On Monday, Jonah began the process of settling into the routine that would come to dominate much of his life over the next few months. When the bell rang, officially ending the school day, Jonah walked out with his friends but left his backpack in the classroom. Sarah, like all the other teachers, went outside to make sure kids got in the proper cars and onto the right buses. Once everyone was on the buses and the cars were pulling out, Sarah wandered over to where Jonah was standing. He stared wistfully at his departing friends.  “I bet you wish you didn’t have to stay, huh?”

Jonah nodded.

“It won’t be so bad. I brought some cookies from home to make it a little easier.”

He thought about that. “What kind of cookies?” he asked skeptically.  “Oreos. When I was going to school, my mom always used to let me have a couple when I got home. She said it was my reward for doing such a good job.” “Mrs. Knowlson likes to give me apple slices.”

“Would you rather have those tomorrow?”

“No way,” he said seriously. “Oreos are way better.”

She motioned in the direction of the school. “C’mon. You ready to get started?”

“I guess so,” he mumbled. Sarah reached out, offering her hand.

Jonah looked up at her. “Wait—do you have any milk?”

“I can get some from the cafeteria, if you want.”

With that, Jonah took her hand and smiled up at her for a moment before they headed back inside.

? ? ?

While Sarah and Jonah were holding hands, heading toward the classroom, Miles Ryan was ducking behind his car and reaching for his gun, even before the echo from the last shot had died. And he intended to stay there until he figured out what was going on.

There was nothing like gunfire to get the old ticker pumping—the instinct for self-preservation always surprised Miles with both its intensity and its rapidity. The adrenaline seemed to enter his system as if he were hooked to a giant, invisible IV. He could feel his heart hammering, and his palms were slick with sweat.

If he needed to, he could put out a call saying he was in trouble, and in less than a few minutes the place would be surrounded by every law enforcement officer in the county. But for the time being, he held off. For one thing, he didn’t think the gunfire was directed at him. That he’d heard it wasn’t in question, but it had sounded muffled, as if it had originated from somewhere deep in the house.

Had he been standing outside someone’s home, he would have made the call, figuring that some sort of domestic issue had gotten out of hand. But he was at the Gregory place, a teetering wood structure blanketed in kudzu on the outskirts of New Bern. It had decayed over the years and was completely abandoned, as it had been since Miles was a kid. Most of the time, no one bothered with the place. The floors were so old and rotten that they could give way any second, and rain poured in through the gaping holes in the roof. The structure also tilted slightly, as if a strong gust of wind would topple it someday. Though New Bern didn’t have a big problem with vagrants, even the ones who were around knew enough to avoid the place for the danger it presented.  But now, in broad daylight no less, he heard the gunfire start up again—not a large-caliber gun, most likely a twenty-two—and he suspected there was a simple explanation, one that didn’t pose much of a threat to him.  Still, he wasn’t stupid enough to take any chances. Opening his door, he slid forward on the seat and flicked a switch on the radio, so that his voice would be amplified, loud enough for the people inside the house to hear him.  “This is the sheriff,” he said calmly, slowly. “If you boys are about finished, I’d like y’all to come out so I can talk to you. And I’d appreciate it if you set your guns off to the side.”

With that, the gunfire stopped completely. After a few minutes, Miles saw a head poke out from one of the front windows. The boy was no older than twelve.  “You ain’t gonna shoot us, are you?” he called out, obviously frightened.  “No, I’m not gonna shoot. Just set your guns by the door and come on down so I can talk to you.”

For a minute Miles heard nothing, as if the kids inside were wondering whether or not to make a run for it. They weren’t bad kids, Miles knew, just a little too rural for today’s world. He was sure they’d rather run than have Miles bring them home to meet with their parents.

