Free Poison Ivy by Cynthia Riggs Page B

and lifted her glass. “To your successful tenure application, Professor Chadwick.”
    â€œPlease, keep your fingers crossed on that tenure bit, and I’m Roberta. That’s what my students call me.”
    They touched glasses.
    â€œYou said when you called, Mrs. Trumbull, that you wanted some advice from me. I can’t imagine what.”
    Victoria nodded.
    The professor continued. “I’m not the one to be giving you advice. It’s the other way around. You have so much more experience than I do.”
    This was not the way Victoria had planned the conversation. “I have very little experience in the academic world.”
    â€œI’m in awe of your publishing credentials.” Roberta’s cheeks were shiny and rosy. Her eyes were a pleasing shade of blue-gray.
    â€œPoetry publishing is quite different from academic publishing.”
    â€œDifferent, but I understand poetry is extremely difficult to publish. It’s hard enough to publish academic work.”
    This was the opening Victoria had hoped for. “Must you publish a certain number of papers in order to get tenure? We’re all aware of the phrase ‘publish or perish.’”
    Roberta ran her fingers over her short hair. “I’m expected to publish three to five peer-reviewed papers in each academic year. It’s unbelievably stressful.”
    â€œI can imagine.” Victoria produced a sympathetic look. “One paper a semester would be a challenge.” She set her own glass down after taking a sip of wine. “I don’t see how you can possibly meet that kind of goal. And you’re expected to do community work as well as teaching, I understand.”
    Roberta looked up at the baskets that hung from the exposed rafters, at the green waxy vine that twined partway around the wall, at the bookcases that took up a large part of the small space. Then she looked out of the window, away from Victoria’s deep-set dark eyes. “I’m advising three Island students. You know, of course, my student Jodi Paloni, who’s taking your wonderful poetry course. Advising counts as community service.”
    â€œJodi is delighted with your support of her work.” Victoria paused a moment. “I should think your schedule wouldn’t leave you much time to do your own research.”
    â€œIt’s not easy, Mrs. Trumbull.” Roberta glanced up. “This is such a pleasant place.”
    Victoria frowned at the sudden change in subject, but said, “In my childhood, this was the summer cookroom, and we’ve always called it that even though we no longer cook here.” She leaned forward, elbows on the table. “I’m interested in your research, Roberta. What is your field?”
    â€œAs you know, it’s sociology.” Roberta smiled and turned her wineglass around. “It’s a broad area.”
    â€œI should have said your specialty.”
    Roberta blushed. “Oh, sorry. It’s the social structure of communities.”
    â€œNo wonder you’ve been able to give Jodi so much help. You must be interested in her work on the deaf-mutes of Chilmark. As I’m sure she told you, I’ve given her quite a bit of firsthand information.” Victoria stopped and looked out of the window. The steady rain rattled against the small panes. Wind flattened the leaves of the lilac bushes. A gull swept by overhead.
    Roberta sat still.
    Victoria reminisced. “I remember many of the families of the Chilmark community and have kept in touch with their children and grandchildren.”
    Roberta looked down at her wineglass.
    â€œJodi has a great deal of original information that no one’s ever tapped before. She’s thrilled that you’re making it possible for her to publish it.”
    â€œWhat has Jodi been saying to you, Mrs. Trumbull?” Roberta finally met Victoria’s eyes.
    Victoria realized she’d gone too far. She