Page 5 of The Artist and the Muse

“Mint tea sounds perfect.”

After a moment, she placed a to-go cup of the steaming beverage in my hands, and the second door to Dean Edwin McCallum’s office opened. “Please, come in, Mr. Devereaux.”

I set down my tea on a side table across from his desk and shook his hand. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Mr. McCallum.”

“How did your first day of teaching go?” He gestured for me to take a seat on the uncomfortable-looking plastic chair facing him—likely uncomfortable on purpose, so that no one would overstay their welcome.

“Very well. I’m looking forward to the rest of the semester.”

“Hmm.” He clicked a button on his computer, then began typing at a frustratingly slow pace with two fingers. Given his silver hair andthe deep lines bracketing his mouth and eyes, his unfamiliarity with technology made sense. Still, it surprised me since he had to type for his job. “Let me pull up your file here. You came strongly recommended by Professor Duke from the economics department, not to mention Aaron Steele, who has been a generous donor to our school.”

I sipped my mint tea. “Yes, Professor Duke was the one who encouraged me to apply.”

I had met Finnegan Duke at a dinner hosted by Aaron Steele, my sister’s father-in-law. I’d become acquainted with the Steeles—including Georgia’s mom—through my sister and her husband, who had been helping me with my immigration issues. Finnegan had been kind enough to tell me about the position and even recommend me for the job. I couldn’t have thanked him enough. His generosity had made me wonder if things might be looking up for me—if I hadn’t made a complete mess of the life God had given me, after all.

“I see you’re an accomplished and world-renowned artist. However, you also have a reputation for being, how do I say, a Casanova.”

My cheeks flamed red. Most gallery artists lacked the notoriety I did—mine stemmed from my family’s wealth and high social status in Canada. It had only amplified the number of tabloid headlines about me and my former romantic relationships.

My love life was not something I was proud of. I didn’t enjoy bragging about the women I had wooed as some men did. I had been wrong to get into many meaningless relationships, believing it would numb the pain of grieving my father.

“I didn’t realize NYU was so concerned with the personal lives of their faculty,” was all I managed to choke out. I took another sip of my mint tea and hoped it would soothe my nerves.

“We are when it comes to such… high-profile lecturers as yourself. At NYU, we don’t take kindly to professors engaging in inappropriate romantic behaviour. We have a strong anti-fraternization policy against student-teacher relationships.”

Inappropriate romantic behaviour?What did they think I was going to do, have some kind of tawdry affair with a student? Just the thought infuriated me, but I took a deep breath. “I understand.”

“I wouldn’t normally bring this up, but because you are new here and still on probation, I have to make you aware of all complaints that arise. I had a student request to switch out of your class. I told her we couldn’t do that because the summer term is so short. However, she told us she wanted to leave your class because of a… personal history between the two of you.”

I groaned inwardly. It must have been Georgia. But she’d insisted that she wouldn’t leave my class this morning. Had she changed her mind so quickly?

“I'm sorry to hear that.”

“If we receive any similar complaints about your conduct, or other issues regarding your personal life, throughout your time here, we will have to take more severe action. For now, though, I thought I would let you know.” He rose from his chair. “Thank you for meeting me, Mr. Devereaux. I’ll be in touch if anything we’ve discussed today changes.”

With that, he got up and walked me to the door. I couldn’t help but feel like a newly freed inmate who’d just barely escaped the penitentiary—only to remember the ankle monitor still shackled to his leg.

After I left the office and drained my cup of tea before throwing it away, my shoulders sagged. My conversation with the dean had spoiled my intentions for this job, to have a fresh start without being haunted by the heavy regrets that dogged my steps. So much for leaving the past behind. Instead, it seemed like others thought I was doomed to repeat it.

I’d hoped for a fresh start with Georgia, in my heart of hearts. Although we hadn’t seen each other since ending our fake relationship, I had thought the time and distance apart would have cooled her fury. But then again, I hadn’t given her an apology, and I’d never been any good at those.

No wonder my sister, Katerina, despite her insistence on patience, kindness, and living out godly principles, still couldn’t bring herself to fully forgive me. Oh, she claimed to forgive me. Claimed she had let go of how I hadn’t bothered to show up to our father’s funeral. Hadn’t been there to comfort her in her grief. Had abandoned her to gallivant around Europe for years.

But I was sure my actions couldn’t be anywhere close to forgivable. Even for a woman with the grace and heart of a saint.

As for the fresh start I had wanted with the teaching job… God must be playing a cruel joke on me by placing Georgia in my class. She had appeared just as I was trying to move on, to make something of myself. Trying to prove to myself that I was capable of something other than moping around my apartment, suffering from creative block.

Clearly, my hopes were unfounded.

Pushing open the door of a local coffee shop, I ordered an espresso and sat in a corner to begin working. Although it was far too early in the semester for anything to need grading, but I wanted to put the finishing touches on a few slideshows. I also wanted to ensure the software I used to post the syllabus and assignments on was working, and check the itinerary for the Italy trip one more time.

While I worked, a reminder popped up on my screen.Call Pastor Tony to discuss artwork.I sent off a quick text to the pastor of the church that my sister, brother-in-law, and some other members of their family attended. While I didn’t know if I could call the pastor a friend, he was an invaluable resource on the background of the pieceswe would be discussing in this course. It was always good to acquire more knowledge. At least, that was what I told myself.

It definitely didn’t have anything to do with one of the last things my father had said to me before I’d left home almost ten years ago to go ‘find myself’. I had wanted to be an artist, not a businessman like he’d wanted me to be.

You’ve never needed to find yourself, George. I have always known exactly who you are, and so does the One who made you.

My worst fear was that he might be right—and that the person God and my father saw wasn’t worth knowing.

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