When the connection broke, Ronny sagged to the chair, sat there with his head in his hands. His body was exploding and imploding at the same time, slowly. He threw the ticket onto the floor, let it lie there.

He got through the class by fixing his attention on the book they were discussing, James Baldwin, Tell Me How Long the Train’s Been Gone. He made himself speak. The acts of breathing and speaking restored a sense of the normal. By the time he reached The Chapel Hill Newspaper he was all right; he talked to his supervisor Earlene, asked for Saturday off; he’d stay late tonight and get the Sunday paper as far along as he could, since most of the back sections could be pasted up now. “You’re crazy about that football crap,” she said. “I don’t get it.”

“I lived with those guys, I just want to see them play.”

“It’s a football game, it’s just like every other football game. What’s the use of watching it?”

He crossed his arms. “I’ve worked here since June and never been sick and never took a day off. Can’t I have this one little favor?”

“Yeah. Well, your favor is a pain in the ass.”

“Fred can handle it. Can’t you, Fred?”

Fred, who was probably stoned, flipped a salute from the page boards. “Oh, sure. No job too big for me. Stop the presses and shit.”

Earlene sighed to let him know how tremendous the favor was. She said she would be there anyway working on ads, she’d help out, but fuck if she thought she should be encouraging anybody to miss work for a shitfuck Duke football game. He was right, he’d probably earned it, but what a stupid shit to use your day off for sports.

Early Saturday morning the phone rang again; he figured it would be Nina, and he was right. She had no phone and was calling from a neighbor’s house. She’d been angry at Ben the last time they talked. She was calmer today. “So you went to see my brother, he told me. In the middle of the night.”

“It wasn’t that late.”

“Yeah? Sounds like you scared the crap out of him.” She wanted to know more, clearly.

“You still mad at him?”

“Yeah. He’s still shit in my book. But he’s also my brother.” She sighed. Joni Mitchell in the background, I could drink a case of you. “Are you going to make me ask how it went?”

His stomach was still in knots, same as it had been for days now. “I don’t know. He just started crying and couldn’t stop.”

“Well, anyway. If he cried, that’s something. You going to talk to him again?”

“Maybe.” He had picked up the ticket, tapped it on the desk.

“Well, I guess I wish you luck. Listen. I’ll be over in a couple of hours. Kathy’s coming with us. You remember her, right?”

He sat on the bed, almost hurled himself onto it. Kathy. The old girlfriend. The moment stretched out. Facts settled into place. If she was going to the game with them it could only mean one thing. So she was back. So this was what Ben was not telling him, why he had never called. He fought the panic, the urge to throw the phone across the room. Something howling at the idea, Ben with Kathy, riding in the car with Kathy. “Oh, right, the game,” he said, trying to hide the quaver in his voice. “Listen, I couldn’t get off work. So I can’t go.”