“I come here a lot on Sundays. It’s a great place to think about what I want from life— and what I don’t want from it”
“C’mon, Mut, get your head out of those bones, and move around a little.”
Mutty looked up from the anatomy textbook. Artie was standing over him, casually flipping his Frisbee up and down.
“Where you headed?” Mutty asked.
“Taking the train home. Quick visit to Mama, cheer her up, and then,” he added with a broad grin, “Dad said I could take the car to Central Park.” He stretched his broad shoulders. “Take out the kinks a little, after a week of trying to hold this place together with string and bubble gum. I’m taking my Frisbee, should be fun.”
Fun? Mutty looked at his brother, his feelings a mixture of longing and, yes, just a slight pang of envy. Artie was sure enjoying this forced exile to the hotel, spending hours with Uncle Moe, filling up cracks, reinforcing the exterior, replacing broken window shades and generally giving the old lady — the Freed Hotel — a facelift. And Mutty? When he wasn’t studying on the subway as he traveled to Columbia, he was listening to lectures in chilly classrooms, poring over textbooks in his stuffy little room in the hotel, or filling his head with test questions at the MCAT prep course that Dad had suggested he take.
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