Three hours after meeting with Charlie, Miles pulled into a parking space in front of Grayton Elementary School just as classes were being dismissed. Three school buses were idling and students began drifting toward them, clustering in groups of four or six. Miles saw Jonah at the same time his son saw him. Jonah waved happily and ran toward the car; Miles knew that in a few more years, once adolescence settled in, Jonah wouldn’t do that anymore. Jonah leapt into his open arms and Miles squeezed him tight, enjoying the closeness while he could.  “Hey, champ, how was school?”

Jonah pulled back. “It was fine. How’s work going?”

“It’s better now that I’m done.”

“Did you arrest anyone today?”

Miles shook his head. “Not today. Maybe tomorrow. Listen, do you want to get some ice cream after I finish up here?”

Jonah nodded enthusiastically and Miles put him down. “Fair enough. We’ll do that.” He bent lower and met his son’s eyes. “Do you think you’ll be okay on the playground while I talk to your teacher? Or do you want to wait inside?” “I’m not a little kid anymore, Dad. Besides, Mark has to stay, too. His mom’s at the doctor’s office.”

Miles looked up and saw Jonah’s best friend waiting impatiently near a basketball hoop. Miles tucked Jonah’s shirt back in.

“Well, you two stay together, okay? And don’t go wandering, either of you.”

“We won’t.”

“All right, then—but be careful.”

Jonah handed his father his backpack and scrambled off. Miles tossed it onto the front seat and started through the parking lot, weaving among the cars. A few kids shouted greetings, as did some mothers who drove their kids home from school. Miles stopped and visited with some of them, waiting until the commotion outside finally began to die down. Once the buses were on their way and most of the cars were gone, the teachers headed back inside. Miles took one last glance in Jonah’s direction before following them into the school.  As soon as he entered the building, he was hit with a blast of hot air. The school was nearly forty years old, and though the cooling system had been replaced more than once over the years, it wasn’t up to the task during the first few weeks of school, when summer was still bearing down hard. Miles could feel himself begin to sweat almost immediately, and he tugged at the front of his shirt, fanning himself as he made his way down the hallway. Jonah’s classroom, he knew, was in the far corner. When he got there, the classroom was empty.

For a moment he thought he’d entered the wrong room, but the children’s names on the roll sheet confirmed he was where he was supposed to be. He checked his watch and, realizing he was a couple of minutes early, wandered around the classroom. He saw some work scribbled on the chalkboard, the desks arranged in orderly rows, a rectangular table cluttered with construction paper and Elmer’s Glue-All. Along the far wall were a few short compositions, and Miles was looking for Jonah’s when he heard a voice behind him.  “Sorry I’m late. I was dropping off a few things at the office.”

It was then that Miles saw Sarah Andrews for the first time.  In that instant, no shivers pricked the hairs on the back of his neck, no premonitions burst forth like exploding fireworks; he felt no sense of foreboding at all, and looking back—considering all that was to come—he was always amazed by that. He would, however, always remember his surprise at the fact that Charlie had been right: Shewas attractive. Not glamorous in a high-maintenance way, but definitely a woman whose passing would cause men to turn their heads. Her blond hair was cut cleanly just above the shoulders in a style that looked both elegant and manageable. She wore a long skirt and a yellow blouse, and though her face was flushed from heat, her blue eyes seemed to radiate a freshness, as if she’d just spent the day relaxing at the beach.  “That’s okay,” he finally said. “I was a little early anyway.” He held out his hand. “I’m Miles Ryan.”

As he spoke, Sarah’s eyes briefly flickered downward toward his holster. Miles had seen the look before—a look of apprehension—but before he could say anything, she met his eyes and smiled. She took his hand as if it didn’t matter to her. “I’m Sarah Andrews. I’m glad you could make it in today. I remembered after I sent the note home that I hadn’t offered you the chance to reschedule if today was inconvenient.”

“It wasn’t a problem. My boss was able to work it out.”

She nodded, holding his gaze. “Charlie Curtis, right? I’ve met his wife, Brenda.

She’s been helping me get the hang of things around here.”

“Be careful—she’ll talk your ear off if you give her the chance.” Sarah laughed. “So I’ve realized. But she’s been great, she really has. It’s always a little intimidating when you’re new, but she’s gone out of her way to make me feel as if I belong here.”

