He smiled past me at the doorman.

“These things work themselves out.

They always do once you quit pushing.”

The elevator arrived.

He stepped inside, pressed his floor, and didn’t look at me again.

The doors took four full seconds to close, and the doorman held them for a woman carrying groceries, and I stood there while they slid shut.

I drove out to Oak Ridge with the photocopy beside me on the passenger seat and let myself into my father’s kitchen at six.

Arthur had coffee brewing and the yellow legal pad at his elbow with three columns ruled in pencil and labeled in his small block capitals.