“Now come on out,” Miles said into the microphone. “I just want to talk.” Finally, after another minute, two boys—the second a few years younger than the first—peeked out from either side of the opening where the front door used to be. Moving with exaggerated slowness, they set their guns off to the side and, hands thrust high in the air, stepped out. Miles suppressed a grin. Shaky and pale, they looked as if they believed they were going to be a source of target practice any second. Once they’d descended the broken steps, he stood from behind the car and holstered his gun. When they saw him, they stutter-stepped for a moment, then slowly continued forward. Both were dressed in faded blue jeans and torn-up sneakers, their faces and arms dirty. Country kids. As they inched forward, they kept their arms thrust above their heads, elbows locked.  They’d obviously seen too many movies.

When they got close, Miles could see that both of them were practically crying.  Miles leaned against his car and crossed his arms. “You boys doin’ some hunting?”

The younger one—ten, Miles guessed—looked to the older one, who met his gaze.

They were clearly brothers.

“Yes, sir,” they said in unison.

“What’s in the house there?”

Again they looked at each other.

“Sparrows,” they finally said, and Miles nodded.

“You can put your hands down.”

Again they exchanged glances. Then they lowered their arms.

“You sure you weren’t going after any owls?”

“No, sir,” the older boy said quickly. “Just sparrows. There’s a whole bunch of ’em in there.”

Miles nodded again. “Sparrows, huh?”

“Yes, sir.”

He pointed in the direction of the rifles. “Those twenty-twos?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s a little much for sparrows, isn’t it?”

Their looks were guilty this time. Miles eyed them sternly.  “Now look . . . if you were owl hunting, I’m not gonna be too happy. I like owls. They eat the rats and the mice and even snakes, and I’d rather have an owl around than any of those creatures, especially in my yard. But I’m pretty sure from all that shooting you were doing that you didn’t get him yet, now, did you?”

After a long moment, the young one shook his head.

“Then let’s not try again, okay?” he said in a voice that brooked no disagreement. “It isn’t safe to be shooting out here, not with the highway so close. It’s also against the law. And that place isn’t for kids. It’s just about to fall down and you could get hurt in there. Now, you don’t want me to talk to your parents, do you?”

“No, sir.”

“Then you won’t go after that owl again, will you? If I let you go, I mean?”

“No, sir.”

Miles stared at them wordlessly, making sure he believed them, then nodded in the direction of the nearest homes. “You live out that way?” “Yes, sir.”

“Did you walk or ride your bikes?”

“We walked.”

“Then I’ll tell you what—I’ll get your rifles and you two get in the backseat.  I’ll give you a ride back home and drop you off down the street. And I’ll let it go this time, but if I ever catch you out here again, I’m gonna tell your parents that I caught you before and warned you and that I’m gonna have to bring you both in, okay?”

Though their eyes widened at the threat, they both nodded gratefully.  After dropping them off, Miles made his way back to the school, looking forward to seeing Jonah. No doubt the boy would want to hear all about what just happened, though Miles first wanted to find out how things had gone that day.  And despite himself, he couldn’t suppress a pleasant thrill at the thought of seeing Sarah Andrews again.

? ? ?

“Daddy!” Jonah screamed, running toward Miles. Miles lowered himself into position to catch his son just as he jumped. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Sarah had followed him out in a more sedate fashion. Jonah pulled back to look at him.

“Did you arrest anyone today?”

Miles grinned and shook his head. “Not so far, but I’m not finished yet. How’d it go in school today?”

“Good. Miss Andrews gave me some cookies.”

“She did?” he asked, trying to watch her approach without being too obvious.

“Oreos. The good ones—Double Stuf.”

“Oh, well, you can’t ask for more than that,” he said. “But how’d the tutoring go?”

Jonah furrowed his brow. “The what?”

“Miss Andrews helping you with your schoolwork.”

“It was fun—we played games.”

“Games?”

“I’ll explain later,” Sarah said, stepping up, “but we got off to a good start.” At the sound of her voice, Miles turned to face her and again felt pleasant surprise. She was wearing a long skirt and a blouse again, nothing fancy, but when she smiled, Miles felt the same strange fluttering he’d experienced when he’d first met her. It struck him that he hadn’t fully appreciated how pretty she was the last time. Yes, he’d recognized the fact that she was attractive, and the same features immediately jumped out at him—the corn-silk hair, the delicately boned face, eyes the color of turquoise—but today she looked softer somehow, her expression warm and almost familiar.

