The Sonnet Lover by Carol Goodman Page B

cover. Extended counseling hours, dorm meetings, refer troubled students to me…” As he ticks off each item on his list, I hope that he’s doodled so heavily over my name that he can no longer read it. What in the world could he want with me anyway? I notice that a few people have gotten up to refill their coffee cups at the sideboard and some are packing their papers away in their briefcases and book bags, signaling that the meeting is drawing to a close. Mark is leaning across the table talking in hushed tones to the young lawyer. I notice that her skin pinkens at something he says and I feel another stab of jealousy. I suddenly remember that yesterday when he asked me to go to La Civetta with him he mentioned he would be working there with one of the lawyers to go over the terms of Cyril’s bequest to the college. Was this the lawyer?
    “Oh, yes, Dr. Asher,” Dr. Spiers says, “I have a note to talk to you. You were very close to Robin, weren’t you?”
    “Well,” I say, trying to sound neutral, “he was very interested in Renaissance sonnets.” As soon as I say the words I find myself wondering whether they’re true. Robin had apparently presented himself as a devotee of half a dozen disciplines. Perhaps his interest in sonnets was manufactured. Perhaps even his flirtation with me was part of an act.
    “I was just his teacher,” I say, trying not to sound as sad as I suddenly feel. “I wouldn’t say that we were particularly close.”
    “Well, Robin must have felt differently,” Dr. Spiers says. “I’m meeting with Robin’s father as soon as this meeting’s over, and he specifically asked that you be present. He said his son couldn’t stop talking about you.”

CHAPTER
SEVEN
    I ’LL BET YOU ANYTHING S PIERS DUMPS YOU WITH THE GUY ,” C HIHIRO TELLS me while we’re standing at the foot of the staircase, waiting for Dr. Spiers to come back with Robin’s father.
    “He wouldn’t.”
    “Oh, yeah? Then why is the meeting in your office?”
    “Spiers said he thought it would be more intimate than the counseling center.”
    “And easier for him to bail. Just wait. Ten minutes into the session he’ll get an emergency phone call, which he’ll have to take because it’s a distressed student. That way he gets to look caring while he’s abandoning Robin’s dad with you.”
    I’m about to protest, but Chihiro has an unerring ability to predict behavior so instead I enlist her aid.
    “So, what should I do then?”
    “Order in.”
    “What?”
    “The poor guy probably hasn’t had a bite to eat since he got the call last night. I’d recommend something light and nourishing, say, the borscht from Veselka…well, look at this.” Chihiro points toward the glassed-in foyer, where Dr. Spiers is signing in at the security desk while talking on a cell phone. Next to him is a short man—no more than five feet six, I’d say—in a tan trench coat several sizes too big for him. Although he’s wearing slacks and loafers, he gives the impression of being in his pajamas and of having just woken up. Maybe it’s the way what little hair he has stands up on his head, or the dazed look in his eyes, or the way he keeps blinking like a newborn chick. “Spiers is already on the phone. I’d give you five minutes at best. Good luck, sweetie.” Chihiro hands me a slip of paper and darts out the door before I can beg her to stay. I look down at it, hoping it contains some sage advice, but instead it’s the phone number for Veselka on Second Avenue, which I slip into my book bag before coming forward to greet Robin’s father.
    “Mr. Weiss—” I begin.
    “Dr. Asher? Please, it’s Saul. I feel like I know you. Robbie talked about you so much.”
    I take Saul Weiss’s soft, damp hand and hold it in both of mine. “I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am—”
    He ducks his head, looking embarrassed to be the object of sympathy. I notice that under his tan raincoat he’s wearing a washed-out plaid