The mouse cursor is blinking over the top of it for a monumental amount of time. What wins out for me is fear. My past tells me the more I can find out up front, I can potentially save myself from pain later. With a huge lump in my throat and a knot in my gut, I double click and the list of what is inside stares me in the face.
There are a number of subfolders in there. One is marked financial. That is definitely off-limits. Another is marked academic. That’s one I can feel somewhat okay about. I click it open and his résumé, curriculum vitae, and his portfolio are ripe for viewing. I now know where he graduated university from and where he did his master’s program. He also is only two years shy of his PhD. Holy shit.
His portfolio is amazing. I shouldn’t have expected anything less. It’s pretty representative of the mediums and combinations I’ve seen in his studio. However, there are some images, some very dark images, that comprise a significant portion. I should be afraid of them, but I’m not. When I take more than a quick glance, what others would see as fucked up and terrifying, I just see as sad, angry, and lonely.
The next folder is labeled publications. Hmm. I go in there and see a dozen articles and papers he’s drafted on a wide variety of topics, ranging from comparisons and contrasts of famous works with their themes to an op-ed about the importance of art education beginning in the Pre-K and being required through university. Wow.
The last folder that catches my eye is one marked litigation. Oh shit.
My heart begins to pound at the thought of what could be in there. Could it be confirmation of all or some of the rumors that I’ve heard which follow him around? Just as I’m about to find out, I hear noises in the hallway. Frantically, I shut off the monitor and turn my back to fake like I’m looking through his library.
Tristan has every book about his specialty you could think about and then some. From first editions, politically charged titles, to of course all things art history and even a paranormal classic or two. I begin my full mental cataloging of his library. I run my fingers over each spine as I walk the wall behind his desk. In the corner by the window is a stray old easel. It looks like it might have been glued back together a time or two. I wonder why he doesn’t just get a new one.
In the wainscotting behind the file cabinet there seems to be a board that’s out of place. For someone who likes things, everything just so, this feels odd. I run my finger along the seam and it pops open. Of course there would be a hidden compartment for his scotch. Why wouldn’t there be? People wouldn’t want to get the wrong idea about the professor.
Is it me? Have I gotten the wrong idea?
I find myself sitting this time in his large leather chair behind the desk. If I close my eyes, I can still smell him lingering in the air. It feels wrong for me to be on what feels like his throne. Just like when I was doing what I initially accused him of earlier today, I know he won’t be back for another twenty minutes. What if the drawers of this desk hold answers to some of my questions? My fingers trace across the cherry front of the long drawer. It creaks just slightly as I pry it open. There are a couple of leather-covered notebooks, a gold pen or two, then I see a picture frame flipped over pushed all the way to the back.
My hand goes right to it like it’s calling me. I flip it over and it’s him. He’s a bit younger with a beautiful woman. She has his same hair color, just a bit darker and definitely has his eyes. Immediately my heart breaks as I realize this could only be Raissa. He looks at her with such love. I’ve only seen his eyes that soft when we’re alone. I feel like I’m intruding now where it was a search for answers before. I put the picture back exactly as I found it so I hope he’ll never know.
I open the top right drawer next. I’ve only just begun to sift through it when I hear the doorknob jiggling before someone knocks twice, but they don’t wait on a response before they push open the door and step inside.
“Tristan?” Professor Griffin says, but she stops short when she sees me. “Oh. I saw the light on and thought he’d canceled his class.”
“Professor Griffin,” I say in surprise. Not that it isn’t okay that she’s here, I just wasn’t expecting it. “Hello, I’m sorry, you startled me a little.”
“I apologize, that wasn’t my intention. I was just peeking in on Professor Sloane, but I suppose that would be unnecessary. Is he in class?”
“He is, yes, for another,” I check the small, silver watch on my wrist, “twenty minutes or so, I think. I was just in here working on a few things for him.”
“You were? It’s Nora, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Nora Morgan. We met in here before, earlier in the term. I usually help out in the afternoons with looking at papers and helping prepare the presentations for the lower-level classes. I know that an upperclassman usually does those things. I’m honored that he feels I can do it.”
“I see, well, I wasn’t aware that he had already found someone for the open position, but it seems to be working well for you, I assume?”
She eyes me closely, like she’s sizing me up. For what? I’m not really sure.
“It is. I think it was exactly the extra push I needed to find my balance here.”
“How long have you been helping Professor Sloane?”
“I started a few weeks ago, so not long. He also has been very helpful in making sure my school work has been a priority. It’s been hard being a more nontraditional student. This makes me feel more part of everything.”
“Nontraditional in which way, if you don’t mind me asking? I’m just curious and would love to have more insight into you. If Tristan has faith in you, you must be very special.”
I can’t help but feel like I’m being interviewed for something.
“I don’t have the most traditional history with schooling. I took a break for a while, and worked overseas. Now that I’m back here to stay, I wanted to continue on and finish what I started all those years ago. Hyde was the right choice for me, and I don’t regret a second of it.”
“You worked overseas? That sounds interesting. I love to travel. Where were you able to visit?”
“Well, I was all over Europe. I spent quite a bit of time in Italy, mostly Rome and Milan. I was in London for a little over a year before coming back to be with my family.” Maybe she’s just interested. Maybe she’s more than just his friend.
“London is one of my favorite places in the world to visit,”
“It’s very beautiful, yes, but I’m partial to Italy, if I’m honest.”
“I can see how one would make that choice. There’s nothing better than pasta and wine in a little restaurant in Rome right at sunset.” She motions with her hands while she talks, like she wouldn’t be able to say a word if you tied her hands behind her back.
“On that, we agree.”
My cell phone buzzes across the desk and I pick it up to see a text from Tristan.
Tristan: I cut my lecture short. Watching you sort through my papers is much more enjoyable. I’ll be there in 2 minutes.
“Uh, that’s actually Tristan now. He finished up early and is on his way here, if you’d like to wait for him.” I tuck my phone into my bag.
“He’s texting you on your personal cell phone?” she asks with a cocked brow and a tone full of confusion.