lunch for the faculty, he'd still have had to pay forty dollars a month, which simply wasn't worth it.
He unscrewed the top of the thermos and took a spoon from his top drawer, looking out at the asphalt basketball court as his soup cooled a little. Generally, the boys huddled in bunches, trying to stay warm for the thirty minutes they spent outside. But today they were enjoying the brief burst of sunshine and warmth. Some played basketball on the slushy blacktop while others seemed to be playing tag. He wished he could share their lightheartedness, but his thoughts wandered back to his bankbook, and he huffed softly. What was the answer?
He took a sip of soup, thinking of the unopened letter from his grandfather in his coat pocket. Quite sure of what it contained, Tom hadn't seen any point in opening it. Anything that insulted or threatened his marriage was unacceptable and unwelcome in his life. Giving up Eleanora was unthinkable, and he wouldn't beg for his grandfather to give her a chance either. Peace at that cost would mean that Eleanora would never be treated like an English. If he crawled back to Haverford Park on his knees, she'd always be seen as the albatross that had led him to beg for his birthright. No, if he and Eleanora ever returned to Haverford Park, it would be after his grandfather apologized and issued a respectful invitation. Anything less couldn't be considered.
Tom had watched his father, Bertram, get beaten down by his grandfather's threats and iron-fisted control. Once affable and easygoing, as Neville Gordon had indicated, Bertram English was now a spiritless, tired, empty shirt. The sum of his life added up to a handful of broken relationships: two sons who barely knew each other, an alcoholic ex-wife he'd loved deeply, a current wife he didn't seem to love very much at all, a father who had never really respected him, a job he likely despised but tolerated because it was expected of him . . .
. . . and a very flush bank account.
Tom supposed that, in his father's eyes, the flush bank account made the rest of it worthwhile. Or had, at one point in time.
Before her dreams were thrust aside, Tom's mother, Rebecca, had been one of the more promising violinists in New York City, and his father had been one of the more promising cellists. But music wasn't at all a suitable profession for an English, and Bertram had been brought to heel with mounting pressure to do his duty and threats of being cut off.
Unlike Tom, Bertram had caved. He'd gone to work for English & Son, dragging his unhappy wife and small son to live at Haverford Park. Tom's father had clipped his mother's wings and gotten a life of riches in return. Meanwhile, Rebecca English had been betrayed. Listless and depressed, consigned to the life of society matron when she'd hoped to be a concert violinist, she'd never quite recovered from Bertram's betrayal. She'd turned to drink, and little by little, she wasn't a wife or a mother anymore at all; she was the mistress to whatever brand of gin was her favorite. As her violin gathered dust in the top of her closet, Tom was neglected before being shipped off to Kinsey, and Bertram was eventually pressured to divorce his drunken embarrassment of a wife.
Thus had Tom's family been shattered.
And he would not, under any circumstances, let history repeat itself.
Unless Eleanora's talents and aspirations were as respected and supported as his own, Tom was adamant that they would not return to Philadelphia, nor take a dime of English money. He wouldn't knuckle under to his grandfather for access to his trust. He wouldn't dishonor his wife by making amends with the man who'd insulted her. Eleanora would come first. And only Eleanora.
He finished the soup and screwed the thermos lid back on, then started on the sandwich.
His lofty sense of honor, however, wouldn't pay the rent. Tom needed to make more money.
A knock at his classroom door made him look up, then beckon Neville Gordon to come in.
"Mind if I join you, Tom?"
"Not at all," said Tom, gesturing to his desk, which had plenty of room for Dean Gordon to sit across from him.
Neville pulled a chair from one of the student's desks and sat down. "Please eat. I don't mean to interrupt your lunch."
Tom took a bite of his sandwich, chewing as Neville cleared his throat.
"I've had to let Milton Smiley go."
Milton Smiley was the young phys ed teacher who'd also acted as the faculty resident adviser for one of four Kinsey dormitories.
"Huh," exclaimed Tom, placing his sandwich down on the waxed paper it had been wrapped in. "Sorry to hear that."
"He had a girl in his room last Friday night. Three of the boys saw her. More than that, heard her," said Neville, shaking his head disdainfully. "Can you imagine what the parents will say when they find out? At least by firing Milton, we've headed it off."
"He was young," said Tom, picturing the twenty-something teacher in his head. He wasn't much older than Eleanora.
Neville sighed. "It's left me in a pickle, though."
"How's that?"
"Don't have anyone to be resident adviser at Cambridge Hall for now." Neville lifted his head as he said this, meeting Tom's eyes meaningfully. "Could use a solid married man to take over for a while."
Tom concealed a wince.
"How much does it pay?"
"One hundred dollars a week."
Tom gulped, nodding, feeling miserable. Four hundred dollars more a month would increase his salary by almost fifty percent.
"Hours?"
"Monday through Saturday. Six o'clock p.m. until eight o'clock a.m."
"And Sundays?" asked Tom softly.
"Seniors man the dorms one night a week for leadership credits."
"I see."
Neville took a deep breath and sighed. "I wouldn't have mentioned it except when you took the job, well, you asked about ancillary income, so-"
"Yes," said Tom. "Yes, I did."
"It's only until May," said Neville. "Maybe not even that long if we can find and hire a new phys ed teacher before. I've already sent out some feelers."
Four months. Four months of not sleeping next to his wife. Four months of wishing he was beside her as he slept across town in a dorm that smelled of gym socks and lead pencils.
His father had chosen money over love, and look where that had gotten him.
But Tom knew it wasn't fair to compare the two circumstances. It was one thing not to take his grandfather's money, but quite another not to make the money he needed to support Eleanora when it was offered to him.
"Give me until tomorrow to decide?" he asked, hating the words as they passed through his lips.
"Take until Monday," said Neville, giving him a sorry look as he pushed up from his seat and exited the classroom quietly.
Tom wrapped up the last of his sandwich, his appetite gone. When he looked out the window, the playground was empty, and the bright sunshine was gone. Storm clouds were rolling in, over the landscape, over Tom's heart.
Chapter 16
The test hidden in the back of the bathroom cabinet at work only confirmed what Eleanora already knew to be true: she was expecting, and, if her calculations were right, she'd be a mother sometime in September. With her precious news pressed close to her heart, she spent the rest of the afternoon imagining the best way to tell Tom that he was going to be become a father. Taking fifty dollars from her dwindling savings, she went to the IGA and bought two filets mignons, baking potatoes, and fresh-baked croissants. In the bakery section, she purchased two vanilla cupcakes, one with "It's a girl!" written in pink, and another with "It's a boy!" written in blue. After dinner, she'd tell him that she had a special dessert and place the cupcakes in front of Tom.
Setting the table with special care, she found two votive candles and set them artfully in the center, then left to pick up Tom. She fishtailed twice on black ice on the way to Kinsey, which frightened her and reminded her to ask him if they could please get some new snow tires this weekend.
She pulled into the Kinsey faculty parking lot, looking at the double doors every two minutes until she saw Tom's blond head exit the building. Her heart leaped with a mixture of excitement and anticipation, and she said a quick prayer that she'd be able to get through dinner without spilling the beans. He deserved to find out about his child in a special and memorable way, not sitting in a parking lot. Taking a deep breath, she smiled as he opened his door and sat down beside her.