Tom waited in the hall as the bell rang. The door opened and students poured and then trickled out of the classroom. When the stream of bodies dried up, he stepped inside. Ron Mailer, fifty and graying and dour, sat at his desk, shuffling through a stack of homework assignments and making notes in his gradebook. Tom knocked gently against the door frame.

“Hey, Ron.”

Mailer glanced up, went back to his papers, offered a minute nod. “Tom.”

“I want to apologize for any confusion. That email was supposed to go to my brother. I goofed up the address by accident.”

“Sure confused the hell out of me, Tom.”

“Stupid mistake. My bad. Just wanted to let you know. Hope I didn’t cause you any, uh. You know. Embarrassment. Or whatever.”

Mailer set his pen down on his gradebook, turned in his chair toward Tom.

“Look, McEllroy, I don’t really care what you do with your–with your free time. It’s not my business. And frankly I don’t want it to be my business. So do me a favor and be more careful next time you decide to send a little note to your ‘brother’.”

“Now hold on a minute, Ron, I’m being completely straight here–”

A low humorless snort from Mailer. Tom stared at him, crossed his arms. “Ron, just what–”

Mailer waved him off, turned back to his assignments. “Look, Tom, message received. I’ll take your word for it, it was an accident. Fine. Apology accepted if that’s what you came here for. Water under the bridge.”