Two Calendars

I put two calendars on Nate’s table and told him not to look alarmed.

“You’ve brought visual aids,” he said. “That usually means somebody’s losing a weekend.”

“We could gain one.”

“A radical use of stationery.”

It was late June. Jonah would leave in four days. The marina was full of weekend noise, and the workshop smelled of warm oil and the bread Nate had brought for lunch. I had accepted Chicago that morning, after asking for the dates in writing and refusing an option which would have extended the work into February.

That refusal had cost money. It hadn’t been a sacrifice for Nate, though I knew how easily it could become one if I told the story badly. I wanted the three-month work. I wanted the end date too. For the first time I was beginning to suspect that a career could be something I chose rather than…