“She’s a sweet lady.”

For a moment, neither of them said anything as they stood close together, and Miles immediately sensed that she wasn’t as comfortable now that the small talk was out of the way. She moved around the desk, looking as if she were ready to get down to business. She began shuffling papers, scanning through the piles, searching for what she needed. Outside, the sun peeked out from behind a cloud and began slanting through the windows, zeroing in on them. The temperature instantly seemed to rise, and Miles tugged on his shirt again. Sarah glanced up at him.

“I know it’s hot . . . I’ve been meaning to bring a fan in, but I haven’t had the chance to pick one up yet.”

“I’ll be fine.” Even as he said it, he could feel the sweat beginning to trickle down his chest and back.

“Well, I’ll give you a couple of options. You can pull up a chair and we can talk here and maybe we both pass out, or we can do this outside where it’s a little cooler. There are picnic tables in the shade.”

“Would that be okay?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“No, I don’t mind at all. Besides, Jonah’s out on the playground, and that way I can keep an eye on him.”

She nodded. “Good. Just let me make sure I have everything. . . .” A minute later they left the classroom, headed down the hall, and pushed open the door.

“So how long have you been in town?” Miles finally asked.

“Since June.”

“How do you like it?”

She looked over at him. “It’s kind of quiet, but it’s nice.”

“Where’d you move from?”

“Baltimore. I grew up there, but . . .” She paused. “I needed a change.”

Miles nodded. “I can understand that. Sometimes I feel like getting away, too.” Her face registered a kind of recognition as soon as he said it, and Miles knew immediately that she’d heard about Missy. She didn’t say anything, however.  As they seated themselves at the picnic table, Miles stole a good look at her.  Up close, with the sun slanting through the shade trees, her skin looked smooth, almost luminescent. Sarah Andrews, he decided on the spot, never had pimples as a teenager.

“So . . . ,” he said, “should I call you Miss Andrews?”

“No, Sarah’s fine.”

“Okay, Sarah . . .” He stopped, and after a moment Sarah finished for him.

“You’re wondering why I needed to talk to you?”

“It had crossed my mind.”

Sarah glanced toward the folder in front of her, then up again. “Well, let me start by telling you how much I enjoy having Jonah in class. He’s a wonderful boy—he’s always the first to volunteer if I ever need anything, and he’s really good to the other students as well. He’s also polite and extremely well spoken for his age.”

Miles looked her over carefully. “Why do I get the impression that you’re leading up to some bad news?”

“Am I that obvious?”

“Well . . . sort of,” Miles admitted, and Sarah gave a sheepish laugh.  “I’m sorry, but I did want you to know that it’s not all bad. Tell me—has Jonah mentioned anything to you about what’s going on?”

“Not until breakfast this morning. When I asked him why you wanted to meet with me, he just said that he’s having trouble with some of the work.” “I see.” She paused for a moment, as if trying to collect her thoughts.  “You’re making me a little nervous here,” Miles finally said. “You don’t think there’s a serious problem, do you?”

“Well . . .” She hesitated. “I hate to have to tell you this, but I think there is. Jonah isn’t having trouble with some of the work. Jonah’s having trouble withall of the work.”

Miles frowned. “All of it?”

“Jonah,” she said evenly, “is behind in reading, writing, spelling, and math—just about everything. To be honest, I don’t think he was ready for the second grade.”

Miles simply stared at her, not knowing what to say. Sarah went on. “I know this is hard for you to hear. Believe me, I wouldn’t want to hear it, either, if it was my son. That’s why I wanted to make sure before I talked to you about it.  Here . . .”

Sarah opened the folder and handed Miles a stack of papers. Jonah’s work. Miles glanced through the pages—two math tests without a single correct answer, a couple of pages where the assignment had been to write a paragraph (Jonah had managed a few, illegibly scrawled words), and three short reading tests that Jonah had failed as well. After a long moment, she slid the folder to Miles.  “You can keep all that. I’m finished with it.”

“I’m not sure I want it,” he said, still in shock.

Sarah leaned forward slightly. “Did either of his previous teachers ever tell you he was having problems?”

