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Show Motherlunge a novel 218 "The problem is, I sort of agree with her." I put one foot up on the glove compartment, easing lumbar strain. "If she doesn't do things, something bad will happen. She really is the one who has to keep it together." Surprisingly, Jack laughed. "Really?" He twisted his wrist to check his watch. "Anyway, stop whining," he said to me. "No way!" I whined. "It's Pavia!" It was suddenly wonderful, being indulged. "She's the one," I insisted, "I call her." But even as I spoke I knew that probably after all, I was going to be able to give up on this. I'd indulged it long enough. Then Jack was rolling down the window to take the ticket from short-term parking. "You call her? Well, don't-don't call us, Thea," he laughed back at me over his shoulder. "We'll call you." Walter stayed for a week, sleeping in Pavia and Jack's second bedroom. During the workweek, with Xavier at daycare, he spent the day at one of the libraries of the world-famous university. "It's quiet, with the uncomfortable chairs I'm used to," he explained. He was taken to the wharf, to a historic cemetery, to a baseball game; one day Eli rode the circular bus route with him to show him the neighborhoods that make up our big city. And Eli and I came for dinner most of the nights that week. On the last night of his visit, Walter was sitting back from the dinner table, his grandson balanced on his long thighs. He steadied Xavier in a way that called to mind industrial robotics, elbows pivoting for small adjustments and rebalancing maneuvers. |