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on the mark—right on the mark. Let me know what I can do to help.” He hung up.
    Take your medication, I thought.
    On my way to Hightower’s office, I fumed. How dare that woman write something like that? Is she insane or just vicious?

Chapter Five
    You have managed to turn a splinter of annoyance into a gangplank the board will most certainly want to send you down.” Hightower paced.
    “I never said suicide was natural selection for gay priests. And there was no discussion about a chancellorship for anyone, much less myself.”
    “And yet, here it is.” He slapped the offending morning edition down on his desktop.
    “I’m sorry but—”
    “Roger Thurgood Sr. contacted me this morning to say it’s refreshing when a right-wing conservative is willing to take an unpopular stand against gays.”
    “Oh, nooo.”
    “And Thurgood is now a big supporter of yours and intends to intervene on your behalf with the board regarding this article, stating that you have the courage of your convictions.”
    “I don’t want him intervening on my behalf. He stands for everything I do not.”
    “And now, like it or not, he stands for you. Fortunate for you, your press coverage has eclipsed his anger over his grandson’s unhappiness with your class. You live under a lucky star, it would seem.” He looked down at the work on his desk, letting me know our talk was over. I stood up quickly and headed for the door. “Oh, Dr. Westbrooke, obviously any assignment I might have given you regarding the press is withdrawn.”
    Lips clamped shut to avoid saying something acrimonious, I stormed out of his office, apparently looking so threatening that Eleonor jumped up from her desk and followed me like a worried mother.
    “Now, you settle yourself down. You’re going to bust an artery if you don’t just breathe.” She clamped a large black hand on my forearm with such force I stopped abruptly. “Breathe. Breathe. Breeeathe.”
    “I never said those things. I treated her with respect and she sabotaged me and I am going to call her and have it out with her.”
    “She’ll just print whatever you say while you’re ‘having it out with her,’ and from the look on your face, you don’t want that printed.
    I suggest if you’re going to talk to her at all, you do like these political candidates and have some third party set up the ground rules in advance—off the record, no microphones, no notes, and no follow-up articles.”
    “You’re right. Okay. Thanks.”
    Outside I made a point to slow down and keep breathing at an even slower pace. At a ninety-degree angle, a swift-moving form, obviously bent on intersecting me, picked up speed. Professor Gladys Irons, in a gray cape and skirt, black oxfords, and a strange cap that made her look like a Salvation Army reject, had me in her sights, and before I could find an avenue of flight, she had her arms around me.
    “I am so proud of you. Proud. I knew the gumption was there.
    I’ve just been praying it would come out, and then like a valiant soldier you moved to the front of the line and you fired against the enemy and we will take up arms behind you.” The scratchy cape scrubbed my cheek, making it itch as she whispered into my ear. “The anti-gay salvo.
    We all wanted to say it, but no one had the courage. Then you said it.
    God punishes them.” And for a horrifying moment, I realized Gladys sounded like my father. Together, they could well be the proverbial army of God.
    “He apparently does…putting them in the midst of straight people.”
    I pulled back from her, but not before she clasped my hand so firmly that I wondered what she did in her off hours, and then genuflected so quickly I was dragged to the ground with her.
    “Let’s pray together.” Her eyes fluttered on the way to closing.
    Dennis’s batlike cassock was never so welcome floating toward me, and I could see the mirth in his eyes as he said, “Dr. Westbrooke, did you fall? Let me help