The Homecoming Hero Returns. Joan Elliott Pickart

through the hot and humid air. A citronella candle burned in a small holder, casting a circle of golden light.

      They’d had a pleasant evening with the kids which had included the barbecued hamburgers and fruit salad for dinner, a game of Frisbee in the playground down the street, then big dishes of ice cream with a cupcake on the side before the twins headed for bed.

      David yawned.

      “May I quote you on that?” Sandra said, smiling over at him.

      “All that sun at the pool zapped me,” he said, turning his head to meet and match her smile. “But that’s to be expected because our charming children informed me today that I’m old because I like country and western music.”

      “Well, you are in the downhill slide, sweetie pie,” Sandra said. “Me? At twenty-nine I’m still in my youthful prime.”

      “Ah,” David said, nodding. He laced his fingers on his flat stomach and closed his eyes. “Maybe I’ll sleep right here tonight. It’s got to be cooler outside than it is in our bedroom.”

      “The mosquitos obviously think so,” Sandra said, smacking her arm. She paused. “David?”

      “Hmm?” he said, not opening his eyes.

      “Are you going to tell me what was in the letter from Saunders University?”

      “What—” he yawned again “—letter?”

      “The one that came in the mail today. I’d forgotten about it until now.”

      David opened his eyes and turned his head to frown at Sandra.

      “Mail. Mail? You know, I didn’t stop long enough to check the credenza. Never thought about it. There’s a letter from Saunders? That’s a first. I’ve been spared the pitch for money all these years because I’m not an alumni, per se. That’s a perk of not graduating.”

      “Let’s not broach that subject,” Sandra said. “Not tonight. Aren’t you curious about the letter?”

      “Not curious enough to trek into the house and get it.” He chuckled. “But you’re obviously about to pop a seam wanting to know what it says.”

      “I am not,” she said indignantly, then laughed in the next instant. “Yes, I am. I’ll go get it. Okay?”

      “Hey, you can even open it and see what the deal is.”

      “Nope,” she said, pushing herself to her feet. “I’ve never opened your mail and never will. I will, however, personally deliver it to you.”

      “Whatever,” he said, closing his eyes again.

      Sandra returned minutes later and placed the letter on David’s chest. She waited. Seconds ticked by. She tapped her foot and pursed her lips. Then she picked up the letter and smacked him in the head with it. David laughed in delight and snatched the envelope from her hand.

      “I wondered how long you’d last,” he said, tearing the end off the envelope.

      He shook out a folded piece of stationery, then tilted it toward the candlelight so he could see to read the typing.

      “I’ll be damned,” he said finally.

      Sandra sat sideways on the cushion and leaned toward him.

      “What? What?” she said.

      “Do you remember Professor Harrison? Gilbert Harrison?”

      “Harrison,” Sandra said slowly, searching her mind. “No, I… Oh, wait. Yes. He was my advisor. I saw him twice, that was it. Once to get my class list approved, and then later to have him sign my withdrawal slip when I quit. Is that who the letter is from?”

      “Yeah,” David said. “Here—read it yourself.”

      Sandra accepted the paper and shifted closer to the candle.

      “He says he’s planning a reunion of a select number of students and he’s inviting you to come and bring your lovely wife, Sandra? He realizes that it’s short notice and while it would be nice if everyone could arrive at once he realizes that might not be possible. But he does hope we’ll come to the campus before the fall semester starts.” She looked over at David who met her gaze. “This is strange, David. It’s certainly a weird way to have a reunion. Do you think Professor Harrison has gotten senile since we were at Saunders?”

      “I doubt it,” David said. “He’d only…let’s see…oh, probably be in his mid-to late fifties now. That’s a tad young for dementia.”

      “I know, but this last line here where he says it’s actually imperative that all those he is inviting arrive before the fall semester starts has a…a frantic tone to it, don’t you think?”

      “What I think is that your journalist mind is working overtime,” David said. “A summer reunion just makes more sense because he’ll be so busy when fall classes start up again.”

      “Mmm,” she said. “Okay, I’ll give you that one. But who are these select number of former students, and why are you one of them?”

      “I don’t have a clue.”

      “And we’ll never know, because we aren’t going to his planned-at-the-last-minute reunion.”

      “Why not?” David said, frowning. “The week after next the kids are scheduled to attend that sport camp. We’ll have a whole week free. Well, we’d have to pay Henry and company to cover the store but…” He shrugged. “What the hell, it’s only money.”

      “But…” Sandra said. “I was hoping you and I might be able to have a few days in a…a romantic bed and breakfast and…I got some brochures for you to look at and…” She sighed. “Never mind. It would be more than our budget could handle, anyway.”

      “Honey, listen,” David said, reaching over and taking one of her hands. “The bed-and-breakfast thing sounds nice, it really does but…look, when I was at Saunders I had a lot going on with Professor Harrison. He was my advisor, I was in his freshman and sophomore English classes, and he was the batting coach for the baseball team.”

      “Oh,” she said. “I forgot about that.”

      “I owe the man a lot,” David continued. “He was good to me, a friend as well as all the other roles he had in my life. When I plain old flunked out he was upset for me, not at me, you get what I mean?

      “My father practically disowned me because I wasn’t going to be a pro baseball player, has never really forgiven me because he lived his life through me after my mom died. You know how strained things still are between my dad and me.

      “Anyway, I just feel that if Professor Harrison wants me at this reunion thing, whatever it is, I should be there. Lord knows, he was always there for me when I needed him.”

      “I understand, David. Okay,” Sandra said quietly. “I wonder how many days he wants you to be on campus? Having to go back and forth between Saunders and here is a wicked drive in the traffic. Well, whatever. Sure. It’s fine.”

      “Hey, how about this?” he said, squeezing her hand. “I know you’re disappointed about the bed-and-breakfast plan. What if we stayed in Boston in a hotel, eat out, the whole bit? I’ll even go to a couple of museums with you. What do you think?”

      Sandra smiled. “That sounds wonderful. Thank you, David. But I do keep wondering how long Professor Harrison expects you to be there for this reunion?”

      “Even more,” David said, frowning, “I wonder why the sudden reunion in the first place?”

      At the church bake sale the next morning, Sandra and one of her close friends, Cindy Morrison, shuffled goodies around on the long table to make more room for the offerings. As they worked, stopping to smile at people who picked up their selections, Sandra told Cindy about the letter from Professor Harrison.

      “That’s