She felt naked, exposed, like she was going to throw up. “One of my students gave me her number . . . but now I forget who. You can throw it away. If she needs me bad enough, she’ll give it to me again, or call the school office.”

“Okay.” Phil threw the scrap of paper in the white trash can. Amy turned from watching and poured Cascade in the eye-socket holes of the dishwasher, slammed the door shut and pushed the appropriate black buttons to begin the hum of the machine.

Phil leaned up against the counter and smiled at her.

“What?” she asked.

“I got a funny call today from Bill’s wife. Said she was getting her hair done and saw you pull into the parking lot with a gas hose stuck in the car—that you sat down in the middle of the parking lot and laughed.”

She leaned against the same counter, needing its support. So his boss’s wife had seen her and thought the tears were laughter.

“It was pretty funny, actually. Carol Anne and I were so involved in our discussion I actually left the gas hose in the car.”

“What did the gas station do? Do we have to pay for it?”

“No. Believe it or not they say it happens more frequently than you’d imagine.”

“Where was your head?”

“I don’t know. I was talking and—”

“Probably about that project of yours.”

“What do you mean, ‘project of mine’?”

“Well, you do seem to be obsessed with it lately.”

“And you’re not with your job?”

“That’s different.”

“Why, Phil? Because it’s yours? Because it isn’t my job?”

“No, honey. This is your . . . project. And I’m glad you’re doing something you love.”

“You are?”

“Yes, I am. How’s it going?” He took a deep inhale, as if listening to her required a sustaining breath.

“I went back out there a couple weeks ago. Nick found an endangered plant that could change everything. Brenton is pretty sure it’s a tiny-leaved buckthorn, a very rare shrub. Norah is taking it to the Heritage Preserve with all the other information Reese and Revvy have about the wildlife.”

“That’s nice, honey. Really. I hope it works out for you.”

“I’m gonna try to grade some papers.”

“Okay.” He kissed her again, moved toward the living room.

She waited, then watched to see him slump on the couch, humming, reading his Wall Street Journal—preoccupied once again with stock prices. Only then did she go back into the kitchen, lift the top of the trash can, pick out the small pink paper and tuck it safely into the back pocket of her pants.