“For all I know I may not have gotten several grants because of racist panelists. I just don’t know. I crawl into caves and find fossils and then identify them. I am a scientist. I should probably be more political in my thinking and dealings with the school. But I’m not.”

Daniel appeared about ready to say something.

“I read in the school paper that you don’t think you should have to take exams,” I said. “It was an awful, terrible thing that happened back there in Peoria. I went to graduate school in Chicago. Do you know what the high school students in Peoria will be doing at the end of the term?”

“What?” Mya asked.

“Taking exams,” I said. I had made them unhappy. They had no way of knowing that part of my rant was rooted in the fear and frustration generated by my daughter’s undiagnosed illness.

“Protest is good,” I said. I believe they thought I was about to make nice. “But if you want to do it, maybe you should march in the streets with people on the front line instead of doing the very American thing of ordering pizza and having a party on the floor of the president’s office before you use your expensive educations to live good lives.”

Daniel regained his footing. “So, you think there are enough black faculty on this campus?”

“There should be more,” I said. “I don’t disagree with you. But I don’t have time to attend your party so I can feel good about myself. I really am a nerd who crawls around in caves. Maybe that’s why I have a job here. I don’t know.” I paused to observe their reactions. I couldn’t read much in their faces. Perhaps there was not much to read. Regardless, I was fairly shocked that I had said so much, especially because I cared so little. “Have I disappointed you?” I said, more rhetorically than anything else.

They said nothing, but it was clear they were quite ready to leave.

“I didn’t mean to. I’ve had a long week.”

They didn’t know how to end our little encounter.

“You can go,” I said, sounding harsher, sterner than I intended. I was, by all reports, a gruff man, though I believed I was merely direct. Directness, the last excuse of the curmudgeon, the grouch.

They walked away.

Hilary stepped sideways through my doorway. “Wow, you sort of laid into them, didn’t you?”

“Did I?”

“You might get a reputation.”

I shrugged. “Never had one. Might be fun.”

“I doubt it.”

“What do you want?” I asked.

“What’s going on?” She studied me, half smiling, her head cocked to one side like a puzzled canine.

“Stuff at home,” I said. I realized how that sounded. “My daughter is sick.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah, me too.”