Chapter 19

He grew as he approached, until Stacy had to lean back to look up at him. The smile lingered on his lips like words writ in sand, washed by the tide but not completely wiped away. The forms in his hands suggested that he was a teacher, like Mrs. Wilson or Mrs. Barrett, but Stacy didn’t recall anyone like himhanging around the halls of the high school back in the day. He was built like a linebacker, and with that grin he would’ve been all the students talked about, no doubt. But he couldn’t be much older than Stacy himself, mid-twenties maybe, still a few years off from thirty, and there was a college look about him, an almost fraternity boy look—the jaunty angle of the baseball cap, Stacy thought, the undone collar of his shirt, and that damn laugh. Oh yes, Stacy sure as hell would’ve remembered someone like this

Above him, the smile brightened and a deep voice said, “Excuse me, Jodi? Hate to interrupt.”