“We al thought you were a flash in the pan,” Augie said. “A woman as attractive as you, with your boutique subject matter, a specialty that no one else on earth knows about, that has no relevance to the rest of the canon. I knew you weren’t for real. There was something fishy about you, something artificial. We al knew it.”

“Stop it,” Brenda said. Couldn’t they see she was upset enough as it was?

“You stop it,” Mrs. Pencaldron said. She pointed to the door. “Leave, or I cal security.”

Not in her right mind. Terribly confused. And angry. Brenda hated Mrs. Pencaldron. She had never liked her but now she real y despised her.

And Augie Fisk—yuck!—with his thick shock of red hair and his pale, pinched lips. Flash in the pan? He had asked her out again and again, and each time Brenda turned him down, she felt worse. Not in her right mind. Fishy and artificial? An online university? After eight years of graduate school, the thousands of hours of reading and research? Al that work? The slavish devotion? Suddenly, Brenda was furious. She would not be ordered out of this room. She had done a good job; she was a good teacher.

We all knew it. Wel , wasn’t it easy to say so. Now.

Brenda reached into her bag and grabbed a book—one of the nearly impossible to find paperbacks of The Innocent Impostor that she had ordered for her class—and flung it. She threw it, she told the university counsel in her deposition, just to throw something. Have you never thrown anything in anger? Have you never felt that impulse? Brenda was not aiming the book at Augie Fisk or Mrs. Pencaldron or the painting. But hit the painting it did. (Lower left quadrant, three-quarter-of-an-inch “divot” or “gouge.”) Brenda sucked in her breath, horrified, and Mrs. Pencaldron shrieked, and Augie Fisk said, “Oh, shit. You’ve real y done it now.”

Mrs. Pencaldron said, “I’m cal ing security. Block the door, Augie. We are not letting her leave. She has to answer to this.”

Brenda gazed at the painting through her tears. She understood it perfectly now. The splatter, the mess, the tangle, the chaos. That painting was her life.

Settle, she thought. It was a word with multiple meanings. On the one hand, it was comforting. The matter would be settled, final y. Cleaned up, laid to rest. Champion University v. Brenda Lyndon would become another file in the law offices of Brian Delaney, Esquire, closed away in a drawer.

But settle also meant doing without. She would have to settle for a life excluded from academia, and for a life without Walsh.

Her heart longed for him, her body ached for his arms around her. She wanted to hear his voice; it didn’t matter, particularly, what he said. But Brenda couldn’t make herself cal him; her relationship with Walsh was intertwined with the loss of her career, her life’s work. Brenda hurt now, but it would hurt more to talk with Walsh, to relive, day in and day out, the humiliation of that afternoon with Suzanne Atela, Bil Franklin, Amrita, Augie Fisk, Mrs. Pencaldron, and, final y, campus security.

Where was she going to find the money? Could she declare bankruptcy? Would she be forced to ask her parents? In Brenda’s mind, a hundred and twenty-five thousand dol ars was no different from a hundred and sixty—they were both unattainable. She would have to sel her half of the cottage, but she couldn’t drop that on Vicki now—and what if Vicki and Ted, for whatever reason, didn’t have the money to buy Brenda out? Would Brenda force a sale of the whole property? She could just hear the thoughts of Vicki and her parents: Brenda is book smart, yes, but she has no common sense. She is unable to make her way in the world. We always have to bail her out.

How to defend herself? What else could she do? One thing. There had always been only one place for Brenda to hide. Lowly Worm, bookworm, nose always in a book. She pul ed her yel ow legal pad out of her bag, poured a cup of coffee from her thermos, and started to write.

It was nothing he would ever be able to use on his résumé, but Josh was proud of his Wiffle bal pitching ability. Josh gave the bal perfect arc and speed—and in addition, Josh had taught Blaine stance and swing so that Blaine hit the bal nearly every time. Yes, the Wiffle bal was satisfying, it was one of the things Josh would miss most about babysitting, and he was glad that he’d been able to show off his pitching prowess for Vicki.

Vicki was feeling better, she looked healthier and stronger, and Josh found himself wanting to spend more time with her. She was his boss, yes, but she was also his friend and he found her easy to talk to and fun to be with. Josh’s relationship with Brenda had basical y been whittled down to pleasantries and an occasional short conversation about the progress of her screenplay—and Josh’s relationship with Melanie had morphed into a whole, huge, complicated and secret thing. Josh’s feelings for Melanie were running amok; they were growing like some crazy, twisting vine, strangling his heart. He wanted to talk to someone about Melanie—and strangely, the person who came to mind was Vicki. But this was out of the question.

Melanie was thirteen weeks pregnant. Her stomach held the slightest swel —rounded, smooth, tight. She was luminous—always smiling, radiating good, sweet, sexy Melanie-ness. He was crazy about her, he couldn’t wait for the day to pass, for night to come, for his father to switch off the TV and retire to his bedroom, because this was when Josh left the house, driving out to ’Sconset with a sense of fervent anticipation. Melanie.

Since the beginning of August, his longing for her had intensified. One night, she didn’t come to meet him at al . Josh waited patiently in the beach parking lot until eleven o’clock, then he drove, as stealthily as possible, past the house on Shel Street. The house was dark and buckled up for the night. In the morning, Melanie told him in a quick whisper that she had simply fal en asleep.

Simply? he thought. What had developed between them was wel beyond simple.

She admitted to him that she was talking to Peter. Not just the one time and not just to discuss “household matters.” He knew about the baby; she had told him.

“I had to,” she said. “He’s the father. He deserves to know.”

Josh disagreed. “Is he stil having the affair?”

“I don’t know.”

“Have you asked him?”

“No.”

“Wel , what does he say when he cal s?”

