IT’S BERNARD Morrow.” Clenching the phone tighter, Theodosia straightened up in her chair. “Professor Morrow, hello. I’ve been hoping to hear from you.” She glanced out across the tearoom. Haley was sliding gracefully between the small tables with a tray that held samples of their new South African Redbush tea. Drayton was chatting with two regulars who came in every Tuesday morning, dressed to the nines and wearing hats and gloves. Sunlight streamed in through the heavy, leaded panes, lending a shimmering glow to everything. With the morning’s sunlight came a ray of hope as well. “Yes, well, I meant to get your little project dispatched with sooner,” said Professor Morrow, “but I’ve been serving on this confounded academic search committee. Everyone on it worries endlessly about adding new, un-tenured faculty to the department and pontificates over their own specialized area. All in all, it gives you the sense that your career is drawing to a close, and it’s time to take a final bow.”
