Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 69877 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69877 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
“That why you do all the TV spots and interviews? It lets you teach and skips all the snobby professor stuff?”
“That’s…” Huh. “Very astute. And yeah, I guess, but it was at my peril.”
“How so?”
I lift a shoulder and sip the whiskey. “My attention from the ‘nonsnobby’ stuff is why I was denied tenure.”
“Is it?”
I pivot to glare at him. “Yes. Why, you think there was another reason?”
“No.” He holds my gaze. “I think you think there’s another reason.”
I suck in a little breath then, because until this moment, I hadn’t realized that he’s right. And that there’s been a sneaky thought lurking ever since Dr. Kowalski broke the news to me back in April.
I exhale. “What if… what if they thought my heart wasn’t in it?”
He continues to hold my gaze. “Was it?”
“Yes,” I reply automatically. “I come from a long line of respected, tenured professors. This has always been what I wanted.”
He pushes his tongue into the inside of his cheek before taking a sip of his drink. “So. What happens next? You do this horoscope thing for a year. Give yourself a break from campus life, from being a scientist, and then you just… go back? To a life you didn’t really like?”
“I never said I didn’t like it.”
He lifts an eyebrow. Didn’t you?
“Let’s talk about something else.” My voice is noticeably prim and testy.
“Sure. How about Dreamy McDaddy?”
“Pardon?”
“The kid’s dad? The guy you can’t put a straight sentence together around? He’s your knight in shining armor, right?”
“Christian,” I say, and it does come out a bit dreamy, like a tween girl with her first crush.
“Oh jeez,” he mutters.
“Actually…” I frown. “I haven’t really seen Christian. He hasn’t gotten out of the car when he’s dropped Kylee off.”
“You’re disappointed.”
“And you’re doing it again,” I say, exasperated. “That annoying question-that’s-not-a-question thing. Okay, no more talking about my career or my love life.”
“What love life?” he asks, though there’s no bite to it.
“Ouch,” I say, though there’s no pain behind it.
He smiles and slouches down a bit more in his chair so he can look upward. “Teach me something.”
“Sorry?”
He extends his glass toward the sky. “About the sky.”
“Um, that’s a huge topic.”
“Fine. Tell me how you feel about the moon.”
“I don’t feel anything about the moon,” I say automatically.
He sighs. “Randy. Okay, then. Tell me something empirical about the moon.”
“That’s another huge topic.”
He looks at me, exasperated. “Are you this difficult to converse with on dates?”
“This isn’t a date.”
“Definitely not.”
“But yes,” I admit. “I would theorize I am this difficult on dates.”
“You’d theorize?”
“Well, it’s not as though I’ve had many recent data points on that matter.”
“Have you tried?” he asks.
“To what, gather data points?”
“Date, Randy,” Archer replies with no small amount of exasperation. “You know. Put yourself out there?”
I sigh. “Let’s just… go back to the moon.”
He looks back toward the sky. “Fine by me.”
I take another sip of the whiskey, realizing I’m rather enjoying the beverage. “You want me to talk about it as a lifelong astronomer or as a reluctantly budding astrologer?”
“Surprise me.”
“Well. The astronomer in me would explain that the moon is in the final stage of its lunar cycle. It’s 270 degrees away from the sun tonight. We see half of it during this phase, always the right side, which is the side facing the sun. Results in a neap tide.”
“A what?”
I smile, a little surprised how nice it feels to dust off this knowledge and share it. I don’t teach it in my classes. “It’s when there is the least amount of difference between high tide and low tide.”
Archer doesn’t reply, but somehow I know that he’s not only listening, but listening intently.
“Now, as far as what that supposedly means for us humans, per astrology?” I continue, more reluctantly now since this topic is uncharted water for me. “The third-quarter moon is purportedly a time when we’re to… reflect. Or something like that.”
“Let go,” Archer says, cupping his glass in both hands.
“Let go?” I repeat.
He shifts in the uncomfortable chair. “Last quarter of the lunar cycle. It’s about reflection, yes, but also release. Letting go of something that’s no longer working, even if it’s just a mindset.”
I stare at him. “Why, Simon Archer. You have layers.”
He glances over with a warning look, and I smile, but don’t tease him further.
“You ever keep a journal, Randy?” he asks after a few minutes of silence.
“Not until recently,” I say, surprised by the question. “I’ve been tracking all the horoscope stuff, though I try to be more academic about it than, you know… dear diary. Why?”
He jerks his chin in the direction of his easel on his roof. “These moonlight sketches. They’re… you know.”
“They’re your journal,” I say, understanding.
“I guess. Just with images instead of words.”
“Explains why you won’t let me see them,” I muse, realization dawning. “I understand.”