“He says he misses me. He asks when I’m coming home.”

“That’s just because of the baby,” Josh said. “He cares about you now because you’re pregnant.”

Josh said these words without realizing how hurtful they were. Melanie’s eyes widened in shock. Right away, he knew he should apologize, he did apologize, and Melanie said, “No, no, you’re right. I can’t trust him. I don’t trust him. He’s only cal ing me because I’m pregnant.”

“He’s stupid,” Josh said. And when Melanie didn’t respond, he said, “It might be better if you didn’t tel me about the phone cal s anymore.”

“Okay,” she said. “Sure thing. I just don’t want to keep anything from you.”

But this wasn’t exactly true. What she kept from Josh was how the phone cal s made her feel and what she intended to do about Peter once the summer ended and she returned to Connecticut. Peter was her husband, yes, but was she going to take him back? Melanie never said, and Josh was afraid to ask. He needed someone to talk to, but there was no one. He spent al day with a four-year-old, throwing perfect pitches, fielding perfect hits.

“Josh? Josh?”

Blaine was standing at “home plate” with his bat poised when Josh, who had been ready to pitch, froze. It was his custom, between pitches, to check on Porter, who was asleep on the blanket under the umbrel a. Was he stil asleep? This was increasingly important now that Porter could walk; the last thing Josh wanted was for Porter to toddle off down the beach unnoticed. But when Josh checked on Porter this time, he was taken by surprise. There was a person sitting under the umbrel a next to Porter, a person who had appeared out of nowhere, like a ghost, like a bad dream. It was Didi.

“What—” Josh said, but he stopped himself. He didn’t want to get noticeably angry or flustered in front of Blaine.

“Hi,” Didi said.

“Josh!” Blaine said. “Pitch!”

Josh looked at Blaine waiting—and then back at Didi. Josh felt as threatened as he would have by a cobra under the umbrel a with Porter, or a Siberian tiger. What if Didi snatched Porter up and disappeared with him?

Josh pitched the bal , Blaine smacked it over Josh’s head. Didi made a big show of clapping and cheering, and at that point, Blaine realized there was someone under the umbrel a with his brother. A stranger. But no, not a stranger.

“Hey, I know you,” Blaine said. “From the hospital.” As Josh retrieved the bal , Blaine approached the umbrel a. Not too close! Josh thought. He jogged over.

“Blaine, do you want to play with Mateo now?”

“What about Wiffle bal ?”

“I have to talk to Didi.”

“Is she your girlfriend?”

At this, Didi laughed, a forceful, one-syl able blast. “Ha!”

“No,” Josh said. “But I have to talk to her. Wil you play with Mateo?”

“How many minutes until lunch?”

Josh checked his watch. “Eighteen minutes.”

“Okay,” Blaine said. He wandered a few yards down the beach to where Mateo Sherman was burying his father’s feet in the sand. Omar Sherman looked over to Josh and said, “I’ve got him.”

“Thanks!” Josh said. Omar would be wondering who Didi was, as would Mrs. Brooks two umbrel as down. Josh smiled at Didi, but this was purely for show. “What are you doing here, Didi?”

“I know about her.”

“You know about who?” Josh said wearily.

“You’re screwing the mother’s friend,” Didi said. “And she’s pregnant. I know al about it. It’s weird, okay, Josh? It’s twis-ted.”

“You don’t know a damn thing,” Josh said. “You are so far off base, you’re just making shit up. You sound like a crazy person.”

“Rob saw you with a woman with curly hair. Older. And I did some further research. It’s the mother’s friend. She came to the hospital for a prenatal appointment. I know you’re sleeping with her. I know you took her to the house in Shimmo. Zach told me.”

Stop! Josh thought. Stop and think! But if he paused, even for a second, if he faltered or showed a crack, she would get a fingerhold and pul him apart.

“You owe me money,” Josh said. “Two hundred dol ars, plus interest. Are you here to pay me?”

“Don’t try to change the subject,” she said.

“You’re the one who’s trying to change the subject,” Josh said. “Because the only thing between you and me is that money.”

“I need five hundred dol ars to get my car back,” Didi said. “Give me five hundred dol ars and I won’t tel anyone.”

“Won’t tel anyone what?”

“That you’re sleeping with a woman who is pregnant. I could see if you hit on the other one, the sister. She, at least, is attractive, though waaaaaaayyyyy too old for you.”

“Stop it, Didi. You can’t blackmail me.”

“Sure I can.”

“No, you can’t,” Josh said. “What you’re saying is outrageous. No one wil believe you.”

“Rob saw you, Josh. Out in Monomoy. With the woman. At midnight. How do you explain that?”

“I don’t have to explain it because it isn’t true. Rob is untrustworthy. He’s as crazy as you are.” Josh looked over at Blaine, happily playing with Mateo Sherman. Omar gave Josh the thumbs-up. Porter’s breathing was deep and even. Everything is okay, Josh told himself. You can handle Didi.

“Everyone wil believe it,” Didi said. “Because you’re different this summer. You never come to parties, you don’t go out. You don’t do anything except hang around with those women and the kids. Everyone’s noticed, Josh. I’m sure even your father’s noticed. Although, maybe not. Your father is pretty oblivious.”

“Stop it, Didi.”

“I’l have to clue him in.”

Josh tried not to let any emotion cross his face. He felt like he was onstage. Stil , he couldn’t let Didi get anywhere near his father. That would be a complete disaster.

“Whatever,” Josh said. “My father already thinks you’re wacko, Didi. Anything you try to tel him wil fal on deaf ears.”

“That’s a chance I’l have to take,” Didi said. She stood up and brushed off the seat of her shorts. “Give me five hundred bucks and I’l let this go. I won’t tel your father. I won’t tel anyone.”