Brad would move from the hotel into a vacant little adobe casa across from the pharmacy and the little town’s version of a mercantile. Then we would...wait … we would wait and watch … and for the first time in my life, I prayed. For three days I did not leave the chair by the window in my room. The dusty, sleepy current of humanity offered no indication of anything but their ordinary routines. On the fourth day my telephone rang, ‘Jackson, it’s Brad. Just a few minutes ago a dark blue sedan. But at 59th Street I was running out of steam. Angry with myself, I caught a taxi to Martha's and changed into nicer clothes for lunch. Fiore was right, I thought as I knotted my necktie in the mirror: I still had a lot to learn and a long way to go. But I saw my skin was clear. At least I was getting somewhere, if not far enough. In the kitchen I gulped down the vitamins and the yeast, taking an extra full serving of yeast. I told myself that at lunch I'd be meeting adults, experts. I had to. More

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