Monday morning in the office is hectic for Cordelia Spooner.
There are only a few days before the sixth-form graduates and the rest of the school leaves for the summer, and there's a lot to cram in.
Today, the entire senior class is having their picture taken on the beach at Jewel Pond, with everyone wearing a shirt from the college they will be attending.
While Audre and Honey are overseeing that cat-herding, Cordelia will answer the phones (the sixth-form parents have lots of questions about dress code for Prize Day) as well as run the final information session and campus tour of the year.
She hopes nobody shows up. It's too late for this year's applicants, but there are always those dialed-up parents of next year's applicants who want to get a jump on things, and Cordelia isn't in the mood for anyone that Type A.
When, at ten o'clock, there is no one signed up, Cordelia breathes a sigh of relief.
She'll pop over to Jewel Pond to see if Audre and Honey need any help.
(A mini-crisis arose when the Princeton T-shirt that Annabelle Tuckerman ordered didn't arrive in the mail.
Her ever-adoring parents came to the rescue, driving all the way from Westfield, New Jersey, with their own vintage Princeton-wear.)
Just as Cordelia is leaving the Manse, a gentleman jogs up the stairs.
He's a middle-aged white guy in horn-rimmed sunglasses with a bushy head of Bob Ross hair, which is so unlikely that Cordelia wonders if it's a wig.
Oh, how she'd love to ignore him and pretend like nobody's available, but she can't just let a stranger walk through the Manse.
She smiles at him. Is something about this gentleman familiar? No, she would have remembered that hair. He's dressed in khakis and a linen blazer, straight from suburban Dad central casting. He's not wearing a wedding ring, but he could be divorced. Why on earth is he here alone?
"Can I help you?" she asks.
"I was hoping to attend the information session," he says. "And then I'd like a map so I can take a self-guided tour."
"Are you a"—Cordelia checks behind him, but he seems to be alone—"prospective parent?"
"Not exactly," he says. "I have twin nieces who are in the throes of end-of-the-year activities at their middle school. Band concerts, spring sports banquets. So they sent me to check out the school, then report back to the fam. I'm vetting their list." He pulls a notebook out of the breast pocket of his linen jacket.
"I promised I'd take notes, and pictures too, of course. "
Well, well, Cordelia thinks. This year it's twin nieces; last year it was triplet nephews.
This same gentleman, minus all that hair, attended an information session last spring and then asked for a map so he could do a "self-guided tour," and Cordelia had thought, Are you crazy?
I'm not going to let you prowl around camp.
And so she'd insisted he take a tour with…
well, with the only student Cordelia could call on at the last minute, one who also happened to be the best tour guide at Tiffin.
The gentleman seems to suspect he's busted because he takes a step backward. But Cordelia doesn't want to scare him away.
"You're the only one here today," she says. "Come inside and we'll chat."
"I don't need any special treatment," he says. "Just a map and…"
"Follow me," Cordelia says.
"I'm Cordelia Spooner," she says as she leads the gentleman up to Audre's private library and closes the door behind them.
"Philip Jennings," he says, shaking her hand.
Cordelia nearly cries out in delight at the alias; she's watched all six seasons of The Americans. She can't remember the alias this same gentleman used last year—was it as obvious as Jim Bond? Cordelia does recall that he was bald and wore glasses with black square frames.
"Please have a seat," she says.
Philip Jennings is gazing out the window toward Jewel Pond. The kids are arranging themselves by height. They're laughing, goofing off; Cordelia hears Honey say, "All the Elon kids stand together."
"That's our sixth-form," Cordelia says. "They're having their class picture taken in their college shirts."
"They're good-looking kids," Philip Jennings notes.
Cordelia looks him dead in the eye; she would like to avoid a conversation about the appearance of Tiffin students. "I know who you are."
Philip Jennings tents his fingertips and releases an exhale. "Ahhh, I thought you might."
"And I have questions."
He laughs. "Why did I choose this wig? Or why did I return myself instead of sending a colleague? The answer to the first is my wife picked it out. The answer to the second is we're understaffed."
"Why did you rank us at number two?" Cordelia asks.
"We aren't the second-best boarding school in the country and we know it.
We don't have a huge endowment like other schools, we don't have a hockey rink, our dorms are outdated.
There's no speech or debate team, our head math teacher is well past retirement age, and we don't have a marching band.
