The Beautiful Truth

^^ 91

Dr. Bovich likened watching Sawyer Fitzgerald in front of her class to watching one of those flowers, which, after months and months of careful cultivation and care, had finally bloomed.

No, that didn't do it justice. It was like...a sunrise, maybe.

For someone who'd made his living writing and teaching and analyzing words, he was struggling to find them. His experiment, if he could call it that, had gone better than he could've possibly predicted.

It wasn't an experiment, though. It was unfair to call it that. He'd had no intention of treating Sawyer Fitzgerald differently than any of his other students. But, something about her had seemed so...broken, even before he'd met her in person, and he couldn't help but want to...help.

Perhaps it had been her innate talent as a writer. Perhaps it had been her old-soul intelligence, or begrudging enthusiasm for academia, or the obvious closeness she had with her father that made him wish he and his own daughter were as close. Whatever it was, Sawyer Fitzgerald was a rarity.

He sat, watching her lead the discussion after her class had finished reading her father's unpublished epilogue. It was now closing in on four o'clock. Class had officially ended fifteen minutes ago, but these kids were rapt.

Incredible.

He smiled at Sawyer when she looked to him for approval. Keep going, he motioned. In all his years of teaching this course and many others, he'd never felt so proud and inspired by a group of students. It was nice—feeling like he'd actually gotten through to them. Or at least, given them the safe space to explore this book (this reality?) together.

Of course he knew he had a lot of extremely unreplicable circumstances on his side, too: daughter of an American author in his class, an undiscovered epilogue to the book he was teaching...and an extremely generous family in Sawyer and Kerry.

"She has a lot of respect for you," her father had told him on the phone this morning, when he'd called the author for his consent.

"As I do for her," Dr. Bovich had replied. "She's an extraordinary talent."

"That she is," Fitzgerald agreed. "Thank you...for all you've done for her this year."

Dr. Bovich had been about to tell him that he hadn't done anything at all—that Sawyer had worked through it all herself—when Kerry laughed at himself.

"Hell, thank you for everything you've done for us this year," Kerry corrected himself.

His response was immediate and entirely honest. "It was my pleasure."

Her class continued for another 45 minutes. No one seemed aware of the time until Sawyer finally looked up at the clock in the back of the room.

"Oh my God, it's almost five!" she suddenly exclaimed.

The rest of the class laughed.

"We know, SF," Sal Gagliani told her, grinning. "There's a clock behind you, too."

Dr. Bovich smiled, checking his own watch and standing, walking toward Sawyer at center stage.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she looked at him apologetically, still perched on the desk.

"You seemed like you were having fun," he shrugged.

"Tell me," he began, heading for the front row to begin collecting the manuscripts from each student, "when Jenny asked you last night what you thought happened to them after the end of the published novel, what did you say? Since you were still undercover."

Sawyer nodded once and seemed to smile to herself. "I said that...whatever happened to them, if life got in the way and they didn't end up together, I hoped life brought them back around...because I think just because you don't get it right the first time...that doesn't mean you don't deserve a second chance."

Dr. Bovich neatly stacked all 19 red (read?) copies of Kerry Fitzgerald's epilogue and replaced them gently in the box next to Sawyer on the desk. He knew his work here was done.

He smiled briefly at her, then turned back to his class and took them all in. "I think we're done here."

No one moved. Blank stares.

He scoffed, and self-satisfied, rolled his eyes. Obviously, they weren't following.

"I've never been so proud, or impressed, or inspired by the enthusiasm in one of my classes. I think I've taught you all I can teach..." he paused, self-indulgently building more suspense. "Uh...given your more than willing open discussion today...I don't think a final exam is necessary."

More blank stares.

"Uh, Dr. B, are you for real? Because if I don't show up here on Friday morning, I don't want to find an 'F' on my transcript next week."

"No Sal, consider today your final exam. You've all gotten A's. Now go prepare for your other finals. It has been a true privilege getting to know you all this year."

It finally sank in. A chorus of gasps, disbelieving laughter, thanks and relieved smiles covered the room.

Sawyer finally climbed down off the desk and picked up her original copy of the epilogue. "Thank you," she said, looking up at him.

She didn't have to say anything else. The depth of her gratitude was apparent.

"Of course," he told her. "You've lead your discussion through our regular meeting time, but you should know, your script is finished. I'm sending it to a friend in LA tonight."

"Yeah, OK," she laughed, making a face at him. "Go for it," she added sarcastically.

He just smiled. She didn't need to know he was serious. It was great, seeing her so carefree.