The Second Half Read Online Free Page A

minutes.”
    “How many years have we worked together?”
    “Seventeen.” She stacked the file folders in order, set his iPad on top of the pile, and glanced around to make sure she had everything. “I’ll call the applicants and start the background checks with a Google search. Anything else? Oh and put your cell on vibrate.”
    He half shrugged. “Thanks,” he said, and did as she suggested. “For something that is supposed to make life easier…”
    “I know.” She left and sat down at her desk, just in time to answer the ringing telephone.
    He went through the printout quickly, ran a highlighter through the points he would make, gathered the ghastly pile of paper into his attaché case (for the last time?), and walked downstairs to the Harriet Stone conference room. Harriet Stone. He had been introduced to the matriarch of Stone University shortly after he arrived and not long before she died. A brusquer, more bristly woman he had never met. He entered the double doors and settled in his usual place at the long oak table. He poked his code into the iPad, swiped to his notes, and laid it aside, then flopped his attaché case open.
    First the formalities. Even as the stragglers were still coming in, Dale, the assistant provost, began the meeting with the mandatory but phony words of welcome and thanks, as if they had any choice but to be here. Dale Crespin had married a Norwegian woman, but he had never fully adopted the Norwegian culture with which this whole area was saturated. He did, however, alter his name; Ken happened to know it was originally Crespynocsic. Dale, from Cleveland, Ohio, originally, was one of the few people in town of Polish descent.
    Dale glanced at the agenda on his iPad. “Let’s tackle finances first. John?”
    Across from Ken, their comptroller cleared his throat. “Ken’s department is the only one this first quarter that didn’t post a deficit. He spent everything he got, understand; no profit, but no red ink. This is a private university with shareholders who get antsy when they don’t see at least a modest return on their investment. To come out in the black this year, we’re going to have to make some serious and maybe painful decisions about what gets cut.”
    One by one, each person gave a brief (and sometimes not brief enough) report of the situation in his or her department. Finally, it was Ken’s turn.
    He smiled at all. “Thanks for your input here, John. John”—he nodded to the other John in the room—“your hard work elevating our academic status is paying off; we have admitted a National Merit Scholar, and four of the ten top students in Wisconsin have opted to come here. Our academic reputation is starting to reflect the excellence of our faculty. We’ve come a long way.”
    He looked from face to face around the room at this august governing body. Two women, the rest men. Better than five years ago, when there were no women at all. Maybe Harriet had frightened them off. No, Harriet no doubt frightened men; she had frightened Ken, and he’d known her five minutes, but women were not that easily cowed.
    And he realized with a shock that his mind had just completely wandered away from the subject at hand. Totally derailed. That had never happened to him before.
    He drew a deep breath and cleared his throat. “Since this is my swan song, so to speak, I would like to make a few remarks beyond the immediate purview of my position as dean of students.”
    He poked his iPad to wakefulness. “I have here a note from a Stone graduate who is now managing an accounting firm. ‘Dear Dr. Sorenson, I made a bold move last week during our annual employee evaluations. I asked the owner why he hired me over twenty-seven other applicants. He replied when he saw that my degree was from Stone, he knew I had the best preparation possible. Thank you, Dr. Sorenson, for your personal guidance and for the splendid instruction I received at Stone.’” Ken looked out from face to