The Measure of a Man. Marie Ferrarella

he’d just stepped out for the moment and would be back shortly. Leaving his office, she hurried across the hall to her own.

      Lunchtime was more than half over. Not that the professor ever placed any boundaries on her time. More than once he’d told her she could take as long as she wanted for lunch in case there were any errands she needed to run. He’d said that he knew a single mother with a young son had demands on her time that couldn’t always be neatly tucked away within the hours that came after she left the college for the evening.

      But the university had a strict policy as to how long anyone could take for lunch and she didn’t want to be seen abusing it. It was bad enough that the board was after the professor. She didn’t want them saying that his secretary was found wanting, as well, and in some twisted way use that against him, too.

      So she was going to have her lunch at her desk while she caught up on some data she needed to input into her computer. God knew she was behind this week. She’d taken the last week off, wanting to spend some time with Danny before he took that first big step into the world of learning. From here on in, once school began for him, her son’s next seventeen years plus were going to be accounted for.

      She thought of that time in terms of money and the very notion sent a long, cold shiver shimmying down her spine.

      Somewhere, somehow, she was going to find the money for Danny’s college education. There would be no mysterious benefactors for her son the way there had been for her, but that didn’t mean he was going to be deprived. Danny was going to receive his college diploma even if she had to work 24/7 to get the money.

      Jane stopped her train of thought. There were times, she knew, when she got a little too carried away.

      “First, you need to let Danny get through kindergarten,” she told herself as she opened the door to her cramped office.

      Jane stopped in the doorway. There was a tall, slender blonde standing in her office with her back to the door, taking up what felt like one quarter of the tiny space.

      “Can I help you?”

      The woman turned around. Jane felt a little foolish, thinking that this was a stranger. Not that they were exactly friends, but they knew one another. They’d both been at Saunders the same year and had had some classes together. Their lives, however, had gone on to take completely different paths.

      For some reason Sandra was in her office, obviously waiting for her. Jane tried to think if there was anything remotely newsworthy going on. Sandra was a journalist for a neighborhood newspaper in Boston’s North End, given to writing human interest stories and short, entertaining articles about up-coming local functions. Sandra was also the wife of one-time Saunders University jock, David Westport. Jane remembered that the two had been college sweethearts around the same time that she and Drew had gotten together. Theirs was a match thought to be made in heaven, or at least a successful Hollywood romance movie.

      Nice to know some marriages actually worked, Jane thought.

      Still looking at Sandra, she put down the bag with her sandwich and her tall container of soda, the caffeine in which she hoped would see her through the long afternoon. Danny’d had nightmares last night. Twice. The second time he’d come running into her room, she’d taken him back to his and then stayed up with him until long past when he’d settled back to sleep. She estimated that since Danny had been born, she’d averaged roughly five hours of sleep a night—if she was lucky.

      Without a doubt, she was going to need more than one hit of caffeine. After she found out what the ex-cheerleader was doing here.

      Sandra moved away from the window she’d been looking out of. “I certainly hope you can help.”

      Jane’s eyebrows pulled together thoughtfully. She had absolutely no idea what she could possibly do to help someone like Sandra. At first glance—and twelfth—Sandra seemed to have it all: beauty, a job she liked and, most important of all, a loving husband.

      But Jane was nothing if not game. Sticking a straw through the small hole in the soda container’s lid, she took a long, refreshing sip, then looked up at the other woman in the room.

      “Okay, I’m listening.”

      “Please, go ahead and have your lunch,” Sandra told her, waving at the brown bag with its whimsical logo of a college student devouring a three-foot sandwich. “I promise this won’t take too long.”

      Now Sandra really had her intrigued. Despite the fact that marriage to Drew had made her always expect the worst, no matter what the turn of events, Jane was struggling hard to break that habit.

      But it wasn’t easy. Especially when Sandra’s pretty heart-shaped face looked so tense, despite the smile she’d so obviously forced to her lips.

      “And ‘this’ would be?” Jane prompted, taking out her sandwich.

      Sandra sank onto the chair that was directly against the side of the desk and looked at Jane. “I’m sure by now you know that the board is trying to get rid of Professor Harrison.”

      Jane wasn’t thrilled with Sandra’s imperious tone. “Yes, I’m aware of what’s happening,” she said coolly. She waited for Sandra to continue.

      Sandra flushed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound as if I’ve got some kind of inside track. If anyone does, it’s you. Which is why I’m here.” She took a breath, then launched into the heart of the matter. “The professor called on a few people—David, Nate Williams and a couple of others—asking them to come and speak to the board on his behalf.” Sandra’s mouth curved into a smile that seemed to Jane to be more sad than happy. “I guess he thought if he could show off some of his success stories, they wouldn’t come down so hard on his ‘old-fashioned’ methods.”

      Jane was well aware of the professor’s plan. He’d had her scan the Internet for phone numbers of a handful of his former students who had gone on to make something of themselves so that he could get in touch with them.

      She’d noted that although she and the professor were close and she worked with him every day, the professor hadn’t asked her to address the board on his behalf. She supposed he might have thought it was putting her on the spot. Nothing could have been further from the truth. She had every intention of speaking up for him.

      Granted she wasn’t a shining example of what one could achieve given the advantages of an education at Saunders and the benefit of having sat in one of Professor Harrison’s classes. But it didn’t matter that her personal life was in a state of flux and upheaval. That was certainly no fault of the professor’s. After her parents’ death, if it hadn’t been for the professor, she wouldn’t have found the courage to complete her education. Coupled with the mysterious bequest that had taken the financial burden off her shoulders, she’d been able to graduate and receive her diploma. But she wouldn’t have been able to do it on just money alone. The state of her emotions had been an equal if not more important factor in her attaining her diploma. The professor had helped her to believe in herself.

      She wasn’t sure just how much of an impact she would have, pleading the professor’s case. After all, she wasn’t some high-powered doctor, or famous lawyer, or internationally known model like the people he’d contacted. She was just an administrative assistant, which in her case was a glorified euphemism for secretary.

      Still, that didn’t take away from the fact that Professor Harrison had left a tremendous, lasting impression on her life, one for which she would be forever grateful. To her way of thinking, he should be allowed to do the same for the students of the classes that were to come.

      Jane nodded in response to Sandra’s words. “That sounds just like the way the professor thinks,” she agreed.

      Eager to get started, Sandra continued, “I’ve discovered that Alex Broadstreet intends to humiliate the professor, to twist things around and accuse him of improper behavior.”

      Jane looked at her, stunned. She’d almost dropped the sandwich she was unwrapping. Of all the absurd things she’d ever heard in her