Today Will Be Different(53)

“A life-changing job falls into my lap and what do I do before I even sign the contract?” Eleanor said. “Rent a house on Fire Island and throw a party.”

“I wanted it to be a theme party,” Ivy said, pouting. “It’s midsummer, June twenty-first.”

“You dress like Titania every day as it is,” Eleanor shot back, then turned to Joe. “What kind of hillbilly move is that? Spending money I don’t have on a keg party!”

“Let’s get you X-rayed,” he said.

“Oh. My. God,” Eleanor said. “What’s that T-shirt?”

Joe opened his lab coat to check. The one he’d put on in the dark that morning was daffodil yellow with a cheery blue clown and the words Meyer Mania.

Ivy came around. Now both sisters had him in their crosshairs.

“Meyer Mania?” said Ivy.

“Yeah,” he said, not sharing the excitement. “I’ve had it forever.”

“But what is it?” Eleanor asked.

“My theory is a family of Meyers had these T-shirts made for a reunion, and you could get a free image, so they picked a happy clown.”

“How did you end up with it, though?” Eleanor asked.

“I found it in the dryer at college.”

Eleanor grabbed Ivy with her good hand. Ivy grabbed her back.

“What?” Joe asked.

“We may love you,” Ivy said.

The X-ray came back showing a significant Colles’ fracture. Joe returned to the examination room to find the sisters yammering about the party.

“I’m surprised you’re not in more pain,” he told Eleanor.

“Oh, I’m in pain,” Eleanor said. “Pain I’m good with. It’s discomfort I can’t handle.”

“You win!” Ivy said, poking Eleanor.

Eleanor yipped; for a moment the laughing sisters were lost in each other.

Ivy explained it to Joe. “We have a contest. We each try to prove we have a weaker character than the other.”

Joe tried to do the math on that.

“You get twenty bonus points,” Eleanor said to Ivy. “My life is over and you’re staring at yourself.”

Ivy was on tiptoes, looking over her shoulder at her reflection in a clerestory.

“Someone give Narcissus a hand mirror before she climbs onto the counter,” Eleanor said.

“Her career isn’t over, right?” Ivy asked.

“Nah,” Joe said. “I’ll put her in a short cast and she’ll be holding a pencil in two weeks.”

“A cast?” Eleanor cried. “‘Hello, Violet Parry? I was on a deck that collapsed and I broke my wrist so you’ll have to find another animation director.’” Her voice jumped an octave. “Why now? Why my right hand? Things were finally starting to go well—”

“Stop talking,” Joe said, surprised at the forcefulness of his tone. More surprising, Eleanor did stop talking.

“Oh, my,” Ivy whispered.

“The world isn’t your friend,” Joe told Eleanor. “It’s not designed to go your way. All you can do is make the decision to muscle through and fight the trend.”

Eleanor’s face spread into a smile. “And call you on Monday.”

“And call me on Monday.”

“Oh, my.” This time, Ivy said it out loud.


Twenty years and Timby later, apartments bought and sold, belongings packed and unpacked, a move across the country, funerals of parents, career triumphs and washouts: how could Joe tell Eleanor his path had been leading somewhere that didn’t involve her?

That for fifty years there’d been a hidden architecture to his life, like the aisle lights in the floor of an airplane. They’re always there, embedded in the ordinariness of the plane; no need to notice them until there’s an emergency and they blink on to lead you to safety.


It came with no warning. A month ago. On a breezy Sunday, the day of the Seahawks home opener. As usual, Joe had arrived at the Clink two hours early to take care of the players.

First up, Vonte Daggatt, a star safety who’d sustained a severe distal radius fracture at the end of last season. Joe had operated immediately, inserting a titanium plate. The bone had healed nicely over the summer. There’d been minor swelling on Wednesday; Joe hoped the cortisone shot would have eased it enough to clear Vonte to play.

Coach Carroll, chewing his three sticks of gum, paced outside the exam room. In five minutes he had to submit his final roster; he needed Vonte on it.

“How does this feel?” Joe squeezed Vonte’s wrist, watching for a wince.

“Pretty good,” Vonte said with a loaded smile. He knew Joe knew he’d say anything to get out there and play.

“Any stiffness?” Joe asked.

“You know.”

Gordy, a trainer, stood at attention. Joe turned to him.

“Let’s do a padded splint.”

“Thanks, Doc,” Vonte said.

Pete Carroll stepped in. “We good, then?”

Joe gave the nod.

“Ready to play some ball?” Pete gave Vonte a big, sloppy shake.

“All in God’s plan,” Vonte said.

“You mean all in the Sanders Splint Supply’s plan,” Joe said.