Mark was true to his word. He came through the doorway into the retirement community’s lobby promptly at five o’clock and gave me a hug, but not his usual smile. As we walked the short distance to the dining room he said, “I needed somebody to talk to.”

Meaning that he hadn’t talked to Sandra, my granddaughter. And he didn’t say anything more to me before we arrived at the dining room a few minutes after it opened for dinner. Only a handful of the residents had preceded us and we should be able to converse without interruption. I chose a table for two, which would further assure our privacy.

I observed Mark as he absently glanced at the day’s computer-printed menu. Lines had appeared on his handsome face where I had never seen lines before. When our waitress, a pretty and petite black girl in a ponytail and a dark miniskirt, came to fill our water glasses, I watched him again. He had an eye for the ladies, but he barely glanced at her.

We went to the salad bar and returned to the table with plates loaded. I couldn’t contain myself any longer. “Mark, what is the matter?” I asked.

He looked as if he was trying to think of what to say, then blurted out, “I’ve been accused of sexual harassment.”

“Harassment?” It took several seconds before I processed that. “By whom?”

“By a student at Crescent Heights College.”

He had just started teaching at the small private college north of Durham at the beginning of the second semester a few weeks before.

I sat there with my mouth open, not knowing what to say.

“Lillian, I didn’t do it.” Pain showed in his dark eyes.