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doorway. It was the wives, of course, who had made all of this happen, who had pulled these men out of their private miseries, who had forced them to see that their battered bodies and brains were not something to be ashamed of or denied but instead something that needed to be shared with others who suffered as they did.
    A few minutes passed, and then Lenny and the blond woman reappeared in the living room. They exited the house and headed toward Simon, the woman leading with spiky, irritated steps. She reached him first and stuck out her hand. “You must be Simon,” she said. “I’m Cheryl Pellegrini.”
    â€œSimon Worth.” Her fingers were cold, her skin dry; her bangs gripped her forehead like a claw.
    She looked him frankly in the face. “I thought you’d be older.”
    â€œSorry to disappoint you.” He winced internally; he didn’t mean to sound peevish.
    â€œIf you can do what Howard says you can do, I don’t care if you’re twelve.” She glanced back at the house. Lenny stood a few feet behind her, staring off into the hedges. “Howard’s going to stay for a while and visit with Don. I’ll drive you both back to the house, and you can talk with Lenny about whatever it is you need to talk about.”
    Simon nodded. He hated how thoroughly his original plans had been derailed, but what could he do about it now? Demand to drive Cheryl’s car himself? He sat in the backseat of the Honda, as though he were their child, while Cheryl accelerated, yanking the gearshift like she was trying to snap it in half. She asked Lenny what he’d thought of that evening’s session.
    â€œIt was fine,” he said tonelessly.
    She wrenched the car into third and pointed out that he’d been there, after all, and therefore maybe he’d formed some more substantive opinion.
    â€œOkay,” he said. “I could live without Don’s name-dropping. Who cares that he still talks to all these guys? We were all in the league. We were all there. It’s like he’s still trying to kiss his coach’s ass fifteen years later, and the guy’s not even in the room.”
    Cheryl nodded rapidly. “That’s what you took away from the meeting. That’s what you’d like to discuss.”
    â€œI don’t want to discuss anything. You asked me the question.”
    â€œYou don’t try,” she hissed, swinging the Honda out into the passing lane. “You don’t even fucking try.” She flicked her eyes at the rearview mirror. “Simon’s thinking he didn’t sign up for this. Well, Simon, I’ll tell you what, you’re gonna earn your commission with us.”
    Cheryl jerked to a stop in front of the house, speeding off as soon as Simon stepped away from the car. Lenny unlocked the front door and walked straight to the kitchen. They sat at the table. Lenny poured himself a glass of Jim Beam and offered the bottle to Simon, who declined.
    â€œI hope you enjoyed that little performance,” Lenny said.
    Simon made a noncommittal noise.
    â€œCheryl’s problem with me,” Lenny continued, as though answering a question Simon hadn’t asked, “is that I’m an ungrateful person. I don’t appreciate her. I don’t appreciate our kids. Now I don’t appreciate Howard and what he’s doing for me. The thing she doesn’t understand about Howard is that he wants this to work more than I do. It ain’t just coming out of the goodness of his heart.”
    â€œNo?” Simon said, trying to seem as neutral as possible without causing offense.
    â€œThe thing with Alvin Plummer happened during my last season with the Jets, when they were draining my knee every damn week. We were playing in Philly. As soon as it happened, we all knew it was bad. You can’t see that hit and not know. The man’s neck . . . I was on the sideline fifty yards away, and I