He hesitates, then nods slightly. I close the door and watch him drive off around the corner. I linger outside in the wind, wondering what I’m really doing here. I do need time to think, to regroup. I could keep walking down to the beach, bypassing the school altogether. But I came here for a reason, so I go inside, closing the door quietly after me.
Class is in session. The students are a mix of ages between maybe six and thirteen. The walls are a pale forest green, decorated in roll-down world maps. Old-fashioned globe lights hang from the ceiling.
Nancy stops speaking and waves at me. “Kyra!” She turns to the students. “We have a surprise guest speaker.”
“I didn’t come here to teach—”
“I don’t know how many of you remember Kyra Winthrop from last summer, just before school ended. She got you all excited about marine biology. Let’s give her the floor, shall we?”
I shake my head. “Oh, I don’t—”
“Come on up.” She motions me forward.
Before I know it, I’m standing at the front of the class, facing a sea of eager kids. What am I doing here? I take a deep breath and smile around at the rapt young faces. How do I begin?
“Raise your hand if you think marine biology is all about saving the whales,” I say. “Or training marine mammals.” My voice comes out rusty, unpracticed.
A few hands shoot up.
“I thought so. I might call myself a marine biologist, but there’s really no such thing.” I’ve done this before.
The kids stare at me with puzzled faces. The hands drop.
“You’ll specialize!” I say and their eyes light up again. “You might become a marine invertebrate zoologist, or maybe a marine phycologist specializing in algae and seaweed or in conservation of a particular species. Or you might be an ichthyologist. Does anyone know what that is?” Who is this person, speaking to these children? Who am I? How do I know these things?
A pretty girl with a blond ponytail raises her hand. “Someone who studies fish.”
“Correct,” I say.
“I knew it!” She grins, revealing a missing front tooth.
“Did you know the male sea horse carries the eggs in a pouch for ten days before he gives birth to miniature sea horses?”
“Whoa,” the kids say.
“A sea cucumber under stress will spew out internal organs—but will eventually grow them again. Not like us!”
Mouths drop open, and the questions come fast and furious. How do they grow new organs? What does a sea cucumber look like? I keep the kids enthralled with strange marine facts. The audience of faces begins to shimmer and fade. I’m standing behind a lectern in a large lecture hall with tiered seating. The students saunter in carrying backpacks, college freshmen. I adjust the microphone, straighten my notes on the lectern’s sloping surface. My heart hammers. I’ll faint before I can even start speaking. Then I see him, standing at the back of the hall. He’s in a crew neck sweater and jeans. Aiden Finlay, cheering me on. You can do it, he mouths to me.
“Kyra?” Nancy says. She hurries to the front of the room and turns to the students. “All right, everyone, let’s give Mrs. Winthrop a huge hand. What do we say?”
“Thank you, Mrs. Winthrop,” the kids say in unison, and there’s a flurry of movement as they zip backpacks and grab their coats.
“Are you okay?” Nancy says to me.
“I zoned out, I’m sorry.”
“You stopped talking and stared at me like I was someone else.”
“In my mind, you were.”
“Who was I?” she says, searching my face.
“Someone I used to know. A guy who came to watch me teach at the university.”
“I look like a guy?”
“No, not at all. It was just being in the classroom . . .”
“Old boyfriend?”
“I’m not sure. Did I ever mention anyone to you?”
“Other than Jacob? Not that I know of. But you remember teaching. That’s good.”
“I also remembered a hike with you and Van. Out to Windy Reef Park.”
“We did go there last August.”
“I need to ask you something about that outing.” We wait until the students have gathered their coats and backpacks and have left for the day, then I tell her about what I remember, about our discussion of methods of murder, what Jacob said about the way the conversation played out.
“I do remember,” she says, nodding. “It was a strange discussion, but he’s right. We were joking around.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s it.”
“Did we go back to Windy Reef Park again after that?”
“No, you were gone by September. Jake came back this past spring to fix up the house. We didn’t see much of him. He was busy getting the place renovated. He said you were moving here.”
I flinch at her nickname for Jacob. “I didn’t come with him?”
“You were teaching. He was so focused on the remodeling, he wouldn’t even come over for dinner. When he sets his mind to something—”
“I know what you mean. He’s focused on writing his novel now. But he took time off to show me around today.”
“I wish Van would do something so romantic. At least he brings me gifts from his dives.” She points to a delicate ceramic vase on her desk. “He got this one from a fourteenth-century shipwreck.”