Ophelia Campbell had been a war correspondent for three and half years. She had stared down the barrel of a gun, she'd less then a block away from explosions . So why? WHY? Was knocking on this door scarier than anything else she had gone through. She was not prepared for the door to open and stare at her old professor. Has he always been this tall? She swore she came up his shoulder not his chest.
"Lia." Oleander Leghtoncorft looked like a man who studies folklore and fairy tales. He was in his mid forties. His hair was grayer since the last time she had seen him. His smile was soft and welcoming. He wore a soft brown suit with dark buttons. It was hard to believe that she hadn't seen him since she finished her masters. "Come in." He gestures to her to enter his office with a sweep of a long arm.
"Thanks." She sat down in one of the chairs facing his desk. Inside her shoes she was curling her toes. She was thankful that he couldn't see them. "How have you been?"
"Busy, my grad student is graduating this year. She's spiraling slightly. She's going to be fine, though." His accent slipped out slightly, a rare occurrence for sure. She knew he was originally from the UK. Though if anyone asked about connection to any of the British Aristocracy; he would ignore it and change the subject. With the name of Leghtoncoft she had tried to find out, but no luck. "How are you?"
"Okay... Just...." She fumbled for a moment. "I'm thinking about going back to school. Get that PhD I always talked about." It came out earlier and faster than she intended.
"Oh, that would be lovely for you." He looked over his glasses at her. "I'm glad to hear it."
"Yeah... I was wondering... if... " She took a deep breath shift in the nice office chair in front of the desk. "If you would be willing to write a letter of recommendation. I know its been a few years since I finished." He held his hand up.
"You tell me where to send them." He smiled with a slight nod. "Do you want what you want to write about?" She nodded.
"Kinda, I want to write about the push back in the zeitgeist against influential works that had shaped it in the last few years. With the "Me too" Movement and the backlash to that once transphobic author."
"That is a good start. Are you planning to start in the spring or fall?" He stood up and started a kettle. He was making tea... any idea of this being a short visit got tossed out the window. "Also you may want to create an outline to send in with your applications."
"Fall... I have a few freelance articles lined up for the next couple of months." She sighed. Was he going to ask? Did he know?
"So..." he said, looking over his glasses at her again.
"I'm doing okay. Work just ended kinda awkwardly." She had just been injured on her last assignment.
"I see." He slid a tea service across the desk. "Do you want to talk about it? You don't have to."
"Well, I'm just glad to be out of the boot." She sighed. "It was really really inconvenient." He smiled at her and they fell into old chats. Catching up, then fell into a comfortable silence. He managed to get her to have a second cup of tea. He told her about his wife, she was a stern woman who Lia had gotten to know while working on her masters. She drained her cup and stood up.
"Ophelia." His tone was different. "Dinner is still at seven." She nodded and headed out of the office.