He pulled into the Thorntons ’ driveway. It was a large semicircle lined with sycamore trees that were just starting to turn yellow with fall. The house was brick, low and large, with white trim and the window glass darkened for the Southern California sun. The driveway circled around a knoll of deep green dichondra. In the center stood a thirty-foot flagpole. Dr. Thornton flew the stars and stripes every day except when it rained.

“No one’s home,” she said. “Would you like to come in?”

They stood in the cool shadowed kitchen and kissed. The swimming pool threw wobbling crescents of light through the sliding glass door to the walls.

He grasped her wrist and tried to pull her hand down but she broke it loose with a soft laugh and put her arm back around his neck.

“No,” she said. “I more than like you but I’m not ready.”

“I know. I understand.”

Andy did understand, and the decision was hers. They kissed for a few more minutes. She pulled her lips away from him just as the warm slick issued into his briefs.

“I have to use the bathroom,” he said.

THE TUSTIN TIMES office was back across town, by the high school. Andy sat at the editor’s desk and used the big black Royal to write the obits for the week.

Joe Cannon, Former Engineer and School District Trustee Dead at 77

Early Tustin Needlepoint Artist Remembered-Lacemaker Commissioned by Eleanor Roosevelt

Dr. Richard Riley Healed Congolese Every Easter

Beth Stevens sat at the Arts and Culture editor’s desk across from Andy. She stared at the paper in her machine, tapping her fingers on the keys but not hard enough to engage them. Like him, she was a high school senior hired for eight hours a week, after school was out. She was tall and freckled and moved quickly.