Propping the bike against the porch, he climbed the steps and knocked on the door of her old cottage, which was almost completely swallowed by a snake jaw of bougainvillea. The gutter was coming away, paint peeling from the siding, the porch listing.

The inner door cracked and she peered through the screen door. “Frank?”

“I’ve got your bike, Miss Kelly.”

Still chewing, she wiped her mouth with a napkin. “Thank you. You can just leave it out there.”

He waited, looking at her through the screen.

“Oh,” she said abruptly, “let me fetch my purse.”

“No, no,” he said. “I’d like to talk to you about something.”

“Yes?”

“Can I come in?”

She glanced back into her house with such concern he wondered if someone were there. “It’s a mess.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone.”

She hesitated a moment longer and finally opened the screen door. Following her in, he was struck by the smell of grease and mildew. They passed the tiny kitchen, which was filthy, the dishes piled in the sink. Damp patches covered the ceiling, the wallpaper peeling everywhere. She had hurried ahead of him into her living room and was snatching her washing off a little line set up near the coal-oil heater. With the clothes piled in her arms, she ran out. The sofa was covered in junk and the only place to sit was a single armchair with a blanket on it. Open and face down on one arm lay a romance novel titled A Man to Tame Her. On the front, a wild-looking woman in a dress that had all but fallen off her body stared with furious defiance into the face of a muscular man who had taken hold of her wrist. On the little table beside the armchair were a plate of vegetables and an open jar of peanut butter. It felt almost too intimate to imagine her sitting here wrapped in that blanket, dipping vegetables and reading this book.

She hurried back in carrying a folding chair, which he took from her. She seemed a little distraught, as if she had realized what a mistake it had been to let him in. She snatched up the book, but then clearly felt foolish and put it back down. “Would you like some iced tea?”

He shook his head.

“Look, Frank, I don’t know what the problem is, but you’d best see Reverend Hewitt. He could counsel you better.”

“You were my favorite teacher.”

He unfolded the chair, as she sat, and set it down right in front of her.

“You’ve got a lot of damp. I could fix your gutters for you.”

Her body was closed up, clenched, rocking a little, and he felt his resolve flagging as he sat so close their knees were almost touching.

“I’ve been so busy,” she said.