animalsâ philosophy was?â
âTheir philosophy? No.â
âYeah. You watched them all day, and then you said all the animals had the same philosophy. It was âI think Iâll go over here for a while.ââ
Another pause. âHow old were we?â
âI donât know,â I said. âYoung.â
Â
I took the bus back to Wellfleet, and in the morning I went to Ceriseâs house to show her the photos of Wendyâs new throws. âThis one is a social worker from the county,â I said. âThis oneââ
âOh my God.â
âThatâs her friendâs daughter. She was ten.â
âIs she okay? Wendy?â
âI couldnât really tell.â
âWell. We can send her a little money.â She squinted at a picture. âHow is she doing this? Itâs very fine yarn, but still.â
âIs there something we can put in instead?â
She nodded. âI have some penguins I can move up.â
That night Rensselaer called me at my motel and said he was quitting. I said, âHowâs Arnold taking it?â
âReally well. I said Iâd stay long enough to finish the issue and he said to stay the fuck out of the building.â
I told Rensselaer Iâd been thinking of quitting too. âItâs up to you,â he said. âI think heâs bringing a guy in from Nine-Hole Golfer . I feel bad about this, but, yeah, you might want to push on.â
âDo you know where youâre going?â
âA daily paper in Ellis. The, hold on, âThe Award-Nominated Voice of the Tri-County Valley.â Iâll be doing state politics.â
âThat sounds good.â
âYeah. If you want, thereâs a guy I can talk to at Ultra Running . Itâs in Nevada.â
The next day I told Cerise I was quitting and asked if I could leave her the negatives of Wendy Probstâs throws and keep the prints. She said okay. I took a bus back to Clayton and walked into the office at 4:00 P.M. The receptionist looked alarmed and said, âHenry, you donât want to goââ
It was too late. Dobey came out of the inner office with a half-crumpled page proof in his hand and yelled, âYou little shit! You have the nerve to come back here?â
âWhat?â I said. âWait, whatââ
He backed me toward the door, holding up the proof of the L.A. story. The noun motherfucker jumped out. Iâd somehow put the unedited Chief Boy R.D. interview into type.
âThis was on plates !â he said, backing me into the hall. âThe press was turned on! The truck was waiting!â
âIt was a mistake,â I said. âOn the computer. I sent the wrongââ
âI know what you did! Letâs take what Arnold built up from printing eviction notices and piss it away! Itâll be funny !â
âNo. Iâm sorry. It wasââ
âI live here! I have to walk down the street here!â
I almost fell down the stairs, but I caught the railing and held on to it while he told me never to show my face there again. He did such a good job of yelling that he became the hectoring voice in my head for years to comeânot Dad or Barney or Freddy Krueger, from my childhood, but the Popeye whose smeary invitations were the third choice of wedding planners even in Clayton.
When he finally went back to his office, I went outside and sat on a bus bench. Jillian found me there and said, âWe would have caught it. He swooped in and read it first.â
âHi,â I said.
âHow long are you in town for?â
âIâm not sure yet. I have to find a job.â
âYou can stay at Meganâs a few days. Sheâs in Kenya.â
We went to the bottomless-pasta place on Meader with the five friends, but I was too shaken by Dobey to eat, and it took Scott and Jeff to beat the house edge. Meganâs apartment was filled with foreign