I don’t work at Thornton Wilder College anymore. Jep is so wholly beloved at UW–Whitewater that the powers somehow found me a tenured faculty position there; but for now, I teach only one of my literature seminars, a couple of sections of creative writing, and (my penance) remedial writing for athletes. I could have stayed at my beloved school; but it never felt right after my sabbatical. Then, after our life reversed when Stefan was vindicated, it felt even more awkward to slip back into the slot where I’d spent such a long time genuflecting to my shame. I should not have done that. I should not have been allowed by my colleagues to feel that I should do that. They should have embraced me and borne me up—instead of sighing and simply suffering my presence.

When I showed up to tell Keith the news, he had both a flowering begonia and a long-suffering expression. “Thea, of course I apologize...” he began.

“But you shouldn’t have to apologize,” I told him.

Keith’s face softened. “I’m glad you see that.”

“I mean, you should never have treated me in a way that requires an apology. And of course, even that would have been understandable, if not commendable, because of all the many times you called me when I was on sabbatical, and returned my calls.”

He hadn’t called me once. When he returned my calls, he left a brief message and pleaded about how “crazy busy” things were in the English department of a college with 845 students.

People are usually good when it suits them, and often some will make a special effort to be good when there’s a special need. But most people aren’t naturally inclined to goodness, particularly if it gets in the way of something they want. And what they want doesn’t have to be a palace or a person or a promotion. What they might want is the kind of power that comes from having front-row seats at a tragic drama or the immense emotional satisfaction of feeling luckier or more competent than someone else. That power was what my colleagues got from me, and I wanted it back.

“You judged me, Keith, like the kids say. You and Frank and Robin and almost everyone else. You judged me and you felt justified in doing it. You judged Stefan too, not that there was any way around that really.”

“What would you have done, Thea?”

“Maybe I would have done the same thing. I hope I wouldn’t have. I certainly would not now. Whether or not I would have done it, that’s not the issue. It’s that we can’t go back to before it happened, and I don’t mean Belinda’s murder, I mean what happened to me, here, where I should have been safe.”

“I really hope you don’t feel that way, Thea.”