Page 79 of Bookworm
“Stanford,” Dr. O’Macklin repeated, chewing his top lip in thought. “Okay. Let me sweeten the pot a little, yes? Five classes a semester. I’ll let you choose the days and times of your classes… a luxury very few of our professors receive. I’ll have to get approval from the board for this, but I could probably pay you $7,000 per three credit course… and give you three courses per semester.”
I did some quick math in my head… with summer classes, I was probably looking at about 65k per year at that price. Plus three courses was part time work, so I’d still have 10-20 hours per week to do my own book restoration business. Though it would be a challenge to travel to libraries in that off-time, it wouldn’t be impossible. Especially if I was given first dibs at making my class schedule.
Or, if I could convince the other university libraries to ship me their books for restoration, I wouldn’t have to travel much at all. I could run my business right here from New Hampshire.
Straightening my spine, I went for it. Negotiating wasn’t my strength, but I had to try. “I would need a private classroom that was dedicated only to book restoration as well as a working studio space to conduct my work of book restoration. A space that would solely be mine that no other professor or student has access to.”
“A private classroomanda studio space?”
I gestured to the three rolling suitcase I was currently packing up of tools and equipment. “As you can see, these materials are cumbersome. Heavy. And expensive. I can’t be carting them in and out of a shared classroom. Not to mention, some of the books I work on are worth thousands of dollars. I need a safe space to do my personal work.”
Dr. O’Macklin looked around at the equipment for a long breath. “The classroom I can do,” he said with a nod. “The studiospace is a little harder. We have professors on salary who don’t even have their own studio space.”
I pressed my lips together. It was a long shot. But for me to rent a space to do my work would severely cut into the money I was making teaching. It almost wouldn’t justify taking the job at all.
“What if you continue giving me the apartment I was in?” I asked. “It’s housing specifically meant for staff and faculty… which I would officially now be.”
Professor O’Macklin narrowed his eyes. “But you and Adam…”
I lifted my brows as his words faded away. The unspoken traveled between us. The board didn’t know Adam and I were living together. The board didn’t have to know. At least for now.
A smile spread across his face. “You know what, that could work, Ms. Meyer.” He held out his hand for me to shake.
I took his hand in mine and gave it a good shake. “I think you mean Professor Meyer.”
Epilogue
Two Years Later…
Sometimes I feel like a troll when I emerge from my office after a long day. That is, on those days that I’m not teaching. I spend almost the entirety of my time inside a dark room with very specific non-harmful lights so that the rare books I’m working on aren’t exposed to anything that might ruin their delicate pages. Or at least, not more.
I rarely speak to anyone in those hours. I put my phone on silent and let all the calls go to voicemail so that I can focus.
Occasionally, there’s a delivery. One of the universities I’m working for will ship the books they need me to work on—an added perk to being a much sought after commodity in academia these days. Currently, I’m working on Perdue’s copy ofWind in the Willowswhich apparently had a few pages torn by an overzealous student.
My office for fixing books is still in the same apartment where all this started even though Adam and I moved into our own house a couple months ago. According to the board at Dartmouth, offering me that working studio space was a cheap and easy way to keep me happy.
Plus, I'd made so many renovations inside, it would have to truly be a recluse who hates sunlight who moves in next.
There was a knock at the door that dragged me out of my focus. I blinked up at the clock, reading that it was already well-past five. I shoved the heels of my hands into my eyes, rubbing them. “One minute,” I called to whoever was at the door.
I already got all the deliveries I expected for today, so I doubted it was UPS or FedEx.
“Hurry up,” Adam’s familiar voice called through the door.
“Adam?”
I stood, being careful to put away the copy of Purdue’sWind in the Willows, securing it into the locked fire safe box I had installed.
I swung open the door and the sight of Adam standing there so casually, leaning against the doorframe, one hand in his pocket, the other loosely holding Verne’s leash. A smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth, quite literally robbing my lungs of their next breath.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“Well, I came to pick you up and walk you home.”
My brow furrowed. Walk me home? He only ever did that if we had plans…
Oh.
