The Weight of Words (The WORDS Series) (17 page)

Oh, how I love thee, one-dimpled smile
.

He cast his eyes around to see how everyone was progressing. Cara was chewing the end of her pencil like a gerbil. I actually found her less irritating since I’d decided to laugh at her stupidity rather than see it as some sort of personal affront.

Finally, Daniel rubbed his hands together and said it was time to share. He turned to his left. “Miss Langford, care to start?”

Sweet Mary. She was beginning to come out of her shell, but being the center of attention still pained her.

“You’re going to laugh,” she said, her neck already flushing with embarrassment. “Okay, my favorite line is in act three, when Banquo’s ghost comes to haunt Macbeth at the banquet and Macbeth says to the ghost, ‘
Never shake thy gory locks at me
.’ Every time I read that scene, it reminds me of Thanksgiving when I was twelve and my Uncle Bernard fell into the woodpile in the backyard after drinking too much Southern Comfort. We were waiting for him at the dining room table, and he came in with all this blood in his hair. My Aunt Joan almost had a coronary. She thought he’d chopped a limb off or something. He’d actually planned to cut wood for the fire. It was pretty funny.”

Mary was right. We did laugh. Poor Uncle Bernard, but what a great cautionary tale. See, kids—never drink and chop wood. Danger lurks!

“Thank you, Miss Langford,” Daniel said. “It never ceases to amaze me how Shakespeare’s imagery can connect with the simplest things in our lives. Okay. Next? Any volunteers?”

He looked at Cara. She was still flipping madly through her book.

“Having some difficulty deciding, Miss Switzer?” Amusement danced at the edges of his eyes.

“Well, I can’t find the one I want. It’s, like, Lady Macbeth talking about sex and stuff. You know, when she’s, like, talking about her breasts. God, where is it?” She was rifling around frantically.

“Surely you aren’t referring to her ‘unsex’ me soliloquy in act one?” Daniel asked.

“Yeah, maybe…” Cara said uncertainly.

“Well, as you know, that speech is primarily Lady Macbeth railing against her gender. It’s not really about sex. When she’s talking about her breasts, she’s calling out to evil to take away her womanly qualities, her maternal instincts, her femininity,” Daniel explained.

All I heard was, “Blah blah blah
sex
blah blah
breasts
blah blah.” Where was a good solid bookshelf when you needed one? My reaction was entirely immature, but hearing him uttering those words, even in a scholarly context? I may have lost the academic plot, but my girly bits were definitely taking notes.

I was pulled out of my erotic thrall by Julie piping up to share her line.

“Okay, you’ll like mine, Cara,” she was saying. “This one actually
is
about sex.” She gave a saucy smile. “So you’re going to think I’m all kinds of pervy for this, but my favorite line is from the porter’s soliloquy.”

I smiled at my notebook. Was she actually going there?
Oh, Julie, bring it, baby. I frickin’ love you.

“So you know when he’s drunk and about to answer the door, how he’s reflecting on the power of alcohol, and he says, ‘
Drink provoketh the desire, but takes away the performance
’? Well, to me, that line is stellar.”

I laughed behind my hand. The guys looked sheepish, and Mary was bright red from the collar up. Daniel had his lips pursed, trying to remain composed. As per usual, Cara was confused.

“I don’t get it,” she said.

Daniel decided it would be appropriate to provide a visual, holding his pen at a forty-five degree angle.

“‘
Drink provoketh the desire
,’” he said, enunciating carefully as if English was Cara’s second language, “‘
but takes away the performance
.’” As he said the end of the line, he allowed his pen to wilt through his fingers.

I couldn’t believe my eyes. The poster child for decorum was actually being sexually suggestive. Loosen up those buttons, baby! A flagging pen-erection had never been so incredibly sexy.

Cara blinked, her face blank, and I kind of felt sorry for the dimwit. But then she had her light bulb moment. I loved it when you could actually
see
a person having an epiphany.

“Oh, I get it. God, that’s so true,” she mused.

“Steve Pollard,” Lindsay said.

“I know, right?” Cara murmured, her eyes flickering over to the guys.

Shawn and Vince exchanged a horrified glance. Had Lindsay forgotten we were all there and perfectly capable of hearing her every word?

“Ah, TMI, ladies,” Daniel said, clearing his throat. “Thank you, Miss Harper, for taking us straight to the gutter, but that’s a good example of comic relief after a particularly tense and gruesome scene. Anyone have a favorite line that’s
not
about sex?” He looked around the table. “Please, Miss Price, tell me you’ve written down something about a decapitation or multiple stab wounds.”

“Nothing that gory, I’m afraid. One of my favorite lines belongs to King Duncan after he’s discovered the treachery of the Thane of Cawdor. He says, ‘
There’s no art to find the mind’s construction in the face.
’ I think that’s such an eloquent observation about how difficult it can be to read people.”

“I like that one too,” Daniel said. “Do you see Duncan’s lack of insight into character as a weakness?”

A few days ago, I’d accused
him
of being a bad judge of character. Was he remembering that now?

“I don’t know about that,” I admitted. “I think he saw what he wanted to see. He wanted to believe everyone was faithful to him. That simply wasn’t the case. Of course, believing everyone capable of evil wouldn’t have been helpful either. Paranoia isn’t healthy. Sometimes all you can do is go with your gut instinct, but there’s always a chance you’ll be wrong.”