" Cordelia could go on, but she won't. "The inquiry brought by ISNEC verified our ranking but it never explained why." Cordelia pauses. "There has to be a reason."
Philip Jennings nods, and briefly closes his eyes.
"Younger staffers at the magazine thought criteria for our rankings should be less numbers-focused and more subjective. Feelings-forward, if you will. This past year we prioritized, for lack of a better word, the vibe' of a school. Was the school a pressure cooker, or a place of joy? Are the students happy? My impressions of Tiffin…"
Cordelia can guess. Philip Jennings drove through the wrought-iron gates, he saw the wildflowers of the Pasture in full bloom, he heard the bells of the chapel chime the hour.
He would have been wowed by the Teddy; it's the finest student union anywhere.
He might have sat in on Senor Perez discussing The Shadow of the Wind with his AP Spanish students or Mr. Chuy teaching the lyrics of Lennon and McCartney.
But she's not sure any of that answers the question.
"… were favorable, of course. But the reason I ranked you at number two was, in large part, because of the eloquence and passion of my tour guide."
"Cinnamon Peters," Cordelia whispers.
"Cinnamon Peters," Philip Jennings says. His somber tone of voice lets Cordelia know that he knows. "I'm sorry for your loss."
Cordelia brings her hands to prayer. "What was it about her?"
"I've done a lot of tours at a lot of boarding schools," Philip Jennings says. "But I have never met anyone who loved a school the way that Cinnamon Peters loved Tiffin."
Cordelia mists up. "Tell me more."
"She took me to all the expected spots—the Schoolhouse, the student union, the library. She explained about the Senior Sofa—and during our visit to the chapel, she pointed out the needlepointed kneelers with their equestrian themes. She told me about senior speeches. And then she asked if I would mind stopping by the music room so she could pick up her guitar." Philip clears his throat.
"The music room was empty and she asked if I'd like to hear a song.
She played that song Home,' I'm not sure if you know it, but she changed the lyrics to I know I'm not alone, because I've made this place my home. "
Cordelia is happy to find Philip Jennings has a pleasant singing voice.
"When she finished, I applauded and she said, I grew up in Wisconsin but it was only when I came to Tiffin that I found my home.'"
Cordelia wipes away her tears. "So that was it, then? Your interaction with Cinnamon Peters was why we were ranked so high?"
"Well, you also sent eight students to the Ivy League last year, your grounds are fastidiously maintained, I love that you have your own beach—that was new since my previous visit. Your student newspaper still comes out in newsprint; I gave extra points for that, being a journalist myself." Philip pauses.
"And at the dining hall, I had a roasted turkey sandwich with green apple slaw on homemade focaccia that might count as the best sandwich I've ever eaten in my life. "
"If you'd come on wood-fired pizza Friday," Cordelia says, "you might have ranked us number one."
"I wouldn't go that far," Philip Jennings says. "Old Bennington is hard to beat."
But not impossible! Cordelia thinks.
She and Philip Jennings take a moment side by side at the window as, down below, the Class of 2026 cheeses for the camera.
"Such attractive kids, every single one of them," Philip Jennings says. "It's uncanny."
Cordelia takes Philip by the arm. "Let me walk you out," she says.
After Philip leaves—he wants to do a quick walkaround and hit the Paddock for lunch (obviously)—Cordelia hurries to meet Audre, who is walking from Jewel Pond back to the Manse.
"You're never going to guess what just happened," Cordelia says.
"I'm going to have to guess later," Audre says. "Roy Ewanick just called me."
" Called you?" Cordelia says. Roy Ewanick owns the last flip phone in America and barely knows how to use it.
"Yes," Audre says. "He wants to meet with me, pronto."
"Is the impossible happening?" Cordelia says. "Has Roy Ewanick finally decided to retire?"
This is Audre's assumption. Roy Ewanick is the last of the old guard. Doc Bellamy retired last year; he and Roy were great friends. Maybe Roy Ewanick found he was too lonely without Doc and was leaving, despite his vow to teach at Tiffin until the day he died.
Roy is already sitting in Audre's office when she arrives, his flip phone on the desk in front of him. When she enters, he stands. Roy has lovely manners that way, and he always wears a coat and tie when he teaches. Today's jacket is brown tweed, which is a bit at odds with the balmy weather.