He turned back to her. “Because I had to earn the right to come back to stay. That’s how it works in academics. Now what about you? Why Ogilvie?”

“Because of the reputation of the creative-writing program. I want to work with Miss Zula.”

He was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed. “Okay, that’s what you write down on an application. What’s the real reason?”

Lydia considered lying, and then told the truth. “Because I’m afraid to leave home.”

He thought about that for a minute. “My advice is, take advantage of this place while you’re here, you’ll forget about being scared. Now, you wanted to talk about your schedule, do I have that right?”

Lydia said, “Maybe I should make an appointment to talk to an adviser about this, you’re busy.” One last opportunity for him to get rid of her, send her to somebody, anybody else. One last chance for him to be dismissive, to be dismissed.

John Grant said, “Nah, you’re here, and I might as well jump right in. You got a copy of that schedule with you?”

On his first full day in his new job as chair of the Ogilvie College English department, John Grant kept going to the window to remind himself that he was really here, settling into an office that might well be his for the rest of his working life. A thought that would disturb some men, but one he found greatly satisfying, even comforting.

Lydia Montgomery was just leaving the building, headed toward town. She stopped to talk to two kids sitting on a bench, gesturing over her shoulder toward this very window. Students would start trickling in, now that word was out. John wondered if these two would come see him. Metal glinted from lips and eyebrows and nostrils, as though they were armored knights ready to do battle. They looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place either of them. Her T-shirt read Rehab Is for Quitters, and his, Metallica. They would be good kids to have in a literature class, willing to ask hard questions and look beyond the words on the page.

Then an elderly woman came around a corner, erect of posture in spite of the cane she used, her face shadowed by the broad brim of a straw hat. A small dog trotted beside her, perky and watchful.

Lydia and the kids on the bench went very still as the old woman turned toward the library. Then they all relaxed visibly and John Grant, just as relieved to have escaped Miss Zula Bragg’s notice, retreated back into his new office. He had no business staring out of windows anyway, not with so much work to do. Standing in the middle of a canyon of moving boxes, he contemplated where he had landed, and realized two things.