Run by Ann Patchett Read Free Book Online

looped it twice around his brother’s neck. When Tip started to object, Teddy pulled the scarf tight across his mouth. “He’s good all right,” Teddy said. “It’s the minister in him.”
    “What the party needs to find is another Jackson,” Doyle said.
    “What’s wrong with the Jackson it’s got?” Teddy followed his brother down the aisle and into the crowd of slow moving, winter-wrapped bodies.
    Tip turned around and spoke over his shoulder as he walked.
    “He means we need a Jackson who’s white and centrist, which means we don’t need Jackson at all. We need Clinton, and we’ve already had Clinton.”
    “Is that what I said?” Doyle asked.
    “It’s what you meant.” It wasn’t what Doyle said or what he meant, but Tip felt entitled to a mean-spirited remark. It wasn’t just a n n p a t c h e t t ❆ 36
    the fish that needed to be put away. Even Tip knew that was nothing. But there was still so much to read, and the weight of all the work there was to be done on his thesis balanced like a piano on his head. The swirl of people in the front hall of the building overwhelmed him. Everyone seemed so energized, so motivated by the event. Was he the only student there who had work to do?
    “Try to straighten out your disposition on the way to the reception,” Doyle said.
    “A reception?” Teddy said.
    His brother held up both hands, his red woolen mittens making two sharp exclamations. “Not a chance.”
    “It’s at Lawrence Simons’ house. Thirty minutes tops. He was good to invite us.”
    “And we would be good to go, but we’re not going, or I’m not going with you.”
    “Tip!” a boy called.
    Tip turned around. “Hey,” he said and raised his hand. It was Jacob Goldberg, his lab partner from inorganic chemistry last year, the only other kid in the class who was interested in science and wasn’t just another insanely cutthroat premed. Before they had a chance to speak, the crowd pushed them apart and moved them forward. The crowd made the decision about which of the doors they would use to exit. They were all just a school of fi sh bumping around in a wave. The whole time they shuffled ahead, Tip and Doyle bickered lightly about Jackson. Teddy tried to keep his place between them, putting his hand on one coat sleeve and then the other. When they were finally pushed out of the warm foyer of the Kennedy School and into the great cold world of the night, it was snowing. Not the heavy, wet flakes that come down like silver dollars and melt a minute later, and not the very dry tiny snow that blows around and never really settles on anything. This was a hard, r u n
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    steady fall of a medium-sized flake that meant business. To tilt your head back and look straight up into a streetlight was to have some comprehension of infinity. They came and came and came.
    The huge crowd dispersed almost instantly, everyone looking for shelter while Tip and Teddy and Doyle continued to stand on the street corner, trying to agree on their destination, their heads and shoulders quickly glittering with snow.
    “They said the storm missed us,” Teddy said, looking at the soft fall as if it had lied to him personally. He should have waited longer with Uncle Sullivan. He should have been more patient.
    “I told the Simonses we were coming. This isn’t going to take all night.” Doyle felt the cold deep inside his ears. He wanted to step back inside, preferably into the Simonses’ warm living room where he could have one drink and talk for a little while to friends, to his sons.
    “Sometimes it takes all night.” Teddy was trying to be light-hearted but the intention got lost in all the weather. Cars slid past.
    Already there was the sound of tires crunching and spinning.
    “You should go home now anyway,” Tip said. “You’re never going to be able to drive in this.” All he would have to do is walk back to the museum. The heater was always running on overtime there.
    Tip wore a T-shirt under