She started to grade the essays, but found she needed to close her eyes for just one minute. She collapsed into the chaise longue covered in faded pink and yellow chintz, that she’d found at a flea market.

She awoke with Phil’s lips on her forehead. “Honey, it’s midnight. You need to come to bed.”

She opened her eyes and looked around the room. “Oh, hell, Phil. I’ll never go back to sleep now. You know I can’t sleep after I wake up.” She rubbed her face.

“I couldn’t let you sleep here all night. You’ll get cold.”

“You could’ve just thrown a blanket on me.”

“Amy, come to bed.”

“I can’t. I didn’t finish the laundry . . . the papers.”

“Class isn’t for three more days. Come to bed.”

She looked up at Phil, at his eyes, and she lifted up her hands, allowed him to pull her to her feet. She fell onto his chest and rested there, knowing for a moment her place.

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

The building—constructed of brick and tabby, the Lowcountry combination of lime, whole oyster shells and burned, crushed shells—squatted in front of Nick. The sun sank below the tips of the wrought-iron fencing across the top of the building and caused the iron to blaze. Nick looked down to the front door of the building he was not allowed into without a pass. He waited for a student, even one, to exit the dorm so he could walk in as she walked out.

He’d wrestled all afternoon with the thought versus the reality of coming to Amy’s dorm. He’d imagined her angry at him for coming without telling her, then relieved when he told her what he’d found. Only a few weeks had passed since he’d last seen her, yet another twenty-five years seemed to have dissolved in her absence, as if the recent contact with her elongated both time and pain—again.

He opened the truck door and stepped out, walked slowly toward the front of the dorm. A young girl, her ponytail swishing to her flicking head movements as she talked to her friends, opened the door, bringing laughter and the exposed midriffs of undergrads going out for the evening. Nick smiled, nodded and propped the door open for them. They smiled back at him, probably believing he was visiting his daughter. He entered the foyer. The sun setting behind the building glared through the back windows, exposed streaks and handprints on the glass. Nick squinted and turned to the front desk. Everything in the room appeared harsh, overlit by the setting sun.