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Like all lawyers, he formulated lots of theories to justify his clients. Mike had a theory about his little crushes. 'Idiopathic means that the patient's got the p-p-pain, and the doctor's Ames had calmed him, holding his hand and explaining every Mike had a crush on her, but it was high-minded,īased mostly on gratitude for how kind and precise she'd been when she'd diagnosed Nora's idiopathic thrombocytopenic purpura. She looked up and said, 'Hi, M-M-Mike.' She only stuttered when speaking to grown-ups.

On his way past Martha Jefferson Hospital, he saw the family doctor, Mary Ames.

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He dropped by the secondhand bookstore to say hello to the clerk who worked the evening shift, a graduate student from the deep South whose mouth was so wide and full that when she drawled, 'Hey there, Mike,' and broke into a smile, Mike imaginedĮxquisitely slow hydraulic pressures moving her cheeks and lips. Now she smiled across the street and yelled, 'Nora's doing great!' Mike waved back and dipped his head, a well-behaved, pleased dad. Her leotard was dark red around her short small waist but stretched to pale rose over her hips and cannonball bottom. She wasn't thin, but trim and compact and, when she moved, as bouncy as a rubber ball. But the first time Mike dropped his daughter Nora off at class, he'd watched the teacher warm up, peeling off layer after layer down to her red Street clothes, even a little squat and dumpy in her oversize sweater and leg-warmers. Had said, 'Maybe I could get into this.' Later Mike had claimed she'd said this looking at him, and his wife had said, 'Dream on, buster.') Now the tap teacher saw him and waved. (He'd once been unable to resist putting his hands on her hair at a party, and she'd said, 'I wish I had a nickel for every guy who does that.' Mike's wife had laughed and put her hand in. Here was another for the tap-dance teacher on her way to class, her springy ringlets crushed under a wool He'd often felt peppery grains of lust falling on the plain boiled meat of his day. He felt no base stirring, nothing but benign sympathy for how good she must feel coasting home with a breeze lifting her hair. The pretty tax specialist rang her bicycle bell at him and pedaled by in her slit skirt. Lawyers, even the faces of those who did not necessarily bargain in good faith. He took an extra turn around Courthouse Square and was happy to see faces opened up, even the faces of fellow What had seemed a smaller life in a smaller town now seemed as large as the clear spring sky. For no reason he could think of Mike felt terrific.

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