Everything Happens Today (26 page)

Wes put his feet against the wall and stretched out his back, nestling his head against Nora's knees. She stroked his hair and perched her book on his forehead, saying “Good daddy-o” under her breath. Directly overhead was the crack in the ceiling. It really was a very modest crack, and certainly not big enough to stop his mind from wandering. He closed his eyes. Wes could feel himself drifting, but in a last moment of clarity he suddenly realized that he had always misunderstood the lyric. Because of the way Paul McCartney stressed the lines, Wes had always understood him to say: “And it really doesn't matter if I'm wrong, I'm right. Where I belong I'm right. Where I belong,” as if he were implying that even when he was mistaken he had grasped something essential and unspoken. But in fact, the lyric made more sense if you parsed it another way. “And it really doesn't matter if I'm wrong. I'm right where I belong. I'm right where I belong.” Wes thought it was more obvious and less interesting this second way, but it worked, and it rhymed better. Wes hoped that this insight wouldn't ruin his future enjoyment of the song, but how could it if the song now had two interpretations instead of one? It would be worth looking into. And then he remembered what it was he still needed to do before putting the day to bed.

“Want to go for a walk?”

Nora did not look up from her book. “I'm in my pjs.”

“So? Throw on a coat. It's a beautiful night, and Crispy really needs her walk.”

“Nah, I'm okay.”

Wes sat up, found his sneakers under the bed, pulled them on and laced them up. He perched on the edge of his bed, gathered his strength, and stood with a muffled grunt, pushing with his palms against his knees like an old man. Then he gathered his hoodie from the floor and crossed the room to the door. On the bed, the iPhone emitted a crystalline chime. Nora lifted her head and looked at the phone, then at Wes, who waited with one hand on the doorknob. The iPhone chimed twice, three times, then with a delicate electronic burp sent the call to voice mail. Wes turned the knob and opened the door.

“I won't be long.”

Jesse Browner is an author, food writer and award-winning translator. He has written four previous books including the novels
Conglomeros
(Random House 1992),
Turnaway
(Random House 1996) and
The Uncertain Hour
(Bloomsbury 2007), and has translated works by Jean Cocteau, Paul Éluard and Rainer Maria Rilke. His writing has appeared in
The New York Times Book Review
,
New York
magazine,
Food & Wine and Gastronomica
, among others. He lives in Manhattan with his wife and two daughters.