Chapter 1

Professor Robert Chambers hung the strap of his leather bag over his shoulder. Male pride made him call it his “briefcase” but it was really a man-purse. It held his books and papers, and left his hands free, which was important when he rode his bike.

Technically, he was supposed to be having office hours, but he taught four lower level English courses, and nobody ever sought his advice or counsel during office hours. The more pressing concern lay in a crib at home. Mrs. Abernathy would be very stiff and complaining if he was late. He thought of June Abernathy as the ghost of future Melanie. If she’d lived to sixty, she’d have turned into a June Abernathy.

He knew it would be a rough night. Jeffrey was the epitome of a newborn baby; helpless, demanding, always hungry. He needed to be held and cuddled and loved. He needed to be the center of attention, all the time. All the time was defined as 24 hours a day.

Part of Bob didn’t mind. It was impossible to hold the newborn, whose blue eyes seemed to stare so meaningfully into his. He knew that was foolish, that the month-old baby could only focus on things within a foot. He knew that there were no cognizant thoughts going on in that little brain. But that stare was so clear, so trusting. In any case, Bob melted every time he held his son in his arms.

Well, most times, anyway. At eleven o’clock at night, and then two in the morning, with little Jeffrey screaming, hungry and wet at the same time, and then again at five. At those times Bob noticed things like the fact that his son had red hair, something that could not possibly have come from Bob’s DNA.

Mrs. Abernathy was the wife of Dean Abernathy. She had appeared at Bob’s door without having been called and said she’d tend the baby during the day until he could find a more permanent solution. She said it was her Christian duty to help him in his hour of need, but that she was not to be taken advantage of. Most of the faculty knew of his travails, including Melanie’s catting around. At least three male members of the faculty knew of her bedroom activities intimately. Her death had come as a shock to everyone, Bob included. Death rarely beat upon the walls of the ivory palaces in academia. By the time Professor or Doctor this-or- that died, he or she had usually been retired for decades. June Abernathy was prickly in the extreme, but she was also a life preserver in rough seas. Still, he needed to find something better. He had enough problems without having to tiptoe around June Abernathy all the time.

To that end he had put signs on notice boards around campus, advertising for “extended babysitting services, primarily daytime, salary negotiable.” Those had gone up two weeks previously, but to date, nobody had been curious enough to find out more. Classes would not actually begin for three more days, and he hoped potential babysitters had merely been too busy moving in to seek employment.

He was headed for his office door when it suddenly opened. A young woman entered and his mind instantly classified her in the Freshman or Sophomore range. He faced young women like this routinely, in his classes.

“What?” he barked. He hadn’t intended to bark. It just came out that way. He chalked it up to the stress he’d been under. “I’m sorry,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

“Professor Chambers?” asked a soft, timid voice.

“Yes.”

She reached in her purse and pulled a crumpled sheet of paper form it. It was one of his flyers.

“This Professor Chambers?” Her voice was stronger.

“I am,” he said, feeling a surge of irritation. “Did you have to tear it down? Couldn’t you have simply made a note?”

The spectacles she was wearing made her eyes look over-large.

“They’re everywhere,” she said. “I thought taking one wouldn’t make that much difference.”

Everywhere? How many had he put up? He couldn’t remember. Lots of things were hidden in the fog, lately.

“Is the job still open?” she asked.

His irritation vanished, to be replaced by hope. He really needed some help with the baby. He had not prepared, had left all that to Melanie. He was the breadwinner. She was the stay-at-home mom. She hated him. It was easy to hibernate in his office, preparing to teach. His pride had prevented him from asking Mrs. Abernathy questions, and the internet was filled with endless blogs that equivocated about everything. If he read “Every baby is different” one more time, he was sure he’d go insane.

“Yes!” he blurted, anxiously. It occurred to him that his verbal responses could use some moderation. “Come in, please. What would you like to know?”

