The Finalists

into the soft soil, and press my face against the window. I've been in Hyde House many times for college events and know the layout well. I'm staring into the music room, the space where Major Hyde, his family, and subsequent generations of Hydes came to listen to recitals on the piano. The piano originally moved to the house by Major Hyde fell into disrepair and was sold in the 1990s, but a music stand remains along with a bust of Major Hyde's favorite composer, Wagner.

 

The sun warms the back of my neck. I wait on the lawn in front of the house. In the distance, the campus is quiet on a Saturday morning in April. The students sleep off the night before. Purple hyacinths bloom in the flower beds, and I catch their overwhelming scent. A robin chirps in a nearby tree.

 

I want to call Rachel, apologize for our fight earlier. Money. We only fight about money. We have to decide whether to get new windows or a new roof, and we disagree about which is the higher priority. Our household is like the college-there's never enough money to go around.

 

But before I can hit the call button, the phone rings.

 

"Shoot," I say, then answer. "Hello?"

 

"Hey, Troy. It's Grace."

 

"Hey, Grace." I try to keep my voice buoyant and not let any irritation show, even though my boss-the president of the college-is calling to check up on me. But she's not just my boss-she's my friend. She and Rachel belong to the same book club, and just last weekend Grace and her husband, Doug, came over to our house for drinks. "How are you on this fine morning?"

 

"Is he there?" she asks. She cuts to the chase. Today is about business. On another day, we would talk about our kids-Grace's oldest son, Michael, is in the same grade as my oldest daughter, Rebecca-but I know Grace has other things on her mind.

 

"If by 'he' you mean Nicholas Hyde, then no, he isn't here yet. No one is."

 

"Damn it. When