He crossed the room and unlocked it again.
“It’s open now. Mrs. Tolland is going to take you to the library. You may take a book of your own choice, and I’ll bring Wynne to join you in a little while.”
Twenty-two children filed out. One of them, a boy in a dinosaur shirt, stopped in the doorway and looked back at my daughter.
“Your picture was cool,” he said.
Wynne said, “Thank you.”
That was all. I have thought about that boy since more than I have thought about most adults.
The three of us sat in Mr. Amory’s office, which had a worn green carpet, a framed print of a lighthouse, and a window that looked out over a bike rack. He put the two halves of the clipping on the desk between us. He had them lined up edge to edge, and I could see now that the join was not perfect at the very top, where the paper had curled, but it was so close that I could not have said which side was which.
“Mrs. Eastwood,” he said. “May I tell her in my own words? I’d like to tell you both together.”
I looked at Wynne.
