She exits by the rear door, stepping down onto the sidewalk, which is stained by the rock salt that has been thrown everywhere. She hates winter because it’s just so dirty. Everything stained and gray and cold. She turns left, starting for Troy’s, when she hears her name.

She looks back toward the bus. Has she forgotten something? Her wallet? Her keys? She’s done it before and then had to pay for new credit cards, a new student ID, a new key. But no one on the bus knows her name, and a quick check of her pockets tells her everything feels like it’s in place.

She hears her name again. She looks around.

People pass back and forth in front of her. Not just students but also faculty and people on their way to jobs downtown—lawyers, cops, business owners.

Is she hearing things? Thinking she’s heard her name twice when she hasn’t?

Then there is no mistaking it—someone almost shouts her name.

“Rebecca.”

She jerks her head to the right. An alley runs along the side of Troy’s, leading to the small parking lot in back. Someone stands there in the entrance to the alley, and when she looks that way, he beckons her over.

“Come on,” he says. “Over here.”

And it all seems so weird because she’s just been thinking about him and his book and his talk at the library.

And she doesn’t have time to wonder why Dr. Nye is calling to her like he doesn’t want anyone to know he’s in the alley next to Troy’s.

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

CONNOR

PRESENT

Rebecca finally hears me and starts over, even though she looks suspicious.

She wears a wool hat pulled low on her forehead, and her eyes look out from under it like she thinks I might bite. I step back, relieved to be out of the exposed opening to the alley.

“Dr. Nye? Is everything okay?”

I’m far enough back so no one walking by can see me. The kid looks at me like I’m nuts, but I also benefit from teaching in an English Department. Everyone seems eccentric or odd or flat-out crazy—the students grow used to it and at most roll their eyes behind our backs when we behave like lunatics.

“Everything’s . . . okay,” I say. “I didn’t want to talk in Troy’s. It’s so crowded this time of morning.”

“Did you want to talk to me?” she asks, pointing at her chest with a gloved hand.

“I do,” I say.

“Did you know I’d be here?”

“I figured a lot of people pass through Troy’s in the morning. And you always have a Troy’s cup with you in class. Do you have a minute?”

“Well, I’m on my way—”

“It’ll be quick.”