Lucinda had just lain across her bed and endured the squeak of the mattress springs when a knock at the door jerked her back awake.

“Miz Cambridge? It’s Miz Godwin. May I come in?”

“Of course, Mrs. Godwin.” Lucinda lifted herself from the bed and stood, forcing a pleasant look upon her face as Bertha came in.

“They said you was feelin’ poorly. I wanted to check on you.”

“How kind. I’m much better.”

“Good, because I need some advice.” Bertha stepped forward with the urgency of a life insurance salesman at the front door.

Lucinda’s body twitched. “How may I help you?”

“I suppose you’ve heard the fuss about the fire marshal.”

“Yes, some improvements have to be made.” Without thinking, she slumped into her rocking chair.

“Well, Emma is hell bent – excuse my language – on not doin’ a thing. She’s the most stubborn woman in the world.” She smiled nervously. “I should know, bein’ her sister.”

“And you want to know if I think you should inform the authorities of her noncompliance?”

Bertha paused, as though her mind had to translate into her Texas vernacular what Lucinda had just said. Eventually, she nodded. “I’d never hear the end of it if she knew I was the one who turned her in. But I don’t want to wake up some night with flames all around me. The way she smokes, I know it’s goin’ to happen.”

“I learned long ago not to make other people’s decisions for them.” Even now she shuddered at the advice she had given Vernon. “You have to look within yourself for wisdom.”

“You’re afraid you’ll lose the roof over your head too?” Bertha asked sympathetically.

“No, that’s not—“

Emma’s voice rang throughout the drafty old house. “Bertha! Come wash these dishes!”

“I’ve got to go.” She headed for the door. “You’re right. It’s my decision.” She looked back and added solicitously, “Now you git your rest.”

Before she knew it, Lucinda was back at her desk at the college, and Vernon, dressed in blue jeans and a pull over sweater, entered carrying a notepad and a textbook.

“Vernon. I’m sorry I displeased you earlier.” At that time in her life, Lucinda was not very good at apologies. “I hope any little arguments we have don’t disrupt our friendship.

“What argument?” he asked as he sat.

“In the hall. You were in your gym shorts and we were talking about—“

“Oh, that was months ago,” he cut her off with a wave of a hand. “I’ve already forgotten about that.”

“Good.” She sighed in relief and focused on his notepad. “What do you have here?”

“It’s that paper you wanted me to do on Dante’s Inferno. And that poem I had to write about death.” He opened the notepad to the page where he had scribbled a few words. He shook his head. “Gosh, Mrs. Cambridge, this is hard.”

‘Well, do you see why I wanted you to write it?” Lucinda relaxed, comfortably back in her element of the classroom.

“Sure, if you go to – um, Hades, that means you must be dead and if we write a poem then we kinda know what Dante must have gone through to write his poem,” he explained with uncertainty.

“That’s right. So, read me your poem.” She leaned forward with anticipation.

Vernon blinked a few times and then began to read very slowly, “One night on a dark country road/ I sped on my way home./ With thoughts lingering about my date/ I didn’t think of what was ahead./ Suddenly before my car/ Was a rabbit frozen with fear/ Fixed in the middle of the road./ The headlight glare caught the shock and fear in his eyes./ Then he died./ And I cried.”

“Very touching, Vernon.” She stood to walk around to his desk and read it again from over his shoulder. “I assume that really happened.”

“Yep.”

“I’ve no quarrel with the free verse with the rhymed couplet. But it is very brief. Perhaps in here – “she leaned over to point at one section “–right before the rhymed couplet you could relate some other experience facing death.”

“I haven’t had any.”

Her head snapped over to his face. “Surely one of your grandparents.”

“No.” He shook his head, averting eye contact. “All of them are still alive.”

“Oh, there’s someone you’ve known who died.” She became aware of his aftershave, which she recognized as a common brand like her husband had used. “You just don’t remember. And there’s been some experience in your life when you’ve been faced with your own mortality.”

