“I’m going to go home with Raoul first, to Winston-Salem. You going home?” Gavin said as he put The Setting Sun down on his desk. He had thought he would really like a course on nothing but Hemingway, but immersion in a world of clipped sentences and terse comments and wild game hunters in Brasil and Nueva Granada who somehow equated manhood with cheating on their wives back in Columbia, was starting to be stifling.
“Yeah, home to Wilmington. Annie is coming with me. You know, the meet-the-folks routine. I hear it might snow tomorrow. Maybe a big storm.”
“Yeah, I heard that, too.” Gavin had been afraid his mother would call about the storm and tell him he couldn’t go. So far, the news seemed to have skipped her. Maybe she was too busy at work this week. She could be amazingly single-mind
