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she made him flinch.
    “Then why are you looking at me like that, Lyddie?”
    “Like what?”
    “Like you’re seeing somebody you don’t know.”
    “I… I’m not doing that, am I?” Then, before he had the chance to dispute her, “I have to get to my office. I’ve got a
     lot to do this morning.”
    The hissing of air brakes came from outside, the safety beeps of a Shadrach Sanitation truck. The garbage truck played D-flat,
     measured and perfect, as it reversed toward the nearest Dumpster.
    I ought to come right out and ask him. I ought to say, “Do you know what Shelby told me?”
    He’d think she doubted him. If she asked, he’d think she didn’t trust him. There could be no turning back if she went forward
     with this; the damage would be done.
    I don’t need reassurances with Charlie. He said himself, I know him better than his own family.
    She knew he touched the thin spot on his sideburn when he was perplexed and she knew how it tickled him when she rubbed between
     his big toe and the next one, and she knew that when he came up after swimming underwater there was always a little pool of
     water caught in the scoop of his throat.
    She knew that cat dander gave him the sniffles. She knew he felt responsible for his parents because he was the youngest out
     of four. She knew he’d once hit five for five in a Little League baseball tournament and that he had played catcher and his
     best friend, Jay Lundeen, had played pitcher and that every week they’d changed their signals because the coach from Hollowsville
     was always trying to figure them out.
    She knew the silent, dark-river-eyed look of him whenever he disapproved of something. She knew the sweat smell of him when
     he’d just come in from running. She knew how handsome he looked dressed in his gray Brooks Brothers suit and his yellow-flecked
     tie.
    Two steps down the school hall, filled with personal despair, and she turned to say with a lowered voice, “Charlie?”
    “What?”
    “You know a girl named Shelby Tatum?”
    “Who?”
    “A sophomore. Shelby Tatum.”
    A beat. Two. “Oh, Shelby. Sure. I’ve got her third period, don’t I?”
    “Yeah, you’ve got her.”
    He didn’t respond as if anything was out of the ordinary.
    Lydia stood, fluorescent bulbs giving out a gentle buzz overhead. She had that sort of middle pain that made her feel hollowed
     out, ready to crumble inward. “What sort of a student is she?”
    “Quiet. Good. B student. Why do you ask?”
    She watched his face for signs of unease.
Please, no. Please.
She didn’t see any. The relief made her dizzy. “She’s been talking to me about things, Charlie.”
    “Oh?” A flicker came, a slight change in his expression. She didn’t know what it meant but she saw it.
    “Yes.”
    It might not have even been noticeable. But she’d seen it, although it had passed too quickly for her to analyze. She could
     have imagined it. She couldn’t be sure. And then, the shadow of concern in his eyes, the tightening of the cords in his neck.
     “Is everything okay with her, Lydia? Is there anything I can do to help?”
    He had caught up with her in the hallway. When he touched her shoulder, she longed to grab his fingers and to hold them against
     her skin, to hold on to the hopeless affection, the curl of pleasure that came whenever Charlie was near.
    “No, I don’t think so.”
    Maybe this isn’t real. Maybe I didn’t see what I thought I saw. Maybe Shelby didn’t say what I thought she said. Maybe everything
     I thought I understood isn’t understandable at all.
    But what else did Lydia have to believe in besides her own ears and eyes?
    She stood still, her clammy palms clamped around the edges of the newsprint booklets, knowing that she had become confident
     and sure of herself because this man loved her. She ached from holding her mouth steady. “Charlie, she said some things about
you.
”
    “About me?”
    “Yes.”
    He looked lost, as if he had no idea what