Daniel looked at me for maybe a moment too long. A few people cleared their throats, and Daniel regained his focus, continuing around the table until everyone had shared.

Once we’d all had our say, Mary turned to Daniel and put him on the spot. “What’s your favorite line, Daniel?”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Well, I don’t know. Let me think for a minute,” he said, rubbing his temple with his fingers. “I suppose I’d have to say it’s the speech Macbeth delivers after his wife is discovered dead. ‘
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools; The way to dusty death
.’”

“Wow, you like that? I think that speech is so depressing,” Mary said. “He sounds so hollow. At the end, when he says his life signifies nothing? I don’t know; it makes me sad to see someone value his life so little.”

“Yes, I suppose it’s sad, but how can it not be? His reign is in shambles, his friends have deserted him, and his wife has died. No one trusts him anymore, and there’s nothing he can do to make amends. Anyone who’s so far from being able to redeem himself is bound to feel and say some pretty sad things. And you’re probably going to become unrecognizable, even to yourself.”

Daniel’s eyes had taken on a lost, faraway look, like he’d moved beyond the confines of the play and was waxing philosophical about life in general. I wanted to climb over the table and hug him. Other things would surely follow, but first he definitely needed a good cuddle. He shook his head almost imperceptibly, and his eyes refocused before he checked his watch.

“Well, I don’t think it’ll hurt to finish a little early today,” he said. Around the room, the fidgeting began. “Anyone doing anything exciting next week?” he asked.

Shawn and Vince said they were going to Fort Lauderdale, and Julie shared her excitement over her trip to the Dominican with some friends from the dance studio. Most people were heading home to visit family. With nothing interesting to share, I kept quiet.

“Well, remember your comparative paper on
Hamlet
will be due the Monday we return after the break. Have a great week off, everyone,” he said as he packed up his bag.

The room emptied quickly. Hoots of excitement rang down the corridor. Julie and I walked down the hall together. She was excited but trying not to rub my nose in the fact that I was staying here on campus while she left to bask in the sun for a week.

“So what are your plans?” she asked.

“Oh, I don’t know. Chill out, get ahead on some work, do the museum rounds. Maybe hit the art gallery.”

“Oh, you should. If you go, say hi to the gallery for me. I haven’t been in ages.”

“Yeah, well, when you get down south, say hi to Mr. Sun for me, and tell him to get his sorry ass back up here. I’m so over this winter.”

We hugged goodbye, and she headed to Trinity. I was standing on the steps of the building, feeling lost, when Daniel pushed his way through the doors. He stopped on the top step, leaning against the stone wall of the entrance.

“So, Miss Price, no big plans for the week, I take it?”

“Nope. Saving some coin for a summer trip to Europe before real life comes along and whisks me away. You?” I asked.

“I suppose I’ll spend some time with my family. Unpack my condo. I moved in a few weeks ago, and it’s a total tip right now. I might head to Ottawa for a few days. Nothing too exciting.”

“Well, enjoy,” I said.

I’ll miss you, Dr. Hobo
.

He headed down the steps, turning at the bottom to say, “Nice job today, by the way. You’re quite perceptive—much more than you probably realize.”

Then he strode across King’s College Circle to his car. I tried to remember exactly what I’d said in tutorial. Again, I wondered if he was talking about my insight into the play or something more. At the end of the day, it didn’t matter. I’d take the compliments where I could get them.

Daniel climbed into his spotless car and sped away. Yep—the court case? Definitely a speeding infraction.

I tried to be gracious as I watched Jo and Matt pile their packed bags in the front hall. Joanna and Stephen were going to Florida together, and Matt was heading home to British Columbia to spend the week with his family. Matt hugged me tightly before climbing into his taxi. Our relationship seemed to have changed, but not necessarily in a bad way. We still joked around and pushed each other’s buttons, but there was a much deeper undercurrent of affection between us. Instead of making us uncomfortable around each other, the Valentine’s Day experience seemed to have brought us closer.

He hadn’t pursued his suspicion that I was harboring unrequited feelings for someone, and I didn’t volunteer any information. It was enough to know that he cared and was in my corner whenever I needed someone to talk to.

I woke up on Saturday to absolute silence, certain I was the only person left in the entire building. Feeling mopey, I convinced myself I needed some retail therapy. Considering the state of my bank balance, this would prove difficult. In the end, I treated myself to a new Sarah Waters book and took a roundabout route back to Vic that brought me through St. Mike’s quad.

As I approached the path leading to Victoria College, I saw Mary from my tutorial loading the trunk of a car with several knapsacks. The car was full of people—her mom and dad in the front, two little girls in the back. I called out to her and waved, wishing her a good week. She waved back, offering similar good wishes. Seeing Mary with her family underscored my own isolation. I tried not to mope, vowing to get the most out of my week.

Each day I planned a different outing, visiting the art gallery on Monday and the Royal Ontario Museum on Tuesday. On Wednesday, I was intending to visit the Gardiner Museum of Ceramics, which, like the ROM, was a five minute walk from Jackman and one of my favorite places to go when I needed a meditative escape from the bustle of campus life. In the end, the weather report made me change my plans. With the temperature finally above freezing, I decided I’d take the subway down to the St. Lawrence market and get some much needed fresh air.