The Black Hour Read Online Free

reminder.
    And now that I thought about it, those electric sconces on the wall hadn’t been here before, either. The whole place had been gutted, rewired, redrawn in a well-timed renovation to wipe our collective memories. Except that I had come back, and now no one could be fooled by a coat of paint and the likeness of Miss Whatsherfanny smiling into the office in question. A public relations plan was underway, and I was ruining it.
    I checked for the spot anyway. It wasn’t there. The floors had been refinished.
    “Did I miss the ribbon-cutting?” I said to the chick in the frame.
    “They skipped the grand opening,” a voice said.
    I jumped. I couldn’t help it. For just a tick of the clock the voice had belonged to the kid in the shadows. But the man standing at the top of the stairs was—
    “Woo,” I said, relieved that my memory could be counted on after all. I could remember the competition, at any rate.
    “What are you doing here?” he said.
    Jesus, no one had told my department I’d be back. Why did they think I’d gone through all that recovery and therapy? To take up someone else’s life? All I wanted was the one I’d almost lost. “Teaching, Ben. Our job, remember?”
    “I meant—” His mouth clamped shut. “I’m sorry.”
    “Sorry I got shot?”
    He looked sorry now, his narrow shoulders folding in on themselves. He wore a tweed jacket with elbow patches, his black hair slicked back in a way I couldn’t approve of. “Sorry. I mean. I don’t know what to say,” he said. “Never know what to say at weddings and funerals—”
    “No funerals here,” I said.
    We looked at one another, then away. There had been a funeral, I remembered too late. No one had ever mentioned it, but it must have happened. Here or in the kid’s hometown, wherever that was. Who would have gone? Doyle? I would ask Corrine.
    “So,” he said finally. “So, you’re doing great.”
    I was glad he hadn’t seen me when I thought my meds were at home. “Sure. Have you met my new friend here?” I thumped the cane on the new carpet. It was metal, silver. There were fancier styles, but I’d refused them. I didn’t plan to use it for long.
    Woo’s eyes flicked down and back behind his glasses. “You’re looking really well.”
    “The intestinal surgery diet is highly effective.” I was pleased to see him flush pink again, and a little angry at myself. Woo needled me, but he didn’t deserve this. He was here to welcome me back, when Corrine, Doyle—none of them had made the effort.
    “How’s the semester looking?” I said.
    He gave up a half-smile of relief. “Better than any semester we’ve ever had, if you believe President Wolitzer. Really busy, if you listen to the chatter.”
    The chatter. This was what I needed. At Rothbert, there was a low-level buzz of speculation among the competitive. Who would get tenure? Who was up for which association award? Whose project would the dean anoint with his discretionary funding? Only among colleagues could you hear the truth. Who was headed for divorce? Who drank too much? Who slept with his students?
    The answer to this last one was always Trotter, from Anthropology. We called it his field research.
    “Ben,” I said. “What’s the chatter on me?”
    His face took on the faux cheerfulness of the girl in the portrait on the wall. “Oh, everyone’s just glad you pulled through.”
    “Is no one in this place capable of a good lie?” I said.
    He deflated, the fake smile replaced by authentic chagrin. “Glad to see you’re still you.”
    I twisted the cane to see the light run up and down the shaft. I wasn’t sure I was still me, but at least one person here could pull off a lie, if it came to it. “What did they say?”
    “Truth?” he said. “There was so much of it, it was hard to sort out.”
    “Lots of theories?”
    “Should you even worry yourself with this?”
    “They all think I must have done something .”
    He checked the hallway behind