I worked on the novel on Wednesday, and I stopped as Nancy came into the house and listened to her phone messages. The phone rang, and she decided not to answer it, because she'd just gotten home and didn't want to talk to anyone (I regret to say that this is something I do, unsocial as it is). It was time to go to the West Side Market and buy a pork roast, and so I stopped, even though (or maybe because) I had no idea who was calling Nancy.
I thought that perhaps something would come to me before I sat down at the computer again. But nothing did. I bought the pork roast, made a cake, ate dinner, forced my sister to look at the slide show of 98 digital photos I took of my grandsons, taught a class on Margaret Atwood's Surfacing
, met with students, developed a sore throat, ate ramen noodles, watched an episode of Charmed
(Phoebe brings a baby home that has been abandoned by its father so it won't be killed by a vengeful ghost), and nothing at all came to me.
Fortunately, when I sat down this morning, I realized that it had to be Carl calling her: who else! Jason is in trouble again, but this is no surprise to anyone.