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Lindstrom,” the boy said.
    Amanda sighed theatrically.  “Mr. Lindstrom,” she said with righteous indignation, “how can I possibly read my report with Richie making all that noise? I’m going to have to start all over again.”
    Amid a chorus of groans, Jesse dropped his feet to the floor.  He opened his mouth to speak, and was saved by the bell.  As Amanda stood with her arms crossed and her lips pursed, her classmates, like rats deserting a sinking ship, scurried around her to freedom.
    “It’s all right,” he told her.  “You have it all written down?”
    Her eyes lost some of their exasperation.  “Right here.  All twenty-two pages.”
    A little light weekend reading.  “Give it to me,” he said.  “I’ll look at it over the weekend.”  
    She bit her lower lip.  “You won’t take points off? I worked real hard on it.”
    “I won’t take points off.  It’s not your fault we ran out of time.”
    “Gee, thanks, Mr. L.” She handed him her precious scribblings.  The pages were damp, the edges curled.  She paused to bestow a toothy smile upon him, and then she gathered up her books and rushed out the door.
    And he was alone.  Jesse tossed Amanda’s report into his briefcase, on top of the essays from his third-period senior honors class.  This was his favorite time of day, when the turmoil was ended and he was alone at last with the smell of chalk dust and the magic of paper and glue and ink that turned ordinary words into books.  He took his time, as he did every day, straightening desks, erasing chalkboards, tidying the bookshelves at the back of the room, making sure the class hamster had fresh water and food.  When he was done, he took a last look around his little kingdom to assure himself that all was ready for tomorrow.  And then he turned out the lights.
    Mikey was waiting in the parking lot.  Jesse tossed his son the keys and was rewarded with an ear-to-ear grin.  In two more weeks, Mikey would be taking his driving test, and the prospect of his son out there behind the wheel alone had given Jesse more than one sleepless night.  But he hadn’t forgotten what it was like to grow up in rural Maine, where every male past his sixteenth birthday held a driver’s license, and only nerds and freshmen rode the school bus.  So he’d swallowed his fear and allowed Mikey to spread his wings.  So far, his son had shown every sign of turning out to be a cautious and responsible driver.  But it still kept him awake at night.
    The house was stuffy and oppressive.  The two-hundred-year-old Colonial was in need of new insulation.  One more thing he simply hadn’t gotten to.  As a result, it was drafty in the winter, and on hot summer days it held the heat long after the evening had cooled outside.  Jesse threw open a couple of windows, dropped his briefcase on the desk in the den, and pressed the button on his answering machine.
    He unsnapped his briefcase and yanked off his tie as the machine played back two hang-ups and one sales pitch for vinyl replacement windows.  But the fourth call made him do a sharp left turn back toward the machine.
    “Jesse? This is Rose Kenneally.  Rob’s sister.  We met at the wedding.” She paused, perhaps to give him time to remember who she was.  As if he could forget.  “There’s something I’d like to talk to you about.  Would you mind giving me a call?” She reeled off her number, and he grabbed a pen and scribbled it on the back of Amanda’s opus.  “Thanks,” she said.  “Um…I guess I’ll be talking to you.”
    The machine clicked off, and the room was silent.  The memory came rushing back at him, the feel of her, the taste of her, the sweet liquid pleasure of merging with her on a hot summer afternoon as the gulls cried overhead and the river flowed quietly by.
    Her sunburst pendant still lay on his bedroom dresser, where she’d set it before using his shower to wash away the damp sand that had managed to infiltrate