Professor Pindar looked down at his hands and shifted a few times in his chair. It was evident that he was coming back now, back from this enjoyable discussion of the harpoon, to the topic at hand.

“Like I said,” he began. “Not my strong suit, but I did want to let you know that even though your father has moved on, there’s no need to worry at all about your position here. We value the work you do, and that’s not going to change even though your father is no longer with us. Gosh”—here he laughed, a flurry of nervous, high-pitched sound—“that makes it sound like he died. All I mean is, since he’s left the university.”

The blinds were drawn, and a viscous yellow midafternoon sun was seeping in around the slats. It had turned out to be a clear day after all; it was always a clear day down here in the valley, and I had a momentary pang of longing for Ottawa and gray.

Strange, I thought. Ottawa again. I spent a few more moments there, in my memories, until I was interrupted by the sound of Professor Pindar clearing his throat. From the look on his face, it appeared that he had been trying to get my attention for some time.

“I don’t want to take up too much of your afternoon,” he said, not quite meeting my eye. “Did you…” he asked, and began again. “Was there anything you’d like to add?”

I considered. I looked past him and was once more struck by the thick yellow sunlight creeping in through the blinds.

“You might like to open your blinds.”

“I…” said Professor Pindar. “I’m sorry?”

“May I?”

I crossed to the window and raised the blinds, and as if the physical activity had jogged my thoughts, I was finally able to think.

“What a nice view you have,” I said. From his window you could see the red-tiled buildings in the western part of campus, and behind them, the gray-blue wash of the foothills, edging delicately into sky. “My window overlooks the parking lot.”

“Well,” said Professor Pindar. “I’m sorry about that, but when the new extension is finished there should be more room for everyone.”

I held up a hand to cut him off.

“No need to apologize,” I said. “It can be useful.”

“I’m sorry?” he said again.

Now that the blinds were up, the sunlight was shining fully in Professor Pindar’s face, and he was squinting into the glare.

“It can be a useful view,” I said, clarifying, thinking of Kirstie in her running pants, her hand on Professor Pindar’s arm.

Suddenly I felt my thoughts land, as a bird might land on a tiny perch.

“As a matter of fact,” I began carefully, “there is something I want to add.”