She seemed uncertain. The ubiquitous book bag was hung over one shoulder. He began to take notice of her appearance. She looked young, but then they all looked young. As an adjunct professor, he was years away from tenure, and the more interesting classes and projects he might one day be able to spend his time teaching. For now, he was stuck with the lower level classes. He didn’t complain, though. He worked for a major university in a full-time position, and got benefits. That was becoming more and more rare as colleges and universities moved to a contract system where you were paid a lump sum for each class taught. Some of his friends at other schools didn’t even have an office. Some of them were only getting $3,000.00 per class. If you maxed out at five classes per semester, which was a killing workload, you ended up with a whopping thirty grand for the year.

“Sir?” Her voice brought him out of his woolgathering, and back to examining her. She was slim, but muscled. “Softball” popped into his mind. If she was a Freshman she was only a few months out of high school. She’d been well-fed, based on the degree to which her T shirt was pushed out, and the swell of her hips, encased in ragged and faded jeans.

“Sorry,” he said. “I have a lot on my mind.”

“So you need a babysitter,” she said, moving things along.

“It would be a little more than just babysitting,” he replied. He showed her to a chair, removing a stack of papers so she could sit, and went on. “My wife died during childbirth, and it’s just the baby and me, now. My class load this semester makes it difficult to give the baby as much attention as he needs. Plus, frankly, I know almost nothing about being a parent.”

Admitting that to this young woman didn’t threaten his ego as much as it would have to the older and more stern Mrs. Abernathy. It was likely this girl didn’t know a lot more than he did.

“I have four younger siblings,” she said, her voice strengthening. “My folks farm, so I practically raised them. I’m sure I could help.”

His ego tried to shrink away, but he silently told it to behave.

“I could really use the help,” he sighed.

She looked at the crumpled paper in her hand.

“It says primarily daytime. What does that mean, exactly?”

“Well, I teach, of course. It won’t be all day, but I’ll have to be away from home for stretches in both the morning and afternoon. I’m teaching one night class, but it only meets once a week.”

“I’ll have classes, too,” she said, sounding disappointed. “I’m only taking ten hours. That’s all we could afford. I’m the first in our family to go to college, and I didn’t pay attention to how important scholarships would be.”

“So you’re not in a dorm?” asked Bob. Ten hours was considered part-time, and part-time students lived off campus.

“I’m rooming with some other kids,” she said. The way she said it sounded evasive, like she didn’t really want to talk about it.

“So you have to have a job,” he said.

“Yes,” she admitted.

“How much is your rent?” he asked. An idea had popped into his mind.

“Why do you need to know that?” she asked. More evasion.

“We are entering the salary negotiations,” he said. “If you don’t have a scholarship, your parents are footing the bill. Or you’re getting student loans, which your parents have to co-sign on.”

“Don’t you want to know anything else about me?” she asked.

“If you helped raise your brothers and sisters, I assume at least one of them was a baby,” he said.

“Well, yes,” she admitted.

“And they all survived?”

“Of course they did!” At last she responded with some kind of emotion.

“Then that’s good enough for me, as far as your resume goes. I’m not wealthy, though, so we need to be creative about your salary, if possible think outside the box, a little.”

“I don’t understand,” she said.

“I have a big house, with an empty bedroom. If you lived there, you could save whatever you’re paying for rent.”

“Oh!” she said. He could almost see the wheels turning in her head. Her eyes focused on him. “Wait. You mean live with you?”

“You have to live somewhere,” he said.

She was thoughtful for a while. He let her think.

“Actually, that might solve a really big problem,” she said.

“That was the idea,” he said, smiling.

“You don’t understand,” she said. “The only place I could find to rent was this house with four other kids.”

“Okay,” said Bob.

“They’re all guys,” she said.

“Ahh.”

“My parents would freak if they knew,” she said.

“I see,” he said.

“Plus some of them have already hit on me.”

“Not surprising,” said Bob. He meant it as generic response. Guys hit on girls. That was just the way of evolution. Something on her face, though, made him realize she thought he had meant something more personal. “I won’t hit on you,” he added.

