I couldn't think of anything to say, so I dipped a couple of fried noodles into duck sauce and chewed. Our won ton soups arrived and I started eating mine quickly, bringing the bowl up to my face the way the Chinese do.

"Don't take this the wrong way," Helen said, "but have you gone to see someone?"

"What do you mean?" I asked without looking up.

"I remember how devastated you were at Barbara's funeral and how depressed you were afterward. I was very worried about you."

"I got through it," I said, trying not to get upset.

"Are you sure?" she said. "I know after Howard died my depression lasted for years. I wasn't aware of it at the time either I probably did a good job of hiding it from you kids. You and Barbara were so close, it's natural that it would be harder than you think to get over her passing."

"We weren't that close."

"Come on, you two were practically inseparable," Helen said. "I remember the way Barbara used to light up whenever you came into the room. It was like there was a spark between you. And you used to spend so much time together."

"I'm over it really," I said, and I started eating my soup even faster.

"My friend Alice's son Benjamin is a grief counselor," Helen said.

"He's a nice guy too. I met him a few times your age, from West Orange. There was a write-up about him in New York magazine last year.

Call him maybe your insurance'll cover it."

"I'm not calling anybody," I snapped.

I hadn't raised my voice to Helen in years, maybe since I was a teenager, and she was visibly taken aback.

"I'm sorry," I said.

"No, I'm sorry," she said, starting to eat her soup. "I shouldn't've pried."

Our dishes arrived. We ate for a while without speaking, and then Helen said, "Good, huh?" and I said, "Yeah." We had some more awkward conversation about minutiae. I was suddenly full and couldn't finish my chow fun. Helen left over most of her chicken with cashews.

When the waiter asked us if we wanted any dessert I said to Helen, "I think we should get to the bank now."

We went to the Citibank on Thirty-fourth and Seventh. I waited near the front while she went up to one of the tellers and withdrew the money. Then she came over to me and handed me ten crisp hundreds.

"I really appreciate this," I said. "And I'll pay you back in two weeks, tops."

"You pay me back whenever you can, dear."

We went outside. The sun had been out, but now it was cloudy. We hugged good-bye; she squeezed a lot harder than I did.

"Take care of yourself, David."

I smiled, as if she were being frivolous. Then I realized she meant it.

"I will."

At a few minutes past two, I arrived back at my office. No one seemed to be around even the secretaries' desks were unattended then I noticed people crowded inside the conference room and I remembered Jeff's meeting.

When I entered the conference room everyone seemed to say at once, "Ah, here he is." Someone made a crack about having to send out a search party, and then there was so much talking and laughing I couldn't make out what anyone was saying.

Jeff was at the head of the conference table. Raising his voice above the din he said, "We were getting worried about you."

"Sorry," I said.

"Come up here," Jeff said. "Let's get this started."

I went and stood next to Jeff, feeling suddenly hot, the way I always did when I was the center of attention. I noticed Angie, standing in the back next to Roger Gibson, another reporter, and Debbie D'Mato, who worked in Sales. Angie was smiling, giving me the thumbs-up sign.

"I'm sure most of you have already heard the news by now," Jeff said,

"but this morning Peter was let go."

A few people yelled out, "Yeah!" and "Hurrah!" and then everybody laughed, the way people at office meetings always laugh a little too boisterously at things that aren't really funny.

"I know Peter wasn't the most popular member of our staff," Jeff continued, "but we have a great man to replace him. I'm proud to announce that David Miller will be Manhattan Business's new associate editor."

People cheered and shouted their congratulations. I smiled modestly.

"David, of course, has an impressive background," Jeff said. "He worked for years at Barron's."

"The Wall Street Journal," I said.

There was more overly enthusiastic laughter.

"Right, the Journal, the Journal, right," Jeff said, obviously not giving a shit. "Anyway, he's been with us for just three months now and»

"Nine months," I said.

More fake laughter.

"Sorry, nine months, nine months," Jeff said. "Nine short months and he's already the associate editor. The way this guy's going I better look out or soon he'll have my job."

Everyone laughed again, harder than before, as if my running the magazine someday were absurd. Kevin from Payroll, a big, burly guy with a booming voice, shouted, "Yeah, better watch out, Jeff!" and James, who worked with Kevin, yelled, "Go get 'em, Dave!"

Jeff said, "But seriously. David certainly deserves this opportunity and I expect him to do an outstanding job. Congratulations, David."

Jeff and I shook hands.

"Thank you," I said, trying to sound upbeat. "I'm really excited about this opportunity, and I look forward to working with all of you."

Everyone applauded as I backed away, smiling. Jeff had ordered a few boxes of Krispy Kremes, and people hung around the conference room for a while, eating and talking. Just about everyone came over to congratulate me personally. Angie was one of the last to come by, and she said, "Better watch it with those adverbs, buddy," then slapped me on the back of the shoulder, the way a guy would.

When the meeting broke up Jeff took me aside and told me that I could start moving my stuff into Peter's old office immediately. I spent most of the rest of the day moving my things over. Like my old office, the new one was really a cubicle, constructed with portable carpeted walls. But the new office was at least twice as big as the old one, and it had a door, and there was an L-shaped desk and much more shelf and file space.

By four o'clock I'd almost completely moved into my new office.

Charlie, the office manager, said he would move my computer and have it installed onto the network by tomorrow morning.

I was in my old office, filling a last box with disks, pens, and other crap from my desk, when the phone rang. I had a feeling it was Charlotte, or maybe even Kenny, and I hesitated, preparing myself, before I answered, "David Miller."

"David, Robert Lipton," the man said.

Fuck.

"You didn't return my call," Lipton said.

"I'm on the other line," I said, knowing this excuse sounded lame.

"You're not printing that article."

"I'm really sorry," I said, "but it's out of my control»

"I swear, I'll sue your ass off if you run that article."

"I have to go," I said. "My other line's»

"That article's full of lies it's libel. Our company's in the midst of a major recovery, and you made it seem like we're going bankrupt, for Chrissake. Our gross revenue quadrupled last quarter compared to the same quarter last year, our balance sheet's improving»

"I'm sorry if you're disappointed with the article," I said.

"You also misquoted me in several places, and you misquoted that analyst, Kevin DuBois. I faxed him what you wrote, and he's considering legal action too if you print this shit."

"I really have to go now."

"You better not print this garbage. I'm warning you, if you print this"

I hung up and turned on my voice mail.

I continued setting up my new office, and then I checked my watch and saw that it was already ten to five. I put on my coat, making sure the ten hundred-dollar bills Aunt Helen had given me were secure in my wallet, and then headed between the cubicles toward the office's exit.