Chapter 3Spring, Saturday
Reed Davis sat behind his mahogany desk in a rumpled yellow sports shirt, his scuffed Ferrante shoes propped on the leather blotter. The green felt was littered with papers, used coffee cups, and file folders. It was time to clean up. He liked order; but detested cleaning. Jim used to sort through the papers and put them in order. He would arrange to have the office cleaned when Reed was on the club floor. But Jim wasn’t there—at least he wasn’t there for Reed—and that state of affairs was no one’s fault but his own. His fear of true intimacy, of letting down the walls erected and defended for over thirty years had put him in this position. The only person who really knew his truth was Jack and that was more accident than intentional. His fear had forced him to d
