The Next Right Thing Read Online Free PDF

his shift at Laguna Sea Sports, I drove home. On the way there, the back of my neck told me I was being followed, but my brain wrote that off to post-traumatic cop paranoia. There was a time about eight years ago when lots of people wanted me dead. Sometimes even the eyes in the back of my head have flashbacks.
    Pulling up my driveway, I had an idea that MP would know more about my adventures by now. I could feel it in the way her VW Cabrio sat on the concrete.
You’re an asshole
, that little silver car seemed to whisper.
    She was sitting cross-legged on the patio drinking green tea. She had changed into a tank top with a picture of the Virgin Mary on it—not a subtle girl, my MP. I closed the glass door behindme and sat down in the Adirondack chair next to her mat. She offered the tea to me. I sniffed it and offered it back.
    “You mad at me?” I asked.
    “That’s not the word,” MP said.
    “Disappointed?”
    “That’s the word.”
    “I’m sure it’s hard to understand.” The chair was easier on my back than any other chair I owned, including the one designed by Mr. and Mrs. Eames. How could there be so many great chairs and so few men worthy to sit in them?
    “I don’t want to live with a cop,” MP said. “I want to live with a guy who designs homes and doesn’t have some fucked-up obsession with righteousness.”
    It had been over a year since I’d heard her swear.
    “Something wrong with cops?” I asked.
    “That’s
not
where you want to go.” MP smiled tightly. “I won’t have a boyfriend who beats people up.”
    “Who told you?”
    “That’s not where you want to go, either.”
    “Okay,” I said. “I understand.”
    “I don’t think you do.” MP untangled her ankles and turned toward me. “I’m dedicating my life to peace. That’s what yoga
is
. Getting closer to the source. Relaxing into the loving spirit of the universe. It’s not about beating people up.”
    “I didn’t actually beat anyone up.” It wasn’t a good idea to tell her what I
had
done. “I’m going to clean that up with the guy.”
    “Which guy?”
    “The guy I didn’t beat up.”
    MP took hold of her big toe and pulled herself down toward the deck. She’d found yet another way to tell me I was full of shit.
    “Terry was my best friend,” I said. “I want to understand what happened.”
    “Wasn’t it Terry who said that understanding was the booby prize?”
    “Terry said a lot of things.”
    “And that’s what this is about. You’re afraid if you don’t know why he slipped, you’ll slip, too.” MP rose from the deck and touched my head. “Can’t you see it’s all in there? Everything was okay until you stopped taking care of yourself. You think your anger means something, but maybe it’s just a bunch of bad transmitters. Maybe it’s just … 
alcoholism
.”
    I followed her inside and started to fix some coffee. “I think it’s the other way around,” I said. “I think my comfortable life was covering this up. It’s my responsibility to Terry. I need to know what happened.”
    My high-tech German coffeemaker didn’t have an opinion, but I heard MP walk away. Then I heard her walk back.
    “This isn’t about how Terry died,” she said. “This is about your feeling that you betrayed him.”

    About a year before, I’d run into Terry at Alpha Beta. We were in the fruit section. When did either of us begin to eat fruit? I had to admit that I hadn’t seen him in a while.
    We did an awkward dance, and then for reasons that seem almost suspicious to me now, we hugged.
    Terry smiled. I never trusted Terry when he smiled.
    “What?” I said.
    “Your ass starting to feel a bit tight?”
    “My ass?”
    “Your sphincter. That ring where all the tension goes?”
    “Because?”
    “Answer the question,” Terry said, “and then I’ll tell you why I’m asking.”
    “No,” I said. “I don’t think my sphincter is any tighter than usual.”
    “Because that’s what happens