"I didn't need stitches." Which hospital they take you to? Don't tell me one of those butchers in Philly. They only know from gunshots."
"I didn't go to a hospital. I don't need stitches. It's just a little cut."
"On your face, no cut is little. You don't want a scar. You're not one of the boys."
Oh please. "Dad, it won't scar."
"I'm calling your mother's skin doctor. Dr. Steingard, from the club. She's the best. Leave now, you can be at her office in an hour. It's in Paoli on Lancaster Avenue, the same building as the dentist. We'll meet you there."
"Dad, I'm fine. Please, don't call the doctor."
"Your mother's worried sick, between you and Paul. Go to the doctor, so she can sleep tonight. We'll meet you there, then you and Hank can come home and have a nice dinner."
"Dad, listen, I have to go. I don't need to see the doctor. Love to you both." Nat handed the phone back to her brother. "I'm not driving out to the suburbs."
Paul said into the phone, "DON'T WORRY, DAD. WE'LL MAKE SURE SHE GOES. SEE YA SOON."
"Why'd you say that?" Nat exploded. "I'm not going!"
"DON'T YOU THINK SHE SHOULD GO?" Paul looked at Hank, who turned to Nat in appeal.
"Honey, what's the harm? You'll get a specialist to look at it. If you don't need stitches, you don't have to get them."
"It's not the stitches." Nat felt like screaming. "It's that I'm fine."
"THEY'RE ON THEIR WAY ALREADY. SO WILL THE DOCTOR BE. YOU CAN'T NOT SHOW UP."
"Babe?" Hank said, cocking his head. "Make your parents happy-It's better to be safe than sorry."
"TRUE THAT," Paul added.
Nat sighed inwardly. Sometimes she loved that Hank got along so well with her family, and sometimes she hated it. On the days she got caught in a prison riot, she hated it.
"Okay," she said, going to get her coat.
They got back to the apartment from The Greco Show around midnight, overfed and exhausted. Hank had gone to bed already, and Nat lingered in the bathroom. She needed time alone. The lightbulb panel flooded the small room, and she examined her infamous cut in the mirror. It looked the same as it had four hours ago, having survived the poking and prodding of the Main Lines best plastic surgeon, who ultimately decided that it required no stitches and reapplied a veil of Neosporin.
Nat felt a knot of resentment tighten within her chest. She reached for the electric toothbrush Hank had bought them for Christmas and pressed the green On button, starting the frantic motion of the brush and its generally menacing bzzzz. She buzzed her teeth, pining for her old low-tech toothbrush. She needed silence after all the Greco noise.
At dinner, she had told them the sanitized version of what happened at the prison, or at least the first few lines of it, which proved more than enough for the family attention span. She had also prevented litigation against the University of Pennsylvania Law School, the Department of Corrections, the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, and two United States congressmen, to be named later. She switched off the electric toothbrush and shoved it back into its holder, which was already collecting white Colgate crust, and then she couldn't delay any longer. She slipped off her cashmere sweater and T-shirt, down to a lacy white bra, and eyed anew the scratches on her chest.
The shock value had gone, but not completely. Red welts still strafed her chest, and droplets of dried blood dotted her bra, across her breast to the nipple. She took off her bra, put on the soft Penn sweatshirt hanging on the back of the door, and left the bathroom, trying to figure out a way to tell Hank about Buford. Sooner or later have to see her chest again, and she wasn't exactly sure how he'd react, or even how she would, the next time they made love. She didn't think she'd be unduly traumatized, but then again, she felt relieved that his birthday had been yesterday.
She entered the bedroom, lit only by the circle of halogen on Hank's night table. He lay with his back to her, naked to the waist, and his silhouette emphasized the round, muscular cap of his shoulders, the curve of his bicep, and the sexy way his torso tapered to his trim waist. He'd dated a lot before they'd met, so much so that Nat sensed her father's mild surprise when Hank went for her. She slipped into bed behind him and shifted over for a toe-hello.
"Babe?" she asked, then heard a soft snoring sound. She propped herself up and peeked over at him. His eyes were closed, and he breathed into the down pillow. She didn't have the heart to wake him and didn't relish telling him anyway. It had been a long day, and she'd forgive herself the conflict avoidance. She rolled back over, pulled up the covers, and checked the glowing bedside clock. 12:23. Twelve hours ago, she'd been sitting in an ambulance, talking to a paramedic.
Goofy, isn't it?
Nat pushed the thought away. It was too late to call the Saunders house.
She reached uneasily for a book.
Chapter 10
Nat's hair was still damp from her morning shower when she found herself sitting in the reception area outside Vice Dean McConnell's office, having been summoned by an early-morning voicemail. She was wearing a black-and-white knit suit, striving for that Soon-to-Be-Tenured look, and a pink silk blouse with a neckline high enough to hide her scratches. She'd come in early because she couldn't sleep anyway, and every time she'd moved last night, she felt a new pain in her ribs. Her head ached from the bump in the back, and she'd put a flesh-toned Band-Aid on her cheek, hoping everybody would think she was hiding a zit. She had to teach today, and answering questions about the prison riot wasn't her idea of class participation.
