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Back Man of the Year Save as PDF
Chapters (52)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Epigraph
  4. 1.
  5. 2.
  6. Jonah
  7. 3.
  8. 4.
  9. Luna
  10. 5.
  11. 6.
  12. 7.
  13. 8.
  14. Emily
  15. 9.
  16. 10.
  17. 11.
  18. 12.
  19. 13.
  20. 14.
  21. 15.
  22. 16.
  23. 17.
  24. 18.
  25. 19.
  26. 20.
  27. Alexis
  28. 21.
  29. 22.
  30. 23.
  31. 24.
  32. Naomi
  33. 25.
  34. 26.
  35. 27.
  36. 28.
  37. 29.
  38. 30.
  39. Simone
  40. 31.
  41. 32.
  42. 33.
  43. 34.
  44. 35.
  45. ONE MONTH LATER
  46. 36.
  47. Elizabeth
  48. Jonah
  49. Acknowledgments
  50. Readers Group Guide
  51. About the Author
  52. Copyright

The Citizens’ Fund invites all Sag Harbor residents to submit nominees for next year’s award by visiting SagCitizens.org. From the finalists, new honorees are elected by a voting body comprised of previous Citizens of the Year. You may sign up for event planning committees online. See calendar page for details. Tax-deductible donations welcome all year. Visit SagCitizens.org/donate to make your gift.

13.

Rain falls in heavy sheets during my entire mind-numbing visit with Officer Diaz, who needs a hobby. She requests license and registration, asks banal questions, stoops to look through my open window, peeks at my center console, studies Nick, and finally leaves to prepare my ticket—all while managing, but barely, not to scratch my Audi with the metal tips of her government-issued umbrella.

“I could have gotten off with a warning,” I tell Nick, “but figured, oh well, she’s just doing her job.”

He nods.

We wait. Me and Nick. Windshield wiper pendulums swing left to right, tick to tock. Rubber against safety glass. Minutes pass.

I drum my fingers on the steering wheel. “You think she’d have something better to do.”

Nick shakes his head.

“Poor girl must hate her life.”

Nick stares out of his window and says flatly, “Maybe she likes living someplace where a cop doesn’t have anything better to do.”

I dig my fingernails into my steering wheel’s Nappa leather.

“On account of there being so little crime here, I mean.”

“Yes, Nick. I understood what you meant.”

After twenty dreary minutes, Officer Diaz gives me my ticket and I give her my business card, inviting her to call me any time she needs a tune-up. The rain hasn’t let up when I merge back into traffic. Diaz follows too closely, distracting my eyes from the road, so I turn onto the first residential street, while she stays on the main drag in pursuit of her next offender. As she disappears from my rearview mirror, I mumble, “Twelve miles over the limit. Give me a break.”

Nick watches the blurry picture of my world, not his, and says, “You aren’t concerned about my health for any reason, are you? You’d tell me if I needed to be worried, right?”

Like music in a dream, a voice bubbles up inside of me. It says: Well, well.

“You never suggested supplements, so I was just wondering—”

Different versions of positive bubble, too. They surface, but then, Bobby, think of your wife and child. And so, Not now. Later. Soon. I tell Nick, “I’m sure everything will be just fine.”

•  •  •