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He looked at her.
He gave a single nod.
Not unfriendly. Not warm. Precise. The kind of nod that acknowledged without committing to anything, that said I see you too and nothing else.
She kept walking.
She made it half a block before she realized she was smiling, which was embarrassing, and also that her face was slightly warm, which was more embarrassing, and also that she was going to think about a nod, a single, uncommitted, thoroughly noncommittal nod, for the rest of the evening, which was the most embarrassing thing of all.
She walked home.
She made dinner. She ate it at the kitchen table looking out the window at the slice of lake she could see between the trees, the water going gold in the last of the afternoon light. She thought about Sophie and Marcus and the sound of twenty-two kids concentrating. She thought about Lauren’s tragic sandwich and the way she’d said you’re going to be the teacher they remember like it was obvious.
She thought about a nod.
She called Becca.
“How was it?” Becca said, before she’d finished saying hello.
“Good.” Allison pulled her cardigan tighter and tucked her feet up on the chair. “Really good. There’s this kid, Marcus, he has this instinct for color that I didn’t expect, and a girl named Sophie who’s...”
“Tell me about the hardware store man.”
Allison stopped.
“I didn’t say anything about...”
“You have a voice you use when there’s something you’re not saying. I’ve known you my whole life. Tell me about the hardware store man.”
She looked at the ceiling.
“I walked past the hardware store today,” she said. “After school. He was outside.”
“And?”
“And I waved.”
“And?”
“And he nodded.”
Silence.
“He nodded,” Becca said.
“Yes.”
“A nod.”
“A single nod. Acknowledging. Not unfriendly.”
Another silence, longer this time. She could hear Becca deciding whether to say something and deciding to say it.
“Allison.”
“I know.”
“You’re telling me about a nod.”
