She hesitated, then answered, “That sounds really nice, but—”

“But nothing. Hell, we’ll call Revvy and the gang—tell them what I’ve found.”

“Nick . . .”

“Just let me hear your voice, walk with you. That’s all.”

“Okay, okay. I haven’t eaten in a while.”

“Me neither. Come on.” He stood, held out his hand for her. She grabbed it and stood. Dusk surrounded them, just as when he’d said goodbye to her last week, when she’d run from him and left him alone.

This time she was leaving with him. After she punched a code into the keypad, she opened the gate and he held it for her, bowed, allowed her out first.

“Mrs. Reynolds. Mrs. Reynolds.” A shrill voice came from the front porch of the dorm.

Nick looked at Amy. “You know her?”

“A student. Give me a sec here.”

Amy moved toward the small freckled girl, but the girl was quicker, reaching them first. “You forgot to grade my essay. You gave it back without a grade or marks or anything.”

“Oh, Sarah, I’m so sorry. It must have stuck to the bottom or . . . I’m so sorry. Just slip it under my door inside the dorm. I promise to have it back to you by tomorrow morning’s house tour—extra credit for my carelessness.”

“Bonus!” The girl giggled and glanced at Nick. “Is this your husband you always talk about?”

Amy blushed—it began at her hairline and descend to the V of her pearl gray sweater. “No, this is an old college friend in town on business. He’s working on the Oystertip Island project also.”

“Oh . . . sorry.”

“No, don’t be. Mr. Reynolds loves coming to Savannah. I’ll bring him to class sometime, introduce him.”

“Whatever . . . cool. I’ll see you in the morning.” Sarah disappeared through the front door.

Amy turned back to Nick. “This is a very, very bad idea,” she said.

Nick felt a rising panic; she would change her mind. “It’s fine. You’re being paranoid. We’re not doing anything wrong . . . taking a walk, talking. I haven’t even heard how your family is, what you’re doing. All we talked about was my damn jail term and the OWP project. Catch me up.”

Amy ambled across the cobblestone sidewalk; Nick didn’t speed up for fear of her turning back. She watched the ground while she walked, looked to the left, the right, never at him. She wrapped her arms around her chest and rubbed her upper arms.

“Are you cold?”

“No. I’m fine, really. So tell me about your family—your brother, your mom, your dad,” she said.

“Dad died fifteen years ago.”

“I’m so sorry. How?”