“They’ve completed the new library, and we’re allowed two days off from classes to move the books from the old institution down the hill to the new institution. We are to be utilized as a merry and willing human chain. I resist being so utilized. I’m here to learn.”

“So you’re coming here instead,” Angela said.

There was silence.

“Which is wonderful,” Angela said. “Really wonderful.”

“I’m hanging up, Mummy. You can continue with your inanities if you wish.”

“This ain’t much of an establishment if you pardon my saying so,” he said to Angela. “No steaks in the freezer, no ice cream, sound system inadequate, music fit only to disinform the listener, no point in hearing it twice, towels thin, washcloths worn and most suspect, bed lumpy, poor recycling practices, few spare lightbulbs on hand, fire extinguishers out of date, no playing cards, clocks not set properly—”

“I like them a little fast,” Angela conceded. It was all true. He was in no way exaggerating.

“Potted violets on windowsill in very poor condition, worst case of powdery mildew I ever saw. I could go on.”

“Deke used to be an art critic,” Darleen said.

He waved one hand dismissively. “Just for the prison newsletter.”

“Yeah, Deke attended prison for two years,” Darleen said.

“I began my thesis there,” Deke said. “ ‘Others: Do They Exist?’ But I never completed it. I was a couple of hundred pages into it when I had to admit to myself that it wasn’t genuine breakthrough thinking.”