Miles lowered Jonah to the ground.

“Jonah, would you go wait by the car while I talk to Miss Andrews for a couple minutes?”

“Okay,” he said easily. Then, surprising Miles, Jonah stepped over and hugged Sarah—who returned the squeeze with a hug of her own—before he scrambled off.  Once Jonah was gone, Miles looked at her curiously. “You two seemed to have hit it off.”

“We had a good time today.”

“Sounds like it. If I’d known you were eating cookies and playing games, I wouldn’t have been so worried about him.”

“Hey . . . whatever works,” she said. “But before you worry too much, I want you to know the game involved reading. Flash cards.”

“I figured there was more to the story. How’d he do?” “Good. He has a long way to go, but good.” She paused. “He’s a great kid—he really is. I know I’ve said that before, but I don’t want you to forget that because of what’s going on here. And it’s obvious that he worships you.” “Thank you,” he said simply, meaning it.

“You’re welcome.” When she smiled again, Miles turned away, hoping she didn’t realize what he’d been thinking earlier and at the same time hoping she did.  “Hey, thanks for the fan, by the way,” she went on after a pause, referring to the industrial-size fan he’d dropped off at her classroom earlier that morning.  “No problem,” he murmured, torn between wanting to stay and talk to her and wanting to escape the sudden wave of nervousness that seemed to come from nowhere.

For a moment neither of them said anything. The awkward silence stretched out until Miles finally shuffled his feet and muttered, “Well . . . I guess I’d better get Jonah home.”

“Okay.”

“We’ve got some stuff to do.”

“Okay,” she said again.

“Is there anything else that I should know?”

“Not that I can think of.”

“Okay, then.” He paused, pushing his hands into his pocket. “I guess I’d better get Jonah home.”

She nodded seriously. “You said that already.”

“I did?”

“Yeah.”

Sarah tucked a strand of loose hair behind her ear. For a reason she couldn’t quite explain, she found his good-bye adorable, almost charming. He was different from the men she had known in Baltimore, the ones who shopped at Brooks Brothers and never seemed to find themselves at a loss for words. In the months following her divorce, they’d begun to seem almost interchangeable, like cardboard cutouts of the perfect man.

“Well, okay, then,” Miles said, oblivious to everything except his need to depart. “Thanks again.” And with that, he backed away in the direction of his car, calling for Jonah as he went.

His last image was of Sarah standing out in the school yard, waving at the retreating car with a faintly bemused smile on her face.

? ? ?

In the coming weeks, Miles began to look forward to seeing Sarah after school with an unchecked enthusiasm he hadn’t experienced since adolescence. He thought of her frequently and sometimes in the strangest of situations—standing in a grocery store while selecting a packet of pork chops, stopped at a traffic light, mowing the lawn. Once or twice, he thought of her as he was taking a shower in the morning, and he found himself wondering about her morning routines. Ridiculous things. Did she eat cereal or toast and jelly? Did she drink coffee or was she more of an herbal tea fan? After a shower, did she wrap her head in a towel as she put her makeup on or did she style it right away?  Sometimes he would try to imagine her in the classroom, standing in front of the students with a piece of chalk in her hand; other times he wondered how she spent her time after school. Though they exchanged small talk every time they met, it wasn’t enough to satisfy his growing curiosity. He didn’t know much about her past at all, and though there were moments when he wanted to ask, he held himself back from doing so for the simple reason that he had no idea how to go about it. “Mainly I had Jonah work on spelling today and he did great,” she might say, and what was Miles supposed to say next?That’s good. And speaking of spelling, tell me—do you wrap your head in a towel after you shower?  Other men knew how to do these things, but damned if he could figure it out.  Once, in a moment of courage supplied by a couple of beers, he’d come close to calling her on the phone. He’d had no reason to call, and though he hadn’t known what he would say, he’d hop............