Page 32 of The New Place

“I think you got enough treats,” Ned says. “Not that apparently you need to eat any more, with your belly.”

No response. Of course there isn’t, because Ned is talking to his dog. It’s Abbot he wants to keep chatting to, to dawdle together over breakfast, stretch out their time together and enjoy these rare mornings they get to share.

If Abbot ends up in Boston, and soon, this two-hour drive between them will be over with at last, so Ned focuses on that instead of any worry about Adams.

9

ABBOT

Abbot turns on his blinker to change lanes. “Patrick. You’re not answering my questions.”

“Oh, full-naming me, are we?” Pat asks from the passenger seat. He twists around, watching the snarl of Friday-evening traffic around them. “Well, Doctor Henry—yeah, you can go, that guy’s going to let you in. Oh, never mind, he isn’t.”

“You’re being evasive.”

“You’re not being nearly aggressive enough. Step on the gas, would you?”

“You’re also in a rush, apparently.”

“I’m just helping you out.”

“Ned gave me specific instructions.”

“Ned can mind his own beeswax. You gotta just go for it.”

“That seems incredibly dangerous.”

“He won’t hit you. I mean, probably.”

“Probably,” Abbot echoes and turns the wheel, presses the gas, and cuts off the minivan to a blare of its horn and a gesture from the driver. “Taking the other route to Ned’s house is much safer, it turns out.”

“Yeah, but aren’t you so glad you get to drop me off?” Pat cheerfully waves at the driver. “Nice one. You’re totally ready for a big move to Boston if you’ve learned to drive like this.”

“You’re coming down to see Claire. You can just say so. I already know.”

“Whatever are you talking about?”

“Ned told me, and I quote: ‘Pat tells me everything, and now one night with this Claire and Pat isn’t saying a damn word.’”

“That’s actually a pretty good Ned impression.”

“Which lane do I want to be in here?” Abbot asks as he slows for the exit ramp.

“Far right lane to go left.”

This makes no sense whatsoever, but Pat is directing him to a part of Boston Abbot knows little about, so he eases into the right lane and puts his left turn signal on.

“It begs the question of what, exactly, happened with her, why you’re happy being dropped off ‘wherever’ but actually on a very specific corner, and most importantly, how I can get Ned to stop asking me questions about your life.”

“Riddle me this, first,” Pat says. “Why the hell did people as supposedly smart as you university types decide you can just tack on a spouse to a hiring process?”

Abbot dares to take his eyes from the road to glance at Pat. “What did Ned say to you?”

“Say to me about what?”

“About a spousal hire?”

“That academics in STEM always get whatever they want.”