I watched his red taillights move down our long driveway, glowing bright against the dry dust his tires kicked up.

He turned right at the county highway marker, heading west toward the interstate ramp, until the red lights disappeared behind the cornstalks at the corner of our land.

The high school administrative hallway smelled of floor wax and old paper.

Brenda, the front desk clerk, looked up from her monitor and set her coffee mug on a stack of interoffice envelopes.

“Did Mark forget his district travel folder again?” Brenda asked.