exits. Was it a pattern worth changing? “I’m off for the rest of the day,” he called to Barbara across the room, and she waved at him without lifting her elbow from her desk.
The front door opened in as he reached for the handle, and Holly Green leaned up to press her cheek to his. Of all the girls in his class, Holly wore twenty-five years the best, he thought.
“I’m glad I caught you, Simon,” she said, full of energy as always. “I have some stories for the reporter you assigned to the reunion story.”
“Anything exciting?” he asked as he stepped back to let her in.
“I was going to tell him about our senior weekend in Boston, the last one in the history of Red Paint High.”
Simon remembered the trip well—the cheap hotel on the outskirts of the city, the room hopping after curfew, the tossing of the fake Roman statues into the pool, raiding the minifridges for every available snack. “I have to admit, we did ruin it for every other senior class.”
“You can take kids out of Maine but you can’t take Maine out of the kids—that’s how our beloved vice-principal so condescendingly put it.”
“In retrospect, I see his point,” Simon said. “But go light on the details with Joe. I don’t want to make us look too bad.” He gave Holly a little hug to indicate he had to leave and headed off to move a piano.
“Nice place,” Rigero said as he walked around the sunny family room picking up whatever could be picked up—a ceramic giraffe, a wicker basket full of old political buttons, and a round shell-like object, pocked with holes.
“Brain coral,” Simon said. “Davey found it out in the front yard. This area was probably under water once.”
“Or somebody just tossed it out his car window driving by.”
“That’s possible, too.”
Rigero reached for one of the family photos lined up on the end table, then held it close to his eyes as if trying to discern some small detail.
“It’s Disney World,” Simon said. “We made the obligatory trip last year.”
“Looks like your kid had a great time.”
“Davey was in heaven.”
Rigero shrugged. “Don’t expect I’ll get there myself.”
Simon noted the careful way Rigero set the picture back on the end table at the same angle as before, as if he was familiar with the room, or at least felt at home there. A thought crossed his mind, but how could he put it? “You didn’t happen to stop by here last Thursday night, did you, David?”
Rigero looked up quickly. “Why would I do that?”
“No reason,” Simon said. “Our son just thought he saw someone at the front door who didn’t ring the bell, and we were trying to figure out who it was.”
Rigero laughed a little. “So you’re asking everybody?”
“No, I mean, I just thought, since you knew where I lived maybe you stopped by for something.”
Rigero squatted next to the old Endicott upright, leaned his shoulder into the side, and lifted the piano an inch off the floor. “About 250, I’d say. I’ve moved heavier.” He held up the small throw rug he’d brought with him. “We’ll shove this under it and drag it to the door.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Simon heard the Volvo’s sputtering motor coming up the driveway and looked out of the front window. “Christ,” he said, “my wife.”
“That a problem?”
“Never can tell.” He hurried into the hallway and opened the door as Amy came through, humming. “You’re home early,” he said.
She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Don’t look so thrilled.”
“I’m just surprised.”
“My three o’clock canceled.” She dropped her bag on the hall chair. “Why is a pickup in our driveway?
He gestured toward the family room and the back of the man inspecting the piano. “I found a buyer. We were going to move it before you got home, but we can do it another time.”
“Don’t be silly. I’ve made my peace with your getting rid of part of my childhood. Cart it away.” She moved into the room with her arm outstretched. “I’m Amy.”
Rigero turned around and shook her hand quickly, then dropped it. “Nice to meet you, I’m David.”
“David,” she repeated, “that’s our son’s name, but he insists we call him Davey.”
“I’ve always been David.”
“This will only take a few minutes,” Simon said, putting his shoulder to the piano as Rigero had done. “Why don’t you go get changed, Amy, while we move this out of here?”
She leaned against the arm of the sofa, not going anywhere. “How