After he and Russell had signed off, Desmond held the receiver to his ear for a moment, looking at the blond boy, and weighing his options. Eventually, he hung up and walked away. Even if Loretta wasn’t fazed by a guest, Mr. Gutterson would, in all likelihood, bark up a storm at the sound of a strange voice.

2.

Deerforth College was located fifteen miles into the leafy suburbs, and the next morning, following what had become his new routine, Desmond drove out through a thin drizzle which, given the drought of the past several months, seemed like a nasty tease. The sun came out as he arrived at school, and steam rose up from the damp parking lot.

Deerforth had given Desmond an office on one of the upper floors of the Gothic tower that housed the English Department. He had views from this room, too; the ivy-covered stone buildings, the rolling lawns, the sparkling man-made lake, and the careful crisscross of cobblestone paths, frequently covered with little groups of students, huddled and insignificantly small from his vantage point.

His office, which usually housed someone named Professor Crandersall (currently on sabbatical in Florence) was across the hall from Thomas Miller, the professor Sybil Gale had mentioned at his going-away party. He was a tall, lumbering man who kept telling Desmond he had something important to ask him, but was always pulled away before forming the question. Miller’s field was nineteenth-century American literature and, at a depressing lunch with three sullen colleagues, Desmond had been told he’d written a lengthy critique of several of Melville’s more obscure works. No one had used the word dull to describe his book, but the implication was clear from the unenthusiastic way they mentioned it: “If you’re interested in glancing at it, there’s probably a copy floating around the library.” Desmond discovered that indeed there was a copy floating around the library, but whether it was dull or not he could only guess. It was one of those dense academic tomes with thousands of footnotes and several dozen appendices, all laid out in breathtakingly small print, the kind of book that Russell’s parents took with them for beach reading on their rare vacations to Hawaii or Mexico. Desmond promised himself he’d read it, just as soon as he finished The Making of Americans. Maybe he’d send a copy to Russell and have him skim it for him.

Whatever the nature of his scholarly work, Thomas Miller was popular with students. Desmond heard from several that he was a lively, absorbing lecturer and—to cut to the chase—lenient when it came to grades. His height alone must have made them feel they were getting their money’s worth. Like politicians, teachers are most effective if they take up a lot of space, and Thomas, who had to be at least four inches over six feet, did.