“Sorry, I’m having trouble getting out of here,” she explained. “There was this parent-teacher conference. This kid’s parents finally wake up and realize Brittany’s probably not gonna graduate. What are we gonna do to help her, blah, blah, blah… . Then I was trying to get these stupid journals graded so I don’t have to lug them all home… .” When I mentioned beer with Toby, she said, “You ought to go. I’m swamped tonight. Go ahead.” Atkins Tavern was packed that evening, and it seemed that about half of the clientele was on backslapping terms with Toby. We had a front table by the window. People kept saying hello to him, often coming over to chat for a few minutes. The window at least gave me something to do—gaze across the street to the old town green, which looked pretty under the setting sun. Growing up, I don’t think I ever really appreciated how idyllic Waverly would look to someone just passing through. Trees with little white flowers surrounded the wide green lawn, a small stone war memorial at its center.
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