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“Sarcasm’s a good thing,” he said. “Shows I’m resilient through thick and thin.” Once he finally finished dressing, he approved. He was jobless but looked prosperous. As he exited the bathroom, the phone rang, piercing the dull air. Peter veered towards the extension on the bedside table, but considered not answering. Why bother? The string of bad news was endless. Would this be any different?
    He stood along the west-facing wall and window and listened to the swoosh of speeding cars. At night, he pretended this never-ending traffic was rolling surf. He wished, however, the waves didn’t honk every few seconds. Flipping a mental coin on the fifth ring, he elected to pick up. When Jason Ayers said, “Hello,” Peter immediately wanted to reconsider his decision.
    “I spoke with Jerome Smitham,” Ayers began. “He told me you were interested in finding your own job. Any success?”
    Peter stared at a dark smudge on the wall. “It’s an avalanche of opportunity,” he said. “There’s this assistant manager’s job at a Jack in the Box restaurant. I’d make six bucks an hour and report to a nineteen-year-old. I’m considering it. Paper delivery routes are available. Also frozen banana dipper at the amusement park. Lots of things. I’m sorting out the opportunities.”
    “At least you’ve kept a sense of humor.”
    “Gallows humor. I’m looking at an eviction notice. With rents having escalated, my landlord is dying to get me out of here.”
    “Sounds bleak.”
    “I’ll manage.”
    “Jerome says you’re behind on Hannah’s mortgage payments. How about letting me handle those?”
    “No thanks, Mr. Ayers. You’ve done enough. Mr. Smitham told me you paid my tuition when Mom ran short of money.”
    “Jerome’s got a big mouth.”
    “Anyway, thanks.”
    “That was the only money Hannah ever took from me, and she only did so because . . .” The voice faded to nothing.
    “I’m glad he told me,” Peter said. “I owe you for a lot of things.”
    Ayers paused to clear his throat. When he began again, he sounded tentative. “It was nothing. Under the circumstances, why don’t you reconsider the position with Stenman Partners?”
    “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t want a make-work job. It’s too much like a handout, and that’s something I can’t take.”
    “That’s where you’re wrong, Peter. Morgan Stenman makes everyone earn his keep a hundred times over. If you don’t cut it, you’re ipso facto out. Just come by my office for a chat.”
    “I don’t know, Mr. Ayers.”
    “Hannah took this job and did outstanding work. She became, far and away, the best paralegal we had. That didn’t amount to charity.”
    “She had to take that job—”
    “Flipping burgers sounds good to you?” Ayers asked.
    “No.”
    “Just a talk. I’ve got some free time around noon.”
    Peter agreed. “I’ll see you in three hours. I appreciate the concern.”
    As Peter prepared to cancel the day’s other interviews, Henry hopped onto his lap. “Whatta you think, old man?” he said, stroking behind the cat’s ear. “Take the job for a month or two until we get back on our feet?”
    Henry’s throat vibrated in a contented hum.

    Peter approached the elevator with four other people—three men in their mid-thirties or early forties, and an elderly woman. He wondered if they could hear his heart racing or see the small ballooning of his pulse against the soft part of his neck, near where the tongue attaches to the back of the throat. He attempted to will himself into a state of calm, but had mixed success.
    The three men elbowed ahead, imitating pigs at slop time. One after the other punched a button for a floor, glowering at one another as if the order of floor input might affect arrival time. The numbers three, five, and six lit up. Peter allowed the woman in ahead of him while holding the door, making certain it did not retract while she entered. She glanced sideways, but gave no other