marital life that might be shared on occasion. But Dr. Peet’s life had always been untouchable, a closed book tucked away on some hidden shelf. In fact, Lori never knew for sure that he’d ever been married—that is, until she’d spotted the picture in his bedroom, and the dusty framed cross-stitch peeking out of a pile of books and field pads in the computer room. A wedding keepsake with the delicate stitching that read: “Anthony and Cathy Peet, two hearts joined together June 10, 2000.”
Dr. Peet avoided elaborating any further details as he turned the wheel. They pulled into the driveway of a tastefully landscaped tri-level; his face still tense, his mind perhaps searching for a way to avoid Lori’s question. He slipped the transmission into park and switched the ignition off.
“I don’t fraternize with students,” he finally said glumly. “Let’s just leave it at that.”
His hand returned to choke the wheel. Lori watched to see if he was even breathing.
“Well, let’s go,” he said, throwing open his door.
Lori stepped out of the car, lifting her jacket’s collar against the cold. The morning sun peered through a break in the clouds and glistened off of the home’s damp, cream-colored siding. It presented a welcoming effect as she followed Dr. Peet to the etched glass door.
He pressed the door bell.
After a moment of awkward silence, the door opened to a stout, aged man with an assertive posture distending his slightly protruded belly. He was well dressed and well groomed, his thick white hair carefully combed back to a satin shine. But when he focused his attention on Dr. Peet, his eyes reflected the cold, gray morning.
“Dr. Friedman?” Lori asked.
Dr. Peet feigned a weak smile.
“Hello, Dad,” he said.
Friedman
“I’m not your father,” Dr. John R. Friedman growled, using his paunchy frame to block the doorway. “I told you to never call me that.”
John thought he’d recognized the slate metallic Impala when it pulled into his driveway. There was no mistaking the intruder once Anthony Peet stepped out of the car. Were it not for the passenger who got out with him, John would have strongly considered ignoring the door. Had Martha been home, he would have.
Peet looked at a loss for words as he stood there on the doorstep. Rainwater trickled off the brim of the archaeologist’s hat, a hat that could very well pass for an artifact itself. John dared to say the man looked pitiful, pathetic, like he didn’t even want to be there, and that wasn’t surprising at all. What concerned John most was the attractive young companion waiting just over Peet’s shoulder. She was Lori Dewson. There was no mistaking that either. John met her through the effigy research. She was a bright young lady. A promising archaeologist. Surely she would know better than to mix with Anthony Peet’s affairs.
Lori looked surprised by the brief interaction between them, her curiosity ineffectively veiled with false indifference. John admitted he hadn’t exactly extended a warm welcome, but perhaps his reception would have been more accommodating had Peet forewarned him of this unexpected visit. Then again, what could he expect from an impulsive, if not careless man?
Anthony Peet shifted uneasily. “Well, are you going to invite us in or are we going to talk out here in the rain?”
John sighed impatiently, but stepped back to allow them entrance. Peet escorted Lori in first as though he intended to hide behind her.
“Good morning, Miss Dewson,” John greeted, though he was well aware the time for feigned good cheer had passed. “It’s good to see you again.”
Lori smiled, perhaps relieved by the break in tension. “Hello,” she nearly whispered.
“May I take your coats?”
Lori slipped out of her jacket and John accepted it, hiding his disapproval. He knew the jacket, though he didn’t say anything. But when he took Peet’s coat he made certain the man
Dr. Peet avoided elaborating any further details as he turned the wheel. They pulled into the driveway of a tastefully landscaped tri-level; his face still tense, his mind perhaps searching for a way to avoid Lori’s question. He slipped the transmission into park and switched the ignition off.
“I don’t fraternize with students,” he finally said glumly. “Let’s just leave it at that.”
His hand returned to choke the wheel. Lori watched to see if he was even breathing.
“Well, let’s go,” he said, throwing open his door.
Lori stepped out of the car, lifting her jacket’s collar against the cold. The morning sun peered through a break in the clouds and glistened off of the home’s damp, cream-colored siding. It presented a welcoming effect as she followed Dr. Peet to the etched glass door.
He pressed the door bell.
After a moment of awkward silence, the door opened to a stout, aged man with an assertive posture distending his slightly protruded belly. He was well dressed and well groomed, his thick white hair carefully combed back to a satin shine. But when he focused his attention on Dr. Peet, his eyes reflected the cold, gray morning.
“Dr. Friedman?” Lori asked.
Dr. Peet feigned a weak smile.
“Hello, Dad,” he said.
Friedman
“I’m not your father,” Dr. John R. Friedman growled, using his paunchy frame to block the doorway. “I told you to never call me that.”
John thought he’d recognized the slate metallic Impala when it pulled into his driveway. There was no mistaking the intruder once Anthony Peet stepped out of the car. Were it not for the passenger who got out with him, John would have strongly considered ignoring the door. Had Martha been home, he would have.
Peet looked at a loss for words as he stood there on the doorstep. Rainwater trickled off the brim of the archaeologist’s hat, a hat that could very well pass for an artifact itself. John dared to say the man looked pitiful, pathetic, like he didn’t even want to be there, and that wasn’t surprising at all. What concerned John most was the attractive young companion waiting just over Peet’s shoulder. She was Lori Dewson. There was no mistaking that either. John met her through the effigy research. She was a bright young lady. A promising archaeologist. Surely she would know better than to mix with Anthony Peet’s affairs.
Lori looked surprised by the brief interaction between them, her curiosity ineffectively veiled with false indifference. John admitted he hadn’t exactly extended a warm welcome, but perhaps his reception would have been more accommodating had Peet forewarned him of this unexpected visit. Then again, what could he expect from an impulsive, if not careless man?
Anthony Peet shifted uneasily. “Well, are you going to invite us in or are we going to talk out here in the rain?”
John sighed impatiently, but stepped back to allow them entrance. Peet escorted Lori in first as though he intended to hide behind her.
“Good morning, Miss Dewson,” John greeted, though he was well aware the time for feigned good cheer had passed. “It’s good to see you again.”
Lori smiled, perhaps relieved by the break in tension. “Hello,” she nearly whispered.
“May I take your coats?”
Lori slipped out of her jacket and John accepted it, hiding his disapproval. He knew the jacket, though he didn’t say anything. But when he took Peet’s coat he made certain the man
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