The Magician's Assistant

by Ann Patchett

Sabine felt guilty whenever she was caught napping. Not like Parsifal, who flaunted his naps, stretched out over the sofa in the middle of the day, the ringer on the phone turned off in anticipation of a long voyage.

The things that went into keeping people together and tearing them apart remained largely unknown to the parties immediately involved.

She figured the square root of the date while other people knit and read. Sabine blamed much of the world’s unhappiness on the advent of calculators.

“I’ve been thinking about it,” How said, careful in the ways teenage boys can be about not seeming to really want anything you might be able to give them.