Ronny visited Sheria after the game and she laughed at him for attending in the first place. “I never pictured you as a sports person,” she said. “You know I think that’s a mental defect.”

“Oh, that’s fine. We all have our defects.”

“You should pursue one that’s more interesting.”

“Like what? Schizophrenia? Or agoraphobia?”

“Hey, watch it.” She was still mostly a recluse, never straying very far from her bed.

Her friend Sara, who had been listening, added, “I never liked football that much, I never can figure out what’s going on.”

“You like football players all right,” Sheria said.

“Not really. But a lot of girls do.”

On the walk home Ronny scanned the crowd, in case. He let the thought go no further than that. He had been in fair spirits, but in the late afternoon the mournfulness descended on him again, and he lay in bed wishing he could stay there. But it was time to go to work at The Chapel Hill Newspaper, to do pasteup, stories about the game, sports reporters chattering in the composition room. There would be constant reminders all night. But still it was a good thing to have no choice but to move.

So, today, November. Ronny sat in his room, waiting to hear someone turn on the radio. Dullness had settled into him, replacing the scalding despair of June and July, the fury of August, the quiet wish of September, the silence of the weeks after. He had tried to avoid Ehringhaus but found himself drawn there sometimes, hoping. As if part of him had never given up. It should have felt like an ending, shouldn’t it?

In the afternoon he found Miss Dee on the porch. She was sitting with a blanket on her lap, a plate of cookies next to her, a cup of tea. “Sit with me,” she said, and smiled. She was herself, the same woman he remembered from earlier in the year when he had rented the room. “My cookies came out good,” she said. “I left a plate for the boys to eat. Just so they would know I haven’t lost my mind yet.”

He smiled and sat with her, putting his feet up on the railing. “No, you sure haven’t.”

“I can feel it all slipping sometimes, though,” she said. She was looking up at the trees as though she could see them clearly, but she had taken her glasses off and laid them in her lap. “This wind makes me feel like I’m still here. Feel that cold bite right into you.”

“It wakes you up,” Ronny said. “You sure you’re warm enough?”

“What’s a little cold?” Miss Dee asked. “Oh, lord, I’ve always loved it. My husband and I used to go up north for the winter. The first time we did it because we figured it would be a cheap vacation to drive up there. We went back over and over. We had some of the best times.”

“You never said anything about him before.”