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know everything about me as a person, as well as a potential teacher. He thought it was quite interesting that I left St. Louis to come to Indiana to college and that I wanted to stay here and teach, preferring the countryside to the glories of the city. He seemed even more interested in my thoughts on teaching, nodding with approval when I explained, among other things, my desire to provide a “positive zone” in my classroom. Some people would have laughed, calling such a thing the idealism of a teacher who has never taught, but Clay Laswell seemed to believe it was an exciting possibility.
    I hoped he wasn’t just being nice until he could get the crazy girl out of his office. “He’s with it!” Paula said as we drove out of the parking lot that afternoon. “How cool would it be if we got those two openings?” she asked.
    The fact that we didn’t make it into the same sorority four years earlier flashed into my mind, but I didn’t mention it to Paula. No jinx thinking. I didn’t doubt we’d get jobs for the fall, but I wanted so much for us to get these jobs.
    Two days later, while eating cereal in our apartment before heading off to practice teach (a week left and counting), we got a call from Dr. Laswell’s ancient but efficient secretary. She was pleased to inform both of us that we had received board approval and asked if we could come by that afternoon to sign our contracts. We gave each other high fives and danced a boogie in the living room before we threw on our clothes and ran out the door, planning to meet back home at three-thirty for the forty-five-minute drive to sign on the blessed dotted line. Our future had arrived.
    And now, twenty-five years of that future have unfolded—a quarter of a century. They have been good years, but sitting here tonight, I’m acutely aware they could have been better. Wounds have marred my world, some of them self-inflicted. I have found those hardest to bear.
    I stand up, brush off the seat of my shorts, and walk back to the patio, back to those who might be waiting for me there.

CHAPTER SIX
    Maisey
    “Kennedy, you look tired,” Marcus says when Mother returns to the patio.
    “You know, Marcus, I do believe I am.”
    Dad pushes back his chair and says, “Well, it’s late. I think we should all hit the hay.” He stands up and stretches. “What time are the girls coming tomorrow?”
    “Around ten. And, Dad, don’t fix a big breakfast.”
    “Fine. We’ll fend for ourselves in the morning. Marcus, you know where the cereal is.”
    “I do, sir.”
    Mother comes up behind Dad, slips her arms around his waist, and leans her head against his shoulder. Marcus is right; she does look tired.
    “Are you asleep?” Dad asks her.
    “Just about,” she says.
    They go inside then, saying they’ll see us in the morning. And just when I think we’ll have some time alone, Marcus decides we should turn in too.
    “You don’t want to watch a movie or something?” I ask.
    “It’s midnight, Maize. Let’s call it a night.”
    “I’m pretty wired,” I say. “Are you sure you don’t want to at least get in the hot tub before we go to bed?”
    “No way. I’m waterlogged already. And beat.”
    “Okay,” I say. “Let’s go, then, party pooper.”
    On the way to our rooms, he says how much he enjoyed my grandparents and how nice it was to meet Clay and Rebecca.
    “Your
great-uncle is pretty impressive, isn’t he?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “I mean, working for the same district for forty years and becoming the superintendent of schools before he was forty— that’s something.”
    “Rebecca has run a homeless shelter for years. It’s a really hard job.”
    “I’m sure. You know, I don’t remember you ever mentioning them.”
    “Maybe not. We don’t see them all that much anymore.”
    “It sounds like they live close.”
    “A few miles from here.”
    “Any kids?”
    “Three. They were quite a bit younger than Dad.”
    Suddenly I am as anxious