Isaac’s lips spread across his face as he turned away from the TV. He looked like a condescending schoolteacher. “It’s not a rumor.” He sipped his beer and leaned his elbows on the bar. Isaac was a tall guy. Not overweight but kind of . . . doughy. He looked like he hadn’t been outside in two months. More like Dr. Hoffman, although obviously Hoffman was a lot older. And just thinking of Hoffman made her shiver and remember what she had to talk to Connor about.

And Isaac wasn’t like Dr. Nye. Or Dr. White. Guys who managed to stay fit even in middle age. Stay fit and look good.

“I Googled it one night and found an article,” Isaac said. “I guess Nye’s wife is—was—some kind of researcher. Like management consulting or something. She had to go to some conference up in Maine, and she took their son, who was, like, fifteen years old, with her. And while they were there . . . Well, it’s really kind of a freaky story.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Around ten o’clock, the students started to leave, dispersing into the cool early-spring night. Madeline was on her third beer, and when Isaac left, he offered her a ride because it was so dark. “Spring forward” had made the days longer—and cost her an hour of sleep—but not long enough.

“I’m good,” Madeline said. “Thanks.”

Isaac lingered, looking like he had something else to say.

“What?”

“Well, it’s just . . . I wouldn’t want Dr. Nye to know I told you that stuff about his family. He might think I’m talking shit about him, but I’m just repeating what I read online.”

“It’s cool, Isaac.” Madeline turned an imaginary key over her mouth. “I’m good at keeping secrets. Trust me.”

Isaac looked relieved and left Dubliners, no doubt to work on another grammatically incorrect story about an astronaut in the year 2347 having sex with a lusty robot.

Madeline checked her phone. Nothing. She felt relieved. She couldn’t deal with anyone trying to get in touch with her. She wanted to be left alone. She hoped that might finally be happening. Maybe things would blow over and calm down.

She told herself that—but life had taught her something different. If wishes were horses, Maddy girl, her mother used to say.

She wasn’t sure what she was going to do when she left Dubliners. She knew what she should do—homework. But after she’d had nearly three beers and no food, her mind wouldn’t be able to focus. If she tried to read or write, the words on the page might dance around like tiny hieroglyphs, mocking her with their refusal to form into anything sensible. And she’d been getting so little work done over the last week with everything on her mind.