But of course, one cannot go on like that indefinitely I began volunteering at the local library. Mrs. Hamilton, the head librarian, does not ask a great many questions and seems very glad of my help. I find the work restful, the quiet repetitiveness of shelving and shelving again. Perhaps I will work at the desk, answering questions at some point, but I have avoided it thus far. I am not ready to assume the mantle of authority anew. Not yet. I’ve begun writing for journals about the classical world as well. And I’ve begun running competitively. I do well in the senior divisions. I relish the brush and bump of bodies, the sounds and sights of sweat and athleticism. The men I run with, the women I work with at the library, they don’t know what I’ve done. They see only my flesh and bone; a body moving through space. I prefer it that way.

Sometimes my running route leads me through the center of town. I usually loop quickly through before returning to the quieter environs of my street and my apartment. But this Saturday, as I prepared to turn and make my way back home, a familiar voice called my name.

“Jerome!” It was Jana. I thought that I would never see her again. I thought that that would be best. For even now, nearly a year after my departure, seeing her cut at me like a knife. For her to see me like this—surprised, sweaty, wearing a T-shirt that is a relic of my trip to the Motown museum and faded sweatpants—my first impulse was simply to keep running and pretend that I had not heard her. But she called again, and I stopped and crossed the street.

Now that I stood before her, she seemed uncertain what to do. We ended up with an awkward half handshake, half hug. “Jerome. I heard you lived over here. Helen Johnston and I are just here to do some shopping. But I didn’t expect to see you.”

Helen came over and greeted me, her eyes betraying nothing, then turned to Jana and said, “I’m going to go browse in the bookstore for a bit. Come get me when you’re ready.” She walked off.

“She knows,” said Jana.

“She does?”

“We’ve become quite good friends. And she knows how to keep her mouth shut. It’s between us.” She looked away, suddenly shy, then back at me. “Here we are again. Another in a series of awkward moments. Jerome, I’ve thought of you often, but … The school’s doing well.”

“I’m glad of that. You know I loved that school.”

“I know you did. That’s why I can’t understand … I can’t understand why you did what you did.”

What could I say? I was silent.