His shoulders shuddered a bit. “But I don’t want to think about it. It scares me.”

“Well, Vernon, dying scares all of us.” She was practically whispering in his ear. “Part of living is overcoming the fear of death.”

“Sometimes, late at night, I think about what it’s going to be like not to exist anymore. Not to feel, be hungry, be happy, look forward to doing things.” His voice took on a mournful, frightened quality.

“Only atheists believe death means not existing anymore.” She pulled away slightly when she was aware she was entering a realm of preaching instead of teaching. She had always prided herself on keeping the two issues separated.

“I know that.” He exhaled. “But if I’m not here I’m not existing. Being in heaven is something I don’t know anything about. That won’t be existing like this is existing.” He turned to look at her face. They were very close. “I’m not saying this very well.”

She smiled. “I think you’re saying it beautifully.”

“And in heaven we’ll praise God all the time for eternity.” He averted his eyes again. “Forever. I mean, even that scares me. No end. Going on forever and ever and ever. In a way, the atheists have it better, thinking there is a definite end someday, but even that scares me. Do we have to keep talking about this? I’m getting sick to my stomach.”

“No. We can go on to the other paper. Tell me about Dante and his seven levels of Hades.” Her tutorial ethics kept telling her she needed to move away, perhaps to the blackboard. But she couldn’t make herself move an inch.

Vernon flipped over a page in the notepad. “Look at this and see if I’m on the right track.”

“Very well.” Lucinda leaned in even further to read from the pad. “You have grasped the meaning of each level very well. You’ve expressed it concisely and clearly if not elegantly.”

“Heck, I don’t think I could ever write elegant.” He laughed, and the pitch of his voice raised, making him sound more like a child than a young man.

“Are you still seeing Nancy?” She knew none of this was any of her business, but something in the pit of her inner being made her ask.

“Yeah.”

“I’m sure you’re a good influence on her.”

“She says I’ve taught her a lot.” Vernon nodded, his eyes were still fixed on the notepad.

“That’s good.” Lucinda felt her influence on Vernon was being passed on to Nancy which satisfied her need as a teacher to spread her life lessons.

“Of course, she’s taught me a lot too.”

“Oh.” She didn’t like the sound of that.

“Is this sentence okay?” Vernon pointed to a particular paragraph at the bottom of the page. “I got going on it, and it’s awful long.”

“What?” She was finding it difficult to concentrate on the essay because the physical sensations of their closeness made her light-headed.

“Look here.”

As Vernon pointed again to the paragraph, Lucinda leaned over even more, enjoying the warmth of their contact, until she lost her balance. He jumped up to catch her before she landed on the desk.

“Are you all right?”

Lucinda straightened and looked as though she had been caught in an immoral act. “Of course, I’m all right. I just lost my balance for a moment, that’s all. It could happen to anybody.”

“You need to be careful. You nearly fell all over me.”

“I don’t want to remember that!” She realized there was panic in her voice, and she couldn’t control it. “No! It did not happen!”

“Don’t get upset, Mrs. Cambridge.” He wrinkled his brow.

“I’m not upset.” Lucinda shook her head adamantly. “Nothing happened.”

“I thought maybe you couldn’t see the paper good, and you had to lean so far in that you lost your balance,” Vernon explained. “I could put the paper closer to you.”

“Please, I don’t want to remember I did that!”

“Lose your balance?” He chuckled. “I lose my balance all the time.”

Lucinda turned to walk back to her desk, blinking her eyes, trying to return to the present. “Vernon, please go now.” The scent of the honeysuckle outside her boardinghouse window grew stronger. She was almost there. “I don’t want to remember this.”

“Okay.” Physically Vernon was almost gone. His voice was growing fainter. “I’ll try to figure all this out.”

“No! Don’t try to figure it out!” She was on the verge of tears. “It was all very innocent.”

“I meant Dante’s Inferno.” The echo of his voice was fading.

“Oh.”