Chip took Diann’s purse off the back of her chair. It was a big black leather thing, full of intriguing smaller pouches. He started examining everything. I remember thinking how lucky she was that he was so interested in her. And I remember being surprised that she felt no need to hide anything from him—she knew he’d taken her purse; she’d barely turned around. He looked at every picture in her wallet, started to open a note some friend had written to her, then didn’t. It impressed me that he would respect her privacy in this way when he was so boldly going through everything else. And it wasn’t for my benefit, either—as usual, he had no idea I was watching him. He uncapped the two pens he found, scribbled a few lines with each. He found her Tampax, took it out, and then put it back in its plastic holder. He stroked the rabbit’s foot on her key chain, made it hop around his desk. Then he tried on one of her lipsticks—a pink so hot it neared fuchsia—and tapped her on the shoulder to show her. She frowned, rolled her eyes, and turned away. “Myra!” he whispered. When I looked over at him, he pursed his lips and made small kissing noises. I looked down at my desk, smiled. “Want some?” he whispered, holding up the tube of lipstick. I shook my head. “Come on,” he said, tilting his head, running his eyes slowly over my face. “It would look good on you.” His blond hair was falling over one dark blue eye; his long legs in their khaki pants stretched out into the aisle. He was wearing Weejuns with no socks, and he had the sleeves of his plaid shirt rolled up midway to the elbow. He was killing me.

Diann turned around then, snatched her purse back. But he had kept the lipstick, and now he held it out to me. I shook my head again. I knew he didn’t mean it.

“Care to let us in on the joke, Mr. Reardon?” the teacher asked suddenly—loudly—but then the bell rang and everyone started cheering and running out of there. Then years passed and years passed and now I am a fifty-one year-old nurse and Chip is a fifty-one-year-old man with a brain tumor. And in a few short hours, I will see him again. His eyes will be the same. His hair will not be.

• • •