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law school because you loved me,” Carol said.
    “That’s what I said. And it was true. You know that, don’t you?”
    “Yes.”
    “You wanted to marry a guy who’d get a real job.”
    “Someone had to wake you up from your dream.”
    This wasn’t the conversation he’d written in his head on the way over to her office. Richard looked around the room, watching the people sitting on the benches as they waited for the books they’d requested to be brought to the desk. They looked like intelligent, busy people, and here they were sitting and waiting. People seemed to waste half their lives waiting for things, but books were actually worth waiting for.
    “But, Carol,” he said, “I hate my real job.”
    “I know you don’t like it, but—”
    “No, Carol, no. I don’t don’t like it. I hate it. I hated law school. I hated my summer jobs. And I hate being a lawyer.” His voice was getting louder with each sentence. “I don’t like pumpernickel bread. I don’t like shirts that scratch my neck. But I hate being a lawyer, Carol. I hate being what I am.”
    “Okay, okay,” she said, trying to quiet him. “You made your point.” She glanced around the room. “Look, maybe you hate your job, but I didn’t force you to go to Columbia. It’s not my fault you—”
    “I’m not saying it’s your fault. I take full responsibility.”
    “Oh,” she said. “Well, good. Because it really isn’t my fault.”
    “It’s not about fault. But it
is
about doing something because of love.”
    “What are you getting at?”
    Richard picked up a book not too far away on their table. He held it in one hand and shook it, like a preacher making his point with the Bible.
    “You know how you’re always telling me I analyze things too much? That I need to get to the
doing
part of life?”
    She nodded.
    “It’s time for me to quit thinking about writing and to write.”
    “You are a writer,” she said. “You’re writing that novel.”
    “No, I’m a lawyer. One more lawyer, helping people with money keep it or get more. I want to be a writer. Full-time.”
    Carol sat back in her chair. “Why now? Why can’t you just keep writing part-time like you always have?”
    “I read a review about a book this morning and kept thinking this is my story—this is our son’s story. I need to write our story, Carol, and quit letting other people do it.”
    Carol took a deep breath and looked away.
    Richard put the book down on the table and sat back in his seat. This conversation was not a complete success, but he’d never get up the courage again to make it this far. He couldn’t let either of them leave that room until he’d said everything he’d needed to. His body wanted to lean across the table, to get closer to Carol as he said what he was about to say. But he stopped himself. He needed the space. The buffer.
    “Earlier today I spoke with Jennifer,” Richard said. Carol turned and stared at him and he kept looking straight into her eyes. “I got a leave of absence approved.”
    “What? You quit?” Her face filled with red.
    “A leave of absence, just for the summer. Nothing’s finalized. I told her I’d need to talk with you first.”
    “How generous.”
    She got up to leave, but Richard grabbed her arm.
    “We’ve gotten expert at walking away from conversations. From each other. Let’s finish this one, okay?”
    “We need your salary, Richard. How—”
    “I know, I know. But we can make it for the summer. The issue isn’t money, it’s my chance to live the life I want to live. I’ve given law years and years of my life. I’m just asking for one summer.”
    Carol looked down at her hands, then off to the side, taking her time. “It’s that important to you?” she asked.
    “The chance to write is as important to me as law is to you. One summer will give me the chance to get past the first couple of chapters and really get into the book.”
    She folded her arms and stared across the room. “What