She glanced around the room, which she hadn't been in since her first day on the job. This section of the school had yet to be renovated, so ugly oblong fixtures shaped like flying saucers still marred the ceiling. Oil portraits of past deans hung on a scuffed wall, and the rug was a worn blue. A navy couch sat flush against the wall, flanked by two club chairs in a coordinating navy print, one of which Nat occupied. Two black desks and cubicles were situated against the opposite wall, both of them empty. It was too early for the dean's or e vice dean's secretary to be in, and McConnell was keeping Nat cooling her heels while he chatted on the phone. She remembered power games like this from her days at Morgan Lewis, which she'd left because she didn't like the rough-and-tumble of litigation or big-firm politics.
"Morning, Natalie." It was Angus's voice behind her, and when she turned around, her ribs reminded her that twisting was a bad idea.
"Ouch."
"I hear that." Angus walked around her chair and plunked down on the couch, catty-corner to Nat. His eyes shone bright blue, even if one was still swollen, and his grin couldn't be stopped by a few black stitches. "How you feelin'?"
"Terrible."
"I'm sorry." His smile vanished. "I really am."
"Don't start. How do you feel?"
"Same." He had on a fresh gauze bandage, and the bruise on his cheekbone had turned a darker red. She wondered how he had gotten his sweater over his head, this one a rough-hewn Ecuadorian knit in heather gray wool, which he wore with jeans and new cowboy boots with a pointier toe. She wondered if he'd gotten blood on his Fryes, but she didn't ask. He leaned close to her. "McConnell called you, too, huh?"
"He said come 'immediately.'"
"I got 'right away' Where is that boy?" Angus craned his neck toward the open door to McConnell's office and spotted him on the phone. "What's he doin' in there? Buyin' staplers?"
"We're being called to the principal's office."
"I know, right? Now that he thinks he's the Duke of Venice, he'll be unbearable." Angus chuckled. "Called you last night but you weren't in.'
"I didn't get a message."
"Didn't leave one. Didn't think Mr. Greco would like it."
Nat smiled again. "You could have. He doesn't have a jealous bone in his body."
"Sensible guy." Angus smoothed a ropy blond strand back into his ponytail. "Didn't know you were in so early or I would've called here this morning. I'm worried about you. You had a helluva day yesterday."
"I'm okay."
>
"Really?" He frowned under his bandage.
"Please, enough."
"Just so you know, I've suspended externships to the prison." His mouth made a grim line. "None of my students is going out there until I understand exactly what went down, and why Buford and Donnell were in my class. I want to know why they were cleared. It's strange because—"
"Angus? Nat?" McConnell appeared suddenly at the threshold and motioned to them, so they rose and followed him in, where he gestured them to the two tan leather chairs across from his desk. "Please, sit down."
"Thanks, Jim." Angus offered Nat the first chair and took the other after she'd been seated. She glanced around the office and determined that it hadn't changed since her intake interview four years before, or even since 1795. Foxhunting prints blanketed the walls, and the wing chairs were all old leather with dull brass tacks. A lamp with a black shade had a base like a small brass bugle, and the end tables were of walnut. Case reporters, law reviews, and legal periodicals stuffed the bookshelves, and McConnell's large walnut desk sat stacked with papers, correspondence, and even a few leather-bound books, which made his black laptop look anachronistic.
Thank you both for coming." McConnell sat down behind his desk. “I’ll be handling this matter in Sam's absence."
The dean is gone?
As you may know, he's on vacation. He left last week."
I knew that.
Angus said, "There's not much to handle, Jim. I take complete responsibility for what happened at the prison, and I've already suspended the externship program there, pending an investigation. I'm very sorry for the injury to Nat, as well as any adverse publicity to the school."
McConnell nodded. "Perhaps we should back up a minute. Why don't you tell me what happened?"
"Sure," Angus said, and Nat maintained her professionalism as he recounted a brief version of the attack, the riot, and the aftermath. At the end of the account, McConnell's lined face had fallen into even deeper lines. He patted his blue-and-green rep tie, then his silvery wave of hair, in thought.
"This is a very serious situation."
"It was, but it's over." Angus gestured to Nat. "She had it the hardest of all, and she'll need time to recover, physically and emotionally. You should give her a week off."
Nat interjected, "I don't need it, thanks." I need a month.
McConnell turned to eye her, smiling almost warmly. "You've been through quite an ordeal. I assume you won't be performing Shakespeare anytime soon."
"No." Nat managed a smile that telegraphed the Professional-Grade Toughness required of Chevy trucks and tenured professors.
