Becca's Baby

“Right.”

“For how long?”

“I don’t know, Bec,” he said, his eyes sadder than she’d ever seen them. “I wish to God I did.”

CHRISTINE EVANS called Will on Friday. They’d already had several conversations by phone.

“I’m sorry to bother you, Dr. Parsons,” she said as soon as Freda put her through.

“It’s no bother,” Will said, feeling an unusual fondness for the woman. “We’re expecting you here in another couple of weeks.”

He paused, but when Christine remained silent, continued. “Have you got all your arrangements made, or is there something we can help you with?” he asked. Christine’s arrival on campus was something he figured he could handle. Something he could control in a life that had become very difficult.

“That’s what I’m calling about,” she said hesitantly. Almost as though she was planning to back out.

He hoped not. Christine Evans was perfect for Montford. She was a breath of fresh air, a trip to younger days, easier times. She was his twenty-year-old idealized memory of Becca personified.

“I’m afraid I’ve been held up longer than I’d anticipated,” Christine went on.

“So you still intend to come?” Will asked, getting right to the point.

“Oh, yes, Dr. Parsons,” she said. There was no mistaking her enthusiasm—a reaction he hadn’t heard from her previously. She’d been so contained it was almost intimidating. “This position is the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time. It’s just that I have some family obligations this summer, and I’m not sure how long they’re going to take.”

“Your sister?”

“How’d you know?” Her voice was sharp.

“In your interviews you stated that your only family was a sister.”

“Oh,” she said. “Yes, I forgot that.”

“Is she having some sort of problem?” Will asked, although he

knew he probably shouldn’t. But if someone in Shelter Valley could help her, he’d be remiss not to find that out.

“Nothing that won’t take care of itself,” she assured him vaguely. “Is there anything you need me to do from here?” she asked. “Any reading, other than the school manual you’ve already given me, any paperwork, lesson plans, whatever? You’ll let me know?”

Will chuckled, appreciating her work ethic, happy that she was still so committed to joining them. “You wouldn’t happen to have a spare psychology professor hanging around, would you?”

He’d been reading résumés for Todd’s possible replacement all morning. So far, all he’d gained was a headache.

And he had a Rotary luncheon to attend in Phoenix, fund-raising for Montford.

“If you’re serious, I might have,” she said, surprising him.

“Well, if you might have, I’m serious.” And suddenly he was. Very serious. Todd Moore was going to be difficult to replace. No matter what other faults he had, Todd was a gifted teacher.

“Let me talk to a friend of mine, see if she’s interested,” Christine said.

“Is she at Boston College with you?”

“Yes.”

Will had a flash of Becca, sitting at their kitchen table the other night, her maternity clothes spread around her, telling him how Samuel Montford’s friends had stood beside him, coming en masse from the East Coast to support his effort. Which reminded him—he’d have to commission an official history of Montford’s life for the university.

“I’d like to have your friend’s name, if I may,” he said. “I’ll pass it along to Freda so she’ll be sure to put her through if she calls.”

“It’s Phyllis. Dr. Phyllis Langford.”