PS. Can you do me a favor? When you do come back, call and tell me what time you think you’ll get home. We all have to be here for that. Just in case.
As he read the letter, Clay was nothing but grateful, for the Henryness of the writing. His crap really was endless, but Clay couldn’t help but pine for it. That, and he was nothing if not gallant; people often forgot that about Henry, seeing only self-interest and money. You did better with Henry beside you.
Next was Tommy, and it was clear both he and Rory had been asked to contribute. Or, more likely, they were coerced. Tommy had gone first:
Hi Clay,
I don’t have much to say except that Achilles misses you. I got Henry to help me check his hooves—THAT’S what I call USELESS!!!!!!
(And I miss you, too.)
Then Rory:
Oi Clay—come home, for Christ’s sake. I miss our little hart-to-harts.
Ha!
You thought I couldn’t spell heart then, didn’t you?
Hey—do me a favor. Give the old man a hug for me.
Just kidding—give him a kick in the coins okay? A good one.
Say THAT’S FROM FUCKING RORY!
Come home.
It was funny. Tommy set things up perfectly, but it was Rory who always got to him—who made him feel things with greatest gravity. Maybe it was because Rory was the sort of person who didn’t really want to love anyone or anything, but he loved Clay, and he showed it in the oddest ways.
Dear Clay,
How can I tell you in one note how much I miss you, and how it is to sit at The Surrounds on Saturdays and imagine you there beside me? I don’t lie down. I don’t do anything. I just go and hope you’ll come, but you don’t, and I know why. It has to be that way, I guess.
It’s funny, because this has been the best few weeks ever, and I can’t even tell you.
Last week I got my first mount. Can you believe it??? It was on Wednesday and it was a horse called War of the Roses—an old journeyman only there to make up the numbers, and I never whipped him once, I just talked to him and got him to the line on hands-and-heels, and he came in third. Third!!! Holy shit! It’s the first time my mum’s been to the track in years. The silks were black, white, and blue. I’ll tell you everything when you come home, even if it isn’t for long. I’ve got another ride coming next week….
God, in all that, I haven’t even asked. How are you? I miss seeing you up on the roof.
Lastly, I finished The Quarryman again. I know why you love it so much. He did all those great things. I hope you get to do something great out there too. You will. You have to. You will.
See you soon, I hope. See you at The Surrounds.
I’ll show you my tips.
I promise.
Love,
Carey
Well, what would you do?
What would you say?
He read it way upriver, many times, and he knew.
After a long time working it out, he calculated seventy-six days now he’d been away, and the Amahnu would be his future—but it was time to come home and face me.