“You have a kid?” He looked surprised.
She nodded.
“You’re married?”
She shook her head. “Does that matter for your article?”
He seemed to be gazing back at her. “Sorry. Too personal. Not important for the article.” His pen slipped out of his hand and he followed its route to the floor with his eyes.
Before he could resume writing, she asked, “What do you do besides teach journalism classes?”
He smiled. “I’m working on a book about Ernie Pyle.”
“Oh. So you write things other than class assignments. A biography?”
“No. I’m examining his role as a war correspondent. I view it more as an historical review—how he changed war reporting. Would you be willing to look over the draft and tell me if there are any holes?”
“I’d be happy to. If you expand the work to include his pre-war and post-war experiences, you might have a second book.” A chance to get to know you. As a colleague, a friend, maybe more than a friend? She gave herself a mental smack. No. That’s not why I’m here.
“Maybe—after I finish what I’ve already started.” He paused for a moment, a wry grin playing about the corners of his mouth. “You know, I’m supposed to be interviewing you.”
She smoothed the napkin in her lap and blinked at him, liking that his voice seemed to surround her with its warmth. “Isn’t turnabout fair play?”
He laughed. “Why not?”
They chatted for another half-hour about her teaching philosophy and his goals for publication before he closed his notebook. “After I put this piece together, if I have any follow-up questions, I’ll give you a call, if that’s all right.”
“Sure.” She sipped the last of her coffee.
He seemed to hesitate, and then asked, “If you don’t think it’s too personal a question, what is that necklace you’re wearing? I noticed it at the dean’s party.”
She touched the chain and pulled up the heart to show him. “It was my grandmother’s. I consider it my talisman.”
Her grandmother. Her fearless grandmother, so tiny, but so brave. “You have her dark hair and high cheekbones,” her father used to say. “Like a model.” That had always made her blush. She preferred to think of her grandmother braving storms at sea, the ship nearly foundering when she left the Shetland Islands with her new husband. Amanda could almost hear the dear woman’s lilting voice and see her sparkling eyes. Her courage must have commanded respect from all who shared the voyage with her.
She stroked the front of the heart as she held it to the light. “I wear it all the time. Silly, right?”
“Not at all. You must be close to her.”
She nodded.“More than anyone else in my family. My mother never got along with her, and she and I don’t often see eye-to-eye. But before Grandmama died—at ninety-one—if I was looking for someone to be in my corner, to cheer me on, she was always there for me.”
“I envy you.” Marcus cleared his throat. “My folks died when I was in my teens.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” How difficult must that have been?
“But I have an older brother, Mike—who got stuck with me after—after the accident.”
“The accident?”
“My folks were killed when their car went off the road in a spring storm.”
She nodded. “Around here?”
“In Omaha. Nebraska.”
“Not far from where I’m from. Worthington, Minnesota. What does Mike do?”
“He’s a cop. He and his wife kept me from going off the deep end after my folks died.”
“You’re lucky to have a brother like that.”
He inclined his head toward her. “So, what do you think of Buckley—now that school has started?”
“Well, now that my daughter is settled in school—”
“You don’t look old enough to have a school-age child.”
The way he looked at her suggested he actually was interested, not like the other single men she’d known who didn’t seem to like children or care about them. Cecelia with saucer-sized blue eyes and blond curls that reverted to unruly within minutes of being brushed into submission. Cecelia was like her grandmother, eager to greet each new day, looking forward to meeting new people, finding new books at the library that she wanted to read, playing soccer again. Amanda made herself a mental note to call the soccer coach—the one who taught at Campus School. Cecelia who thought she was old enough to stay home by herself without a babysitter. Another thing for her to-do list. Talk to Janet, next door, about watching her if I can’t be home.