Chapters (30)
- Cover
- ALSO BY SEAN DESMOND
- Dedication
- September 18, 1987
- September 18
- September 26
- October 9
- October 15
- October 16
- October 19
- October 23
- November 13
- November 13
- November 30
- December 7
- December 26
- January 1, 1988
- January 31
- February
- March 17
- March 21
- April 8
- April 8
- April 8
- April 15
- May 22
- June 3
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- What’s next onyour reading list?
Later that night, one vodka cran had become three. Dan went to bed shortly after nine, and Pat had farted his way to the back room to watch the Saturday evening movie. Anne dug around in the clandestine recesses of her purse and found a crumpled pack of Benson & Hedges. She had pretty much quit smoking, and during the week, when everything was on a timetable, she was fine. But there was something about the unbounded arc of the weekend that led to nic fits.
Anne’s first semester at Fordham as a doctoral candidate was daunting. Psychology being taught at a Catholic university was heretical to begin with, and Anne was well aware of the irony that in another century the Jebbies would have tried her as a witch. She was also the only woman in the program, but it was run by a younger lay faculty and very much up to speed. In the fall of 1968, as the teachers’ strike dragged on, she enrolled in “A History of Behaviors.”
That’s when Anne first noticed Ronan Carroll. Dark Norman Irish features and an unruly brown beard and brown eyes. He wore a tweed jacket and an unironed oxford that left little doubt he was a bachelor. As the professor dragged them through trauma and apoplexy, repression and phobia, Carroll scribbled on long legal pads, apparently writing down everything said verbatim. At the hour break, they met at the coffee machine.
Carroll rummaged for change. “Why do I bother? It’s like they’re pumping the East River through this thing.” Anne smiled and said nothing.
A week later, they exited Dealy Hall together. Carroll leaned in with a stage whisper. “Is it me or did the good Professor Robbins develop a facial tic while describing what causes them?”
“I saw that.” Anne pointed down at his notepad. “You don’t miss much.”
“Shorthand. I learned it in college when I was going to be the next Jimmy Breslin.”
“You wrote for the newspaper?”
Carroll stuffed the notepad into a satchel already crammed with papers and folders. “Not really. I got sidetracked.”
Anne raised an unsure eyebrow.
“I thought I was going to be a priest.”