“No, never.”

“Nothing?”

Miles looked away. Across the yard, he could see Jonah going down the slide in the playground, Mark right behind him. He brought his hands together.  “Jonah’s mom died right before he started kindergarten. I knew that Jonah used to put his head down on his desk and cry sometimes, and we were all concerned about that. But his teacher didn’t say anything about his work. His report cards said he was doing fine. It was the same thing last year, too.” “Did you check the work he’d bring home from school?”

“He never had any. Except for projects he’d made.”

Now, of course, it sounded ridiculous, even to him. Why, then, hadn’t he noticed it before?A little too busy with your own life, huh? a voice inside him answered.

Miles sighed, angry with himself, angry with the school. Sarah seemed to read his mind.

“I know you’re wondering how this could have happened, and you’ve got every right to be upset. Jonah’s teachers had a responsibility to teach him, but they didn’t. I’m sure it wasn’t done out of malice—it probably started because no one wanted to push him too hard.”

Miles considered that for a long moment. “This is justgreat ,” he muttered.  “Look,” Sarah said, “I didn’t bring you here just to give you bad news. If I did only that, then I’d be neglectingmy responsibility. I wanted to talk to you about the best way to help Jonah. I don’t want to hold him back this year, and with a little extra effort, I don’t think I’ll have to. He can still catch up.” It took a while for that to sink in, and when he looked up, Sarah nodded.  “Jonah is very intelligent. Once he learns something, he remembers it. He just needs a little more work than I can give him in class.”

“So what does that mean?”

“He needs help after school.”

“Like a tutor?”

Sarah smoothed her long skirt. “Getting a tutor is one idea, but it can get expensive, especially when you consider that Jonah needs help in learning the basics. We’re not talking algebra here—right now we’re doing single-digit addition, like three plus two. And as far as reading goes, he just needs to spend some time practicing. Same thing with writing, he just needs to do it.  Unless you’ve got money to burn, it would probably be better if you do it.”

“Me?”

“It’s not all that hard. You read with him, have him read to you, help him with his assignments, things like that. I don’t think you’ll have any problem with anything that I’ve assigned.”

“You didn’t see my report cards as a kid.”

Sarah smiled before going on. “A set schedule, too, would probably help. I’ve learned that kids remember things best when there’s a routine involved. And besides, a routine usually ensures that you’re consistent, and that’s what Jonah needs most of all.”

Miles adjusted himself in his seat. “That’s not as easy as it sounds. My schedule varies. Sometimes I’m home at four, other times I don’t get home until Jonah’s already in bed.”

“Who watches him after school?”

“Mrs. Knowlson—our neighbor. She’s great, but I don’t know if she’d be up to doing schoolwork with him every day. She’s in her eighties.” “What about someone else? A grandparent or someone like that?” Miles shook his head. “Missy’s parents moved to Florida after she died, so they’re not around. My mother died when I was finishing up high school, and as soon as I went off to college, my father took off. Half the time, I don’t even know where he is. Jonah and I have been pretty much on our own for the last couple of years. Don’t get me wrong—he’s a great kid, and sometimes I feel lucky to have him all to myself. But at other times, I can’t help but think it would have been easier if Missy’s parents had stayed in town, or if my father were a little more available.”

“For something like this, you mean?”

“Exactly,” he answered, and Sarah laughed again. He liked the sound of it. There was an innocent ring to it, the kind he associated with children who had yet to realize that the world wasn’t simply fun and games.

“At least you’re taking this seriously,” Sarah said. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had this conversation with parents who either didn’t want to believe it or wanted to blame me.”

“Does that happen a lot?”

“More than you can imagine. Before I sent the note home, I even talked to Brenda about the best way to tell you.”

“What did she say?”

“She told me not to worry, that you wouldn’t overreact. That first and foremost, you’d be worried about Jonah and that you’d be open to what I was telling you.  Then she told me that I shouldn’t worry one little bit, even if you did have a gun with you.”

Miles looked horrified. “She didn’t.”

“She did, but you have to have been there when she said it.”

“I’m going to have to talk to her.”

“No, don’t—it was obvious that she likes you. She told me that, too.”

“Brenda likes everyone.”

