Heart of the Matter Read Free Page A

down the hall to the history department, located in Georgetown University’s Intercultural Center.
    Ellen, a tenured professor of American history, specialized in the nineteenth century, specifically the Civil War. She was one of many professors in the department but the only one leaving on sabbatical this year, courtesy of NEH and Guggenheim Foundation grants. Ellen had received her PhD from the University of Virginia and had been fortunate to be born and raised in the cradle of the Civil War. Working at Georgetown let her remain in the area so that even without her approaching sabbatical, she could visit many of the sites she had frequented since childhood.
    Ellen walked into her office and put the stack of exams on her desk. She stuck a Post-it Note on the answer key, asking her assistant Jenny Nelson to get them back to her as soon as possible, then finished tidying up her office. Not much was out of place; she merely had to attend to last-minute paperwork.
    She had filed the last of her work when a light tap on the door drew her attention. Linda Cohen, professor of medieval studies, stood expectantly at her door. Plump and vivacious, Linda was Ellen’s colleague and closest friend. Despite her constant dishevelment and seeming lack of interest in her outward appearance, Linda possessed a brilliant mind and a quick sense of humor.
    “School’s out for the week, teacher. Are we ready to party?” Linda danced a little jig of excitement. “And you have no reason to say no this time, missy. There’s nothing left for you to do until Monday. Tonight it’s all about you and the possibility of meeting Ms. Right. What do you say to Italian first, then Rosie’s?” Ellen groaned. She hated going to the bar but couldn’t think of a good reason to avoid it this time. She disliked the dating scene, disliked the social pretense of making small talk, all the while knowing that some stranger merely wanted to get her home in bed or, worse still, wasn’t interested in her at all. She sighed. “Italian sounds fine.”
    “Wonderful. How about Janice and I meet you at Al Tiramisu at seven?”
    Ellen nodded. She might as well go, but she couldn’t help shake her head at her friends’ deviousness. Linda and her partner Janice knew Italian was her favorite.
    ❖
    Ellen rummaged through her closet trying to find something fashionable that still fit. Disappointed to find that one of her favorite blouses refused to button, she flung it to the floor with disgust.
    General Beauregard sniffed it curiously, then stepped on it, making a delicate pastry of it with his paws. Finally settling on a pair of black slacks and tan blouse, she again faced herself in the mirror.
    “Well, it’ll just have to do.”
    If no one liked her for who she was, then screw them. She made a face in the mirror at her false bravado and grabbed a black sweater off a hanger. It had been unusually warm that day but she knew the evening would be cool and, besides, the black sweater tied strategically over her shoulders also managed to hide her imperfections. She picked up her purse off the kitchen table, opened her front door, and nearly collided with someone in the hall.
    “Oh. I beg your pardon,” Ellen exclaimed, reaching out to steady the slight figure.
    At first she thought she’d grasped the arm of a stranger, but she was appalled to find herself staring at Kate Foster. She almost didn’t recognize her. An ugly red gash crossed her cheek diagonally from the left bridge of her nose down to the lower tip of her left ear. The stitches stood out like black spiders, frayed and angry, giving Kate’s face a singularly crawling effect. Ellen couldn’t speak, the pain in her heart almost unbearable. Her throat constricted and hot tears rushed to her eyes.
    “Oh, Kate,” she whispered.
    Without thinking, she reached up to touch Kate’s cheek.
    Flinching visibly, Kate jerked her arm from Ellen’s grasp and lowered her head, keeping the left side of her face