"I must say I love the works of Shakespeare, and you were quite correct to emphasize the elements of law and justice." McConnell paused. "Of course, you must know that we can't continue to offer the seminar if it remains at its current low subscription levels."
My baby! "But I developed it myself, and I teach it in addition to my other courses." Read, for free.
"I understand that. But the school has other needs, if you have extra time." McConnell peered through his tortoiseshell bifocals to consult some papers on his desk. "Scott is going on sabbatical to finish his textbook, and we could use someone to teach taxation, which would demonstrate your versatility as a scholar and legal educator."
I'd rather date Kyle Buford. "I'd love to, in addition to the seminar."
"That's not what I had in mind, but we can discuss that later." McConnell turned to Angus. "Back to the problem at hand. This incident at the prison arose from one of your clinic's externship programs. Currently, how many externship programs do we have?"
"We're up to six. We have externs in the civil practice clinic, entrepreneurial, mediation, child advocacy, transactional, and public interest."
"Civil practice is the most subscribed, is it not?"
Angus nodded proudly. "Yes, our students counsel the indigent in housing, social security and disability, health law, education, child custody and support, and consumer law."
"Chester County Correctional Institution is the only externship program in which something like this has occurred, is that correct?"
"Yes, of course."
"I see." McConnell cleared his throat. "Well, in addition to the harm incurred by you two faculty members, my concern, of course, is the harm to the school. Its reputation and its potential exposure."
"Exposure?" Angus repeated, but Nat knew what McConnell meant, because she had learned a few things at Morgan Lewis:
Time for even the lawyers to lawyer up.
McConnell said, "Waiting for me this morning were messages from the parents of several of your clinic students, who had been out to the prison in the past. They're understandably concerned that their sons and daughters have been exposed to danger, or could be in the future. I assured them that, as of this morning, the externship Program to the prison has been cancelled."
Angus looked as if he'd been slapped, his mouth partway open.
"I've suspended the program. I'm not canceling it.”
“The parents are demanding as much.”
“The parents don't run my clinic."
"If you send a student out there and he gets hurt, you expose the school to an array of negligence actions."
"I've already taken the appropriate measures to protect those students, and I care about them, too." Angus shifted forward in his seat, his face flushing red even under his bruise. "The program is suspended."
"I'm afraid that's not your decision."
"Nor is it yours," Angus shot back. "I'll take it up with Sam."
"He can't be reached."
"I have his cell."
"Good luck trying it. He's in Kenya with Carolyn and the kids, on a safari. In his absence, I make the decisions."
"Jim, this is absurd!" Angus shouted, and Nat worried he'd pop a stitch. "There has never been an incident before at Chester County, and our best students have served in the externship program there, counseling inmates for over eight years."
"That benefits the prison, not us."
"Wrong. The students have learned more about criminal defense than they can ever get in a classroom. They represent real inmates on real cases. They draft all the pleadings, find all the experts. That's invaluable experience."
"They can learn it within these walls, Angus." McConnell tented his fingers. "I cannot ignore the concerns of these parents. As a result, effective today, I will be running all of the clinic externships programs, and you are relieved of your duties with regard to them."
"You're firing me?" Angus exploded, jumping to his boots.
"What?" Nat blurted out, astonished.
"Don't be so emotional, Angus." McConnell remained calm, his gaze even and unblinking behind his bifocals. "I'm not firing you. You will continue to teach your non-clinic classes, meet with clinic students, and run the in-house clinical programs. I'm merely assuming supervision of our externship programs. I have to make sure they're run with due regard for the welfare and safety of our students."
Nat interjected, "Vice Dean McConnell, Jim." Whatever. "Angus has the clinic under control, and if we overreact as an institution, it will only aggravate the situation."
Angus nodded. "Jim, you don't even know what the programs are. How can you begin to run them? This isn't about programs, this is about people. Real students who work ongoing lawsuits for real people."
"I know how to run a tight ship, no matter what it is. If you ask me, this happened because it's been loosey-goosey for far too long under you."
Angus looked stricken for a moment, as he realized he had lost. Nat felt terrible for him. His long hair, cowboy boots, and his image were coming back to haunt him, and she saw him in a different light. He'd been right when he said he was in his own little world. The students may have loved him, but McConnell had barely tolerated him, and with this, he had just declared war.
"I'll take it up with Sam, when he gets back," Angus said, struggling to rein in his anger. "He knows how important those p
rograms are to the school. He's the one who raised the funds for them and for our renovation."
"Thank you," McConnell said, but Angus was already leaving the room, storming through the open door.
Nat watched him go, and her heart went out to him. He'd developed and grown those externship programs himself. The clinic was his passion, and he'd been very good at it. She turned back to McConnell just as the phone on his desk started ringing.
Thank you for your time, Nat," the vice dean said, dismissing her with a wave before he picked up the receiver.
Nat got up stiffly and left the office, shaking her head. Only she had been naive enough to think that academia would be politics-free, It was all the books they had lying around that fooled her.