"I just need to confront Ken."
For whatever good it may do, I found myself thinking. We were knee-deep in confrontations and we still didn't know a damned thing. What did Noda have planned for us? Whatever it was, I had a strong feeling I didn't want it.
Back in my own office at Dai Nippon, there was only time for one phone call. The first name that came to mind was Joanna. I wanted to say, Look, if I don't make it through this, you and Amy are well provided for. She's got a trust fund that's seven figures, and you can have the house, the bank account, the whole damn works. Just don't ever let a man named Matsuo Noda anywhere near you or her.
But I couldn't force myself to dial the number. It wasn't Joanna who was in over her head now; it was me. The subtle or
not-so-subtle difference was enough to stop me cold. I'd vowed to manage life on my own, and this was no moment to waffle.
So, instead I did the next best thing and called The West Side Free School—which, I might add, may have been free in its disdain for classical curriculum, but it had very non-free tuition practices. I identified myself, announced an emergency, and asked to speak to Ms. Amy Walton. In about a minute she was there.
"Dad, we're in the middle of our Monday Geo-2 exam." She lowered her voice. "What's the capital of Somalia?"
"Honey, haven't a clue. Just try and do the best you can. Employ that exceptional brain of yours."
"Thanks."
"Adults don't have to know the capitals of Third World countries. That's a small perk we get for putting up with old age." I paused. "Amy, about this weekend."