“So how did you like the mountains?”

“They were great. I want to tell you about it—you going to be home today?”

“No, I’m going to work soon.”

“Ah.”

Long silence. Jim says, “How’s Xavier?”

“Hanging in there.” Another silence.

But maybe Abe hears something in it. “Tell you what, Jim, I’ll call you tomorrow, see if you’re still up for getting together. We’ve got to plan a celebration for when Sandy comes back, anyway. As long as nothing happens to his dad.”

“Yeah, okay. Good. You do that. And good luck today.”

“Thanks.”

*   *   *

Jim tracks by First American Title Insurance and Real Estate Company, just because he can’t think of anything to do and old habits are leading him around.

Humphrey is out front, looking morosely at the construction crew that is cleaning up the inside of the building. It’s a mess in there—it resembles fire damage, although it isn’t black. They’ve got most of it cleaned.

“They blew it away,” Humphrey tells him. “Someone blasted it with a bomb filled with a solvent that dissolved everything in there. They got a whole bunch of real estate companies, the same night.”

“Oh,” Jim says awkwardly. “I hadn’t heard. I was up in the mountains with Tashi.”

“Yeah. They got all my files and everything else.” He shakes his head bleakly. “Ambank has already pulled out of the Pourva Tower project because of the delays, they said. I just think they’re scared, but whatever. It doesn’t matter. The project is a goner.”

“I’m sorry, Humph,” Jim says. “Real sorry.” And the part of him that would have been pleased at this unexpected turn—something good coming out of his madness, after all—has gone away. Seeing the expression on Humphrey’s face it has vanished, at least for the moment, from existence. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s all right,” Humphrey says, looking puzzled. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Uh-huh. Still, you know. I’m sorry.”

*   *   *

All these apologies. And he’s going to have to give Sheila Mayer a call sometime, and apologize to her too. He groans at the thought. But he’s going to have to do it.

*   *   *

So Jim spends the afternoon pacing his little living room. He stares at his books. He’s much too restless to read. To be on his own, by himself—not today, though! Not today. He calls Hana again. No answer, no answering machine. “Come on, Hana, answer your phone!” But he can’t even tell her that.