She had learned to like herself and, years later, had come to regret the thoughtless actions that had left her barren.
Fortunately, she regarded adoption as a more-than-adequate solution to her problem. She was capable of giving as much love to an adopted child as she would have given to her own offspring. She knew she would be a good and caring mother, and she longed to prove it—not to the world but to herself; she never needed to prove anything to anyone but herself, for she was always her own toughest critic.
Mr. O’Brian looked up from the application and smiled. His teeth were exceedingly white. “This looks really fine,” he said, indicating the form he had just finished reading. “In fact, it’s splendid. Not everyone that applies to us has credentials like these.”
“It’s kind of you to say so,” Paul told him.
O’Brian shook his head. “Not at all. It’s simply the truth. Very impressive.”
Carol said, “Thank you.”
Leaning back in his chair, folding his hands on his stomach, O’Brian said, “I do have a couple of questions. I’m sure they’re the same ones the recommendations committee will ask me, so I might as well get your responses now and save a lot of back-and-forth later on.”
Carol stiffened again.
O’Brian apparently noticed her reaction, for he quickly said, “Oh, it’s nothing terribly serious. Really, it isn’t. Believe me—I won’t be asking you half as many questions as I ask most couples who come to see us.”
In spite of O’Brian’s assurances, Carol remained tense.
Outside, the storm-dark afternoon sky grew steadily darker as the thunderheads changed color from gray to blue black, thickened, and pressed closer to the earth.
O’Brian swiveled in his chair to face Paul. “Dr. Tracy, would you say you’re an overachiever?”
Paul seemed surprised by the question. He blinked and said, “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“You are the chairman of the department of English at the college, aren’t you?”
“Yes. I’m on sabbatical this semester, and the vice-chairman is handling most things for the time being. Otherwise, I’ve been in charge of the department for the past year and a half.”
“Aren’t you rather young to hold such a post?”
“Somewhat young,” Paul admitted. “But that’s no credit to me. You see, it’s a thankless position, all work and no glory. My senior colleagues in the department craftily maneuvered me into it so that none of them would be stuck with the job.”
“You’re being modest.”
“No, I’m really not,” Paul said. “It’s nothing much.”
Carol knew that he was being modest. The departmental chairmanship was a prized position, an honor. But she understood why Paul was playing it down; he had been unsettled by O’Brian’s use of the word overachiever. She had been unsettled by it, too. Until this moment she had never thought that an unusually long list of achievements might count against them.
Beyond the tall windows, lightning zigzagged down the sky. The day flickered and, just for a second or two, so did the electric lights in O’Brian’s office.
Still addressing Paul, O’Brian said, “You’re also an author.”
“Yes.”
“You’ve written a very successful textbook for use in American literature courses. You’ve turned out a dozen monographs on a variety of subjects, and you’ve done a local history of the county. And two children’s books, and a novel.”
“The novel was about as successful as a horse trying to walk a tightrope,” Paul said. “The New York Times critic said it was ‘a perfect example of academic posturing, stuffed full of themes and symbols, utterly lacking in substance and narrative drive, infused with ivory-tower naiveté.’”
O’Brian smiled. “Does every writer memorize his bad reviews?”
“I suppose not. But I have that one engraved on my cerebral cortex because there’s an uncomfortable amount of truth in it.”
“Are you writing another novel? Is that why you’ve taken a sabbatical?”
Paul was not surprised by the question. Clearly he now understood what O’Brian was digging for. “Yes, in fact I am writing a new novel. This one actually has a plot.” He laughed with easy self-deprecation.
“You’re also involved in charity work.”
“Not much.”
“Quite a lot,” O’Brian disagreed. “The Children’s Hospital Fund, the Community Chest, the student scholarship program at the college—all of that in addition to your regular job and your writing. Yet you don’t think you’re an overachiever?”