CHAPTER 8
A couple of days later, Michael Burke stopped by Dr. Miller’s office with a sheaf of graded papers in his hands. “Afternoon, Howard,” he said, laying the pile on the department chair’s desk.
“Michael, how’s it going?”
They shook hands and Michael dropped carelessly into one of the hard, wooden seats. “I’m fine. Have any plans for the holiday?”
“Spending Christmas with my wife’s family in Phoenix this year. What about you?”
“I’m going to meet Sheridan’s parents,” Michael informed him.
“Good luck.” Dr. Miller waggled his bushy white eyebrows and smirked.
“Thanks.” Michael colored, hating to discuss personal items with his stuffy colleague.
Dr. Miller seemed to decide he’d had enough interpersonal interaction. He returned to the topic at hand, his face sinking into its usual
