Read The Man Who Wouldn't Stand Up for Free Online

times like these? I’ll tell you where. Nowhere. But that does not mean that we’re going to go away….”
    “You’re so screwed,” chimed Cassandra. “He’s got his political teeth into you. Now there’s no letting go.”
    Arnold resisted the urge to bean the self-ordainedminister with a gardening implement. It was the man’s right to protest. But Arnold had no intention of apologizing. He stepped around Cassandra and lowered himself from the platform. “Good luck with your story,” he said. “By the way, that’s off the record.”
    The girl said something in response, but it was drowned out by chanting.
     
    Judith was standing at the kitchen window in her dressing gown. She’d fastened her hair back haphazardly, and sandy strands stuck out in all directions. Her feet were bare. When Arnold entered—still in his gardening clothes, he realized too late—she greeted him with a chilling frown.
    “We’ve had fifty phone calls in the last two hours,” she said. “I had to disconnect the doorbell before I went insane.”
    “Shit,” said Arnold.
    “I was going to get you, but I didn’t want to interrupt your tête-à-tête with the queen of the prom.”
    “Don’t start on that. She’s a reporter for the
Vanguard
. Her name’s Cassandra. The last thing I need right now is you accusing me of things.”
    Judith squeezed and released her fists. “Nobody’s accusing you of anything.”
    “You were hinting. As though it’s not enough that they’ve practically strung me up for treason. Now you’llhave me shot for adultery.”
    Judith laughed—a short, sharp laugh. “As I said, Arnold, nobody’s accusing you of anything. You couldn’t cheat on me if you tried. But you’ll have to admit now is not the best of times to be gallivanting around the flowerbeds, cavorting with teenaged girls. For any reason.”
    Arnold opened the refrigerator. He rummaged through the drawers and came out empty-handed. “Look, I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m just not sure what to do right now.”
    “I suppose you should apologize,” said Judith. “Maybe that will placate them.”
    “That’s the one thing,” answered Arnold, “that I certainly won’t do.”
    Arnold paused to collect his thoughts. The muffled chanting from the sidewalk was audible in the kitchen. It was giving him a headache. He was about to explain that he was too old to apologize, that he didn’t want to be remembered as the asshole who apologized—far better to be hated for not apologizing—when Ray came charging down the stairs. The boy was wearing pyjama bottoms.
    “Can I ask a question?” Ray demanded.
    “No,” snapped Arnold.
    The boy turned to Judith. “What’s going on?” he asked.
    “Some people are still angry at your uncle for not standing up at the baseball game yesterday,” explained Judith. “Your uncle was about to apologize to them.”
    The boy poured himself a bowl of sugared cereal. “What time are we going to the aquarium?”
    “Oh, the aquarium,” said Judith. “I don’t know. Uncle Arnold has to apologize first.”
    “When will that be?”
    Judith turned to Arnold. “When will that be?”
    “Never,” said Arnold. “Let’s drop it.”
    “Then I guess we’re never going to the aquarium,” countered Judith. “I guess we’ll stay prisoners in this house forever.”
    Ray grimaced. “Can I ask another question, Aunt Judith?”
    “Sure, honey,” she said.
    “What does nigger mean?”
    “Nigger,” repeated Judith. She lashed Arnold with eyes as sharp as whips—or maybe she was just asking him for help; he couldn’t tell. “Well,” she said. “Well.”
    “The baseball game was your idea,” said Arnold.
    “How was I supposed to know that you couldn’t handle it? Fifty thousand other people managed to make it through the game without causing an international incident.”
    And then—as Arnold’s temper approached the snapping point—the phone rang.
    “Don’t answer it,” warned Judith.