Driving along, though he tried his best to keep up with the Italian tape, his thoughts turned to Elena. As he often did, he tried to rewind in his mind the memories of their brief encounter that day on the hill by the side of the rugby pitch. He dissected every second he could remember of the brief time they’d spent together, every word that had passed between them, looking for clues—something she’d said, a gesture, a laugh, anything at all—that would tell him more about her. As always, he soon found himself simply dwelling on the shape of her lovely face, her smile, her hair, and the indescribable color of her eyes. In the end these things still mesmerized him, just as they had that moment he first laid eyes on her, and told him everything he felt he needed to know.

When Carter approached his house, he caught sight of Sheila Mahoney walking down the front walk of her house to the mailbox at the edge of her yard, near the street. Looking quite pretty in a conservative skirt and blouse, she most likely also just returned from work. As Carter passed her and pulled into his driveway, she gave him a smile and waved before opening the box.

“Hey, Sheila,” he called to her, returning the smile, when he stepped out of the car. “How’s it going?”

“No complaints,” she called back.

She took the mail from the box, flipped the lid closed, and strolled across the yard to him. She stopped at the edge of the property and stood there for a moment, assessing his rather grimy appearance, before nodding to his sweat-stained shirt.

“Long day at the office, dear?” she asked, batting her eyes with feigned sweetness.

“They all feel pretty long these days,” Carter chuckled. “Not that I’m complaining, either. At least I’m getting paid.”

“It does make having a job worthwhile,” she noted. “I take it you’re still working on the chain gang.”

“Oh yeah,” shrugged Carter. “But construction’s not so bad. It’ll do for the summer, before I finally have to find a real job. How about you?”

“At the bank,” she said with a shrug of her own. “It’s boring, but like you said, it’ll do for the summer.”

She paused, and gave him that familiar look of hers.

“Still planning to go to Italy in September?” she asked. “I remember your saying something about that the last time I saw you.”

“That’s the plan,” nodded Carter. He held up the Italian language cassette. “That’s why I’ve been taking Italian lessons.”

“Ha, language tapes!” laughed Sheila suddenly. “That explains it.”

“Explains what?”