didn’t have time for a long discussion about the sleepover she wanted to have with Ruth-Ann.
But Hulenberger insisted on coming to the house. And here he was at the front door, all tanned and prosperous-looking in a designer suit that fit his slender shoulders perfectly and a crisp white shirt that contrasted his tan.
“Mr. Hulenberger? Come in.”
“It’s Dr. Hulenberger. But call me Richard. Everyone does. Even my kids.” A brief, hard handshake.
“Well, call me Mark. Come in. Welcome.”
Mark led him down the hall to his office. He could hear Roz in the kitchen, pleading with Axl to sit still. The back door slammed, and he heard Ira calling, “Anyone home? Roz?”
“Nice day,” Hulenberger said. “I enjoyed the drive. My wife and I have a house in Sagaponack, but we haven’t opened it yet. It’s almost May, but it still feels like October, doesn’t it? All the rain. Incredible. We probably won’t open up till Memorial Day. My wife hates the country. She always says she’d rather be on Madison Avenue. Ha.”
Was he talking so much out of nervousness? Or was he just a chatty guy?
Mark stopped at the office doorway and pictured Autumn bending over the desk again. Her short skirt tossed up onto her back, black underpants around her ankles, and that smooth little ass. .
Would he see her there every time he walked into the office?
The whole left side of the desktop was empty. The papers and folders had all been swept aside. He wondered if Hulenberger noticed that something was odd.
He led him to the green leather couch against the wall. Hulenberger dropped onto the edge and sat up very straight, lowering his laptop case to the floor. Good posture. He slid a hand down his tie a few times. Nervous habit?
“Nice room, Mark. I like that photo behind your desk. I think I know those trees. From Brisbane, right? Australia? I walked in that very spot and admired those twisty roots all around the tree trunks.”
Mark nodded. “My wife is a travel writer. A good photographer, too. She writes about adventure travel. Seems a lot of people are into it.”
“Hannah and I were on a food and wine tour. We weren’t impressed with the food in Queensland at all. Dreadful. In fact, we didn’t have anything good to eat till we got to Sydney. Were you there with your wife?”
“No. She was on assignment. I had my patients. You know. And my book.”
Chitchat, chitchat.
Mark suddenly had a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He rolled his desk chair in front of the couch and dropped into it. The room still smelled of Autumn’s lemony scent.
“Nice of you to drive out, Richard.”
Richard cleared his throat loudly. Adjusted his tie. “Well, I wanted to tell you in person. I didn’t think it was right to do it over the phone or by email. Too impersonal.”
“You mean-about the grant?” His voice suddenly tight.
“Yes. Should I come right to the point? I think I should. We’re not going to give you the grant, Mark.”
Can silence be loud?
To Mark the silence in the room seemed deafening. Without realizing it, he slammed his head back against the leather seatback, like someone showing shock in a cartoon.
“You mean. . you’re not giving the whole amount? Only part?”
Richard sat even more erect. Mark saw a single bead of sweat appear above one brown eyebrow. “No. I came to offer our regrets. We can’t give you any of the grant money at this time.”
“But my studies. .”
“We approve of your work. Wholeheartedly. That’s why we made the initial offer. We felt that your studies with juveniles would add considerably to the literature.”
Mark was distracted by movement at the office doorway. He turned and saw Samuel and Daniel standing there, hands in their jeans pockets, serious expressions on their pale faces.
“How long have you two been standing there?” He didn’t mean to sound so irritated. His mind was churning from the news of the grant money turndown. He should shout at Hulenberger, not the boys.
They didn’t reply. Both had their eyes on Hulenberger. Staring at him hard, as if giving him the evil eye. Then, without a word, they turned and vanished down the hall, bouncing a tennis ball on the floor.
He turned back to Hulenberger, who was defiantly gazing at him, not backing down, not avoiding his eyes after bringing this devastating news. Macho guy.
“So, Richard. . Can you explain? If it isn’t my study. .”
“It’s your book. Can I speak plainly? It’s the book. We understand why you wrote such an inflammatory thing. But that’s the problem in a word, see. It’s inflammatory.”
“But it’s a sincere study. It wasn’t skeptical in any way. I wasn’t just trying to make a buck with a piece of crappy pop psychology. I did my homework, Richard. I did years of research in addition to my own studies.”
Richard kept his green-gray eyes on Mark, his face a blank. No emotion.
“How can I say this, Mark? The book has attached a certain notoriety to you. I’m sure you won’t disagree with that.”
Mark didn’t reply.
“And the grant committee. . well, we feel we can’t risk backing someone in your position, someone with that kind of controversy following him.”
Mark remained silent.
Richard sighed and shook his head. “The institute has such limited funds now. You know how much the government has cut our funding. They’re almost not subsidizing us at all. It’s a crime. This country will pay for the shortsightedness in Washington. In the meantime, we have to be very judicious about where we spend what little we have. And I’m afraid-”
Mark jumped to his feet, visibly startling his guest. “Okay. I get it. Thanks for coming out, Richard.”
Richard gazed up at him, swallowing hard. Mark realized he’d frightened the man. Richard thought Mark was about to get violent.
But he’d never been in a fight in his life. Not even on the playground. He’d never thrown a punch or wrestled another kid on the grass or come home with a black eye.
Mark was the good kid. The smart kid. The talker. The kid who was interested in how everything works. He always talked himself out of fights. He used
Richard finally climbed to his feet. He grabbed up his laptop case.
He pulled out his phone and checked the screen. Then he tucked it back into his suit jacket. “I’m really sorry, Mark. I can see you are disappointed.”
“Yeah. That’s the word for it.”
“My only suggestion-if you want any advice from me-is to apply again in a few years.”
“A few years?”
“Yeah. Wait for the notoriety to die down. In a few years, people will forget your book, right?”
A smile crossed Mark’s face. “That isn’t exactly a compliment.”
Richard blushed. “You know what I mean. Wait for the controversy to fade. People have short attention spans. You know that, right? Apply again. I’m not guaranteeing anything, but-”
Mark led him to the door. “Do you believe in freedom of speech, Richard?”
“Well, yes. Of course.”
