"Me too," Joe said. "I paid twenty-five cents for biology drawings in high school. My worms looked like accordions."
"I understand you are a builder and a writer," Mo said, turning to
Morgan.
"I suppose so," he said.
"Damned good one," Joe said.
"What is your book about?"
"Houses of the Hudson Valley." Mo smiled broadly. That's Morgan, Joe thought. He states the title of his book, a simple fact, and manages to imply that the universe is a lunatic misunderstanding, that we are all waiting at the wrong bus stop.
"Have you been working on it long?" Mo asked.
"Nine years."
"I could eat a mahi-mahi," Edie said.
They ended up at the restaurant, John Dominis, at a table with too many glasses, sea bass, snapper, and mahi-mahi, salads, desserts . . . No one wanted to stop. Morgan told a long story that began with a knock on his door one winter afternoon. A Jehovah's Witness had wandered up the mountain to proselytize. Morgan was so glad to see someone that he invited him in and had a conversation about the Bible.