“I don’t want this,” said Carla, pointing to the glass.
“I’ll take it,” said Holton and he began to drink his own, his teeth making clicking sounds as the ice bobbed against them.
“You like what you’re doing now?” asked Carla.
He put the glass down and frowned. “I suppose I do. I have to do it and so I figure I might as well like it.”
“Perhaps you might find something you like better.”
“What?”
“You might be a sculptor again.”
He laughed. “I’m really no good. I can’t do anything else but this. I don’t see anything wrong with what I’m doing, anyway.”
“There’s nothing wrong with it if you’re happy; are you?” He didn’t answer for a moment. Then he said, “I suppose I am.”
“But you’re not in love?”