John turned on the heat and drizzled the pan with olive oil. “It’s hard to say,” he admitted. “She still has to show up to work the next day. She still has to put on the mask. I don’t know if it’s a performance you can really drop.” He watched the flame lick the bottom of the skillet, waiting on her to say something.

“It is a mask,” she murmured.

John now understood why their confrontation with Kenneth had rattled her so. She’d remained silent in the face of the old professor’s criticism because her job was on the line. Realizing that made him feel sad for her and angrier at her boss. “But you wear it well,” he said, looking up at her, “because you have to. In Jessi’s case, she’s a ball-buster who some men would call a bitch. Your mask might be wrapped in rules and regulations. If you can keep order and control all situations, you might keep the mask from slipping. But I’ll bet it tires you out, right?”

“I’m exhausted.”

“Then I’ll tell you what I tell my sister. You have to remember why you do the work you do. What are you bringing to the field that wasn’t there? How are you changing the world? Whose life have you touched with your work?” When the heat was high enough, John dumped a small bowl of garlic and shallots to the skillet and stirred them.

She smiled. “Maybe you’re right.”

“I don’t claim to know the answers,” he said honestly. “I just know that when Jessi calls me about a new project that she’s starting, I hear the excitement in her voice and I know she belongs where she is. She might feel like she’s faking it, but I know different.”

Victoria’s smile grew wider. “That’s really beautiful,” she said in a soft voice.

John turned down the heat. “Now tell me what you bring to your work that wasn’t there before.”

Victoria appeared to think about it. “I don’t know,” she said.

“Tell me.”

She ducked her head to hide her bashful grin. He caught it, though, and held on to it. John found himself collecting her smiles as though they were currency. “I guess, when I first started to teach at Pembroke. There was this young man, around eighteen, who stayed after class on the last day of the semester. He wanted to thank me for teaching him how to read better. He went to a high school where his learning needs were ignored and he appreciated the time I took to break down the poems I made the class read. He looked so sincere when he said thank you...” She looked up from her glass of wine. “I guess I hold on to that moment when I feel shitty.”