“My mom already wants to come visit,” she said, ignoring his comment. “I think it would be way better if she visited your house than that dump with all those horndogs.”

“Then again, they might not approve of you living alone, with an older man,” said Bob.

“You’re not older,” she said, distractedly. “You’re about the same age as my uncle, probably.”

“I’m thirty-two,” said Bob. He wondered why he’d told her that.

“Wow,” she said. “That’s fourteen whole years older than me. Maybe you are a geezer.” She smiled to indicate she was joking, and then went on. “You’re younger than my dad.”

“Maybe I jumped the gun,” said Bob. “We don’t even know if your schedule will work with mine.”

“Well, you said to think outside the box, and after what you said, I thought of this other girl I met when I got here. She’s kind of in the same situation as me, in terms of needing a job. What if you had two babysitters living with you? Between the two of us, surely we could work out a schedule, then.”

“I have no objection to that,” said Bob. “I already have the room, and board for two girls shouldn’t break the bank. Above that I could offer a little spending money.”

“And help us with tutoring if we get stuck?” suggested the girl.

“That, too,” said Bob. “Depending on which subject you get stuck on. I’m not a mathematician, for example.”

“I think this could really work!” said the now excited girl. “I’ll talk to Ronnie.”

“Speaking of names...” prompted Bob.

“Oh! I’m Aleksa Klitzky. But most people call me Alex.” The way she said it sounded odd, like there was more to the story.

“Okay, then Alex. If you’re going to live with me, I think we can relax convention. at least in private. You might as well call me Bob.”

“Great! I’ll go find Ronnie and get back with you.”

Bob might be forgiven for failing to recognize how unconventional this solution to his problem was. The thought of two freshman students - girls - moving in with a faculty member would, to most in the academic community, be laughable at best, and scandalous at worst. The state of Bob’s mental health, however, wasn’t up to par. Not only was he struggling with the fact that his wife had suddenly died, he felt a lot of guilt about the fact that he didn’t miss her all that much. His love for her had died when he found out she’d cheated on him with three other men. He suspected it was more, but that was all she’d admitted to.

Then there were the preparations for teaching. He was expected to create courses, in addition to teaching the standard ones. While Melanie’s belly had grown, he’d created a course listed in the catalog as English 134 - Trends in Modern Writing. It offered three hours of credit that could go towards satisfying the general education humanities requirement, and was a study of trending best sellers, comparing and contrasting the writing styles, language usage, and departure from or adherence to standard English in the construction of the prose. He knew it was basically a way of getting easy credit by reading books many young adults would already read anyway, but his supervising professor had liked it. It would require, however, that he read all those best sellers, too.

He was also, truth be known, lonely. He and Melanie had been estranged for her entire pregnancy. Still, once she was in the ground, the house seemed empty. Little Jeffrey didn’t take up much room and, during the short stretches in which he slept, the house was too quiet. It would be good to have other humans around, even if they were busy taking care of Jeffrey and he was busy with his work.

He was not quite prepared, though, for the sudden increase in the level of noise when his two new babysitters arrived and began moving things in. They were sharing the available room, which didn’t upset them in the least. Both had expected to live with someone else when they went off to college. Their excited chattering didn’t bother him. He’d told them to move in on a Saturday, so that Mrs. Abernathy wouldn’t be there or know about them. His mind was working that well, at least. He’d discharged her the previous day and thanked her profusely for her invaluable assistance.

“He’s a good baby,” she’d said, thawing for the first time in his memory. “He reminded me of one of my grandsons.”

Then she was gone and he’d been up all night with a fussy baby. When the girls arrived and the tall one - Ronnie, no doubt - immediately took the baby from him, he felt relief surge through him.

“I’m Ronnie,” she said. “This is strange. Isn’t this strange? I mean we’ve never even met and I’m holding your baby. He’s so cute!” She had then commenced to speak to Jeffrey, using the nonsensical baby-language everyone thinks infants can somehow understand. She told him how handsome he was, and how strong he was. He ended up sucking the tip of her finger, which she thought was terrific.

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