At that moment, Miles heard Jonah yelling for Mark to chase him. Despite the heat, the two boys raced through the playground, whipping around some poles before spinning off in another direction.

“I can’t believe how much energy they have,” Sarah marveled. “They did the same thing at lunch today.”

“Believe me, I know. I can’t remember the last time I felt that way.”

“Oh, come on, you’re not that old. You’re what—forty, forty-five?”

Miles looked horrified again, and Sarah winked. “Just teasing,” she added.  Miles wiped his brow in mock relief, surprised to find himself enjoying the conversation. For some reason, it seemed almost as if she were flirting, and he liked that, more than he thought he should.

“Thanks—I think.”

“No problem,” she answered, trying and failing to hide the smirk on her face.

“But now . . .” She paused. “Where were we again?”

“You were telling me that I haven’t aged well.”

“Before that . . . Oh yeah, we were talking about your schedule and you were telling me how impossible it was going to be to get a routine going.” “I didn’t say impossible. It’s just not going to be easy.”

“When are you off in the afternoons?”

“Usually on Wednesdays and Fridays.”

As Miles tried to work it out, Sarah seemed to come to a decision.

“Now, I don’t usually do this, but I’ll make a deal with you,” she said slowly.

“If it’s okay with you, of course.”

Miles raised his eyebrows. “What kind of deal?”

“I’ll work with Jonah after school the other three days a week if you promise to do the same on the two days you’re off.”

He couldn’t hide the surprise in his expression. “You’d do that?” “Not for every student, no. But as I said, Jonah’s sweet, and he’s had a rough time the last couple of years. I’d be glad to help.”

“Really?”

“Don’t look so surprised. Most teachers are pretty dedicated to their work.  Besides, I’m usually here until four o’clock anyway, so it won’t be much trouble at all.”

When Miles didn’t answer right away, Sarah fell silent.

“I’m only going to offer this once, so take it or leave it,” she finally said.  Miles looked almost embarrassed. “Thank you,” he said seriously. “I can’t even tell you how much I appreciate this.”

“My pleasure. There’s one thing that I’m going to need, though, so I can do this right. Think of it as my fee.”

“What’s that?”

“A fan—and make it a good one.” She nodded toward the school. “It’s like an oven in there.”

“You got yourself a deal.”

? ? ?

Twenty minutes later, after she and Miles had said good-bye, Sarah was back in the classroom. As she was collecting her things, she found herself thinking about Jonah and how best to help him. It was a good thing that she’d made the offer, she told herself. It would keep her more attuned to his abilities in class, and she’d be able to better guide Miles when he was working with his son.  True, it was a little extra work, but it was the best thing for Jonah, even if she hadn’t planned on it. And she hadn’t—not until she’d said the words.  She was still trying to figure out why she’d done that.

Despite herself, she was also thinking about Miles. He wasn’t what she’d expected, that’s for sure. When Brenda had told her that he was a sheriff, she’d immediately pictured a caricature of southern law enforcement: overweight, pants hanging too low, small mirrored sunglasses, a mouth full of chewing tobacco.  She’d imagined him swaggering into her classroom, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his pants, and drawling,Now, just what did you want to talk to me about, little lady? But Miles was none of these things.

He was attractive, too. Not as Michael had been—dark and glamorous, everything always perfectly in place—but appealing in a natural, more rugged way. His face had a roughness to it, as if he’d spent many hours in the sun as a boy. But contrary to what she’d said, he didn’t look forty, and that had surprised her.  It shouldn’t have. After all, Jonah was only seven, and she knew Missy Ryan had died young. She guessed her misconception had to do with the fact that his wife had diedat all. She couldn’t imagine that happening to someone her age. It wasn’t right; it seemed out of sync with the natural order of the world.  Sarah was still musing over this as she glanced around the room one last time, making sure she had everything she needed. She removed her purse from the bottom drawer of her desk, slipped it over her shoulder, put everything else under her other arm, and then turned off the lights on her way out.  As she walked to her car, she felt a pang of disappointment when she saw that Miles had already left. Chiding herself for her thoughts, she reminded herself that a widower like Miles would hardly be entertaining similar thoughts about his young son’s schoolteacher.

Sarah Andrews had no idea how wrong she was.