Second Chance Read Online Free

French jurisdiction.”
    “No, sir,” said Bishou. “He has calluses. He’s been at hard labor.”
    “Jesus God,” said the President of the University. “No one ever told me that.”
    Bishou motioned to one of the nearby benches. They both sat.
    “First,” she said in the same low voice, “I want to promise you I won’t make waves. I just wanted to know for myself. It’d be easier to tutor him if I knew exactly what I was up against.”
    The President sighed. “Bishou, I don’t know.”
    She smiled at him. “Dr. Lanthier, I grew up in academia, you forget. This is like talking to my uncle.” Uncles were younger than dads. Actually, though, Bishou had no uncles. It was from her dad’s reactions that she knew the President was not telling the whole truth.
    Lanthier smiled, and looked almost sheepish. Almost. “Truth is, I don’t know, Bishou. What I do know,” he looked for an expressive enough term, “is that, whatever happened, people over there are well-disposed toward him.”
    “Who contacted us, the American or the French Embassy?”
    “Both of them,” Lanthier said seriously. “I’ve got old school chums in both. He’s got tremendous support. I would go on, Bishou, as if you didn’t know any of this and it didn’t matter. After all, the conference will be over in two weeks, and Mr. Dessant will go back to Réunion Island. None of us will ever see him again. And excuse me for saying something harsh and politically incorrect, but I’m going to say it anyway, and if a third person claims I said it, I’ll lie like Ananias: Don’t develop a crush on him, a handsome romantic Frenchman with a dark past, and blow off this dissertation. I’ve put my ass on the line for you, our third-ever woman doctoral candidate.”
    Bishou chuckled. “Never crossed my mind, sir. That dissertation is the most important thing in my life, and now you know it, too. And my family would come after me with weapons if I screwed it up — excuse me, sir.”
    President Lanthier laughed. “Your thesis is Passion in Literature,” he reminded her.
    “Researching it, not living it,” she reminded him.
    The president patted her hand, sounding relieved. “With incoming freshmen, we know what we’re getting. With two-week conferences, we don’t. At least they’re not living on campus, they’re all at the local hotels, so it’s not our security issue. We feed their minds and bodies and send them elsewhere to sleep.”
    “And Mr. Dessant really has a pretty good grasp of English, and the Texans and North Carolinians like him,” she added. “Some good networking going on there.”
    “I am so grateful you think like an academician, Bishou Howard,” the President sighed, clasping her hand. “Thank you. Now I must run — I’m late for a dinner meeting.”
    “Oh, I’m sorry, sir.”
    “But I’m glad we had this chance to talk. This should remain confidential. Let’s keep it just as low-key as we can, shall we?”
    • • •
    Dr. Roth, sitting in Bishou’s decrepit armchair, whistled and took another sip of cheap Chardonnay. Of course Bishou told her advisor what the university president had said — that was only academic self-preservation.
    “D’you like him, though? Dessant, I mean? Does he strike you as a decent guy?”
    “Yes,” said Bishou thoughtfully, “he does. And, at bottom, Lanthier really does give good advice — keep your pecker in your pocket, even if you’re a girl.”
    “Lanthier probably wasn’t aware that your brother is a Sergeant Major in the Marines, though,” Roth observed wryly.
    “Nor is he aware of it yet. I was polite,” Bishou replied. She sniffed the aromatic bouquet of the Chardonnay — it wasn’t that bad. “I said literally what I told you I said. Besides, Bat’s out of it. He left the Marines after his hitch in Southeast Asia. Someone has to stay at home to take care of our brothers. Our parents can’t cope with raising two boys. Bat can.”
    “And you’re