Page 35 of After Life
“Honey Walk, huh? So, how’s Sandra doing?”
Something about his tone, a little too casual and curious, made my hackles rise. “You know Sandra?”
“Mmm. She used to work here.” He paused, then in a carefully casual tone, asked, “Is she doing okay? Her departure wasn’t exactly on the best terms, and I’ve wondered how she’s holding up.”
Those hackles were well and truly raised now. “Wait, she worked there? Y’all aren’t trying to get me to take her position, are you?”
“God, no. She worked in research applications mainly, taught a few classes to meet university requirements. She was a fantastic researcher, really great with getting into the meat of things. But when her partner passed away suddenly...” He trailed off. “Well.”
“I... well, I can’t imagine but lord, how terrible. So, she took a leave.”
“Er. No. She was strongly encouraged to take some time to heal,” he said, his cadence telling me he was repeating a scripted line the university gave regarding her absence. “She went off the rails, frankly. Look, we’re all about researching paranormal shit here, you know? But she threw herself into some ethically questionable research.” He paused and, on a sigh, admitted, “Necromancy mainly. She got obsessed with some niche cult practices and... Well, she started getting a little too Stephen King for the university’s liking.”
My thoughts were spinning so fast I was surprised smoke didn’t come out of my ears. “Necromancy?” was all I could muster after a moment’s sputtering. “Jesus...”
Jim sighed again. “How’s she doing, really? We still worry about her. The department tried to reach out to her not too long ago, but she had some very, ah, pointed things to say regarding her enforced leave of absence and several of our mother’s more personal habits.”
“She’s very intense,” I said diplomatically. “Intense and taciturn.”
“Huh.”
“Hey, you didn’t call for us to talk about Sandra,” I said, trying to shake off the creeping dread that was wrapping itself tightly around me. “How can I help you?”
“Well, the powers that be are really pushing for you to do this damn interview,” he chuckled. “They seem to think I can sweet talk you into it.”
“Jim...” I paused, uncertain how to go on. I didn’t want to burn that bridge but at the same time, I wasn’t anywhere near ready to leave the show. Or Oscar.
“Look,” he said, “don’t answer me. Think on it. And if it’s no, it’s no. But if it’s no, just as an FYI, there are other options. Research openings come up all the time, especially if you come to us with something we haven’t seen before.”
We made small talk for a few more minutes and finally he had to go. I hung up, a weight pressing down on me as I shoved my phone in my pocket and grabbed my cane.
I opened the door to find her glaring at me from the other side. “Oscar’s back,” she snarled. “He’s in the study. I told him not to track the water on the carpets. Take him down a towel and some clothes.”
She turned and stalked away, leaving me to follow her orders and hurry down the stairs.
Oscar was waiting, already having shed his coat, waistcoat, and cravat, shivering slightly by the banked fire. “Hello,” he murmured.
“I’d throw myself into your arms, but I don’t think that’d work well for either of us,” I said. “Towel?”
“Please.”
He started to dry his hair, wincing as the curls sprung wild and free. “Fantastic,” he muttered. “Now I’ll look deranged on top of everything else.”
I reached out and gently tugged one damp curl. “It’s cute.”
He glared at me as he shed his shirt, but it had no real heat to it. “I’m annoyed with you, and I shouldn’t be.”
“Ah?”
“Mmm. I’ve convinced myself you’re going to get tired of being with someone who barely got any A levels. You’re going to miss academia and you’re going to resent me for holding you back.”
“Do you really think that about me?” I asked, barely above a whisper. “Oscar, have I done something—”
“No,” he burst out. “Yes. Maybe? I don’t know. No,” he said, tossing the towel aside and shedding his pants and underwear without preamble. “Hearing you and Sandra talking, it stung, alright? Seeing how excited you got about the things she talked about, how eager you were to just jump in there, help her with her monograph...” He sighed, clutching the dry boxers I’d brought down to his chest. “Maybe I was envious she could share part of your life that I’d never understand. And I felt... inadequate. Disposable, even.”
My heart ached. “Oscar, no... I mean, look, there are things you know and do that I’ll never be able to be part of. No matter how many years I work with you, I’ll never be what you are, know what you know, do what you do. And there will always be that line of demarcation I can’t cross. And do I hate it? Hell yes. But it’s just something we have to acknowledge. We’re not the same people and I think I’d be miserable if we were, you know? I love you, not in theory or conditionally. I love you. As is.”
He sniffed, eyes wide and shining as he stared back at me. “This is very Bridget Jones, isn’t it?” he suddenly asked.
