The challenge of bending himself into yoga poses interested Roger. He saw it as an experiment in the capacities of the human form. If other people could do it, he thought, it must be possible for him to do it, at least within certain limits of his athletic capabilities. But Roger did not have a clear sense of what would be required over the long term, nor how much time he should allot for his progress.
During his classes, he analyzed the various stages and sequences of stretching that seemed to be the basis for the fundamental movements, and he had requested from Shay a list of daily poses that would help him to progress most efficiently.
Flexibility, balance, and strength were the goals, Shay had told Roger. These seemed to Roger reasonable measures of fitness, and he might as well strive for these through yoga as anything else. But his main inspiration was this other thing, suggested by The Angel Joshua: the notion that yoga would somehow make things right with Elisabeth. Roger was uncertain about how this would work, but he was willing to test the theory. Clearly, only two classes a week wouldn’t be sufficient.
Fiona was sitting at her desk one evening when the peculiar ringtone of a Skype call came through. Eagerly, she clicked on the icon. It was Pete.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey.” There was a pause as they each took in the sight of the other’s face. Fiona sighed.
“I miss you.”
“I miss you, too. Why don’t you come see me? I’m back in London. I’ll send you the tickets.”
Fiona sighed. “I can’t right now.”
“Why not? The city is particularly vibrant at this time of year. Covent Garden’s season is beginning soon, and The Royal Shakespeare, and you can work from anywhere. It’s the beauty of being a writer.”
Fiona hesitated.
“I have something here I have to take care of.”
“What do you have to take care of?” asked Pete patiently.
“Well,” said Fiona. “I seem to be running for office.”
“You seem to be? You sound uncertain.”
“Well… .” Fiona was starting to laugh in spite of herself.
“So, you haven’t even been elected and you’re already absolving yourself of responsibility? In politics that’s usually a sign of guilt.”
“I don’t think I’m guilty of anything yet,” said Fiona.
“What office are you running for?”
“Chairman of the Town Board.”
“I see,” said Pete. “And this has, in some fashion, come as a surprise to you?”
“It has,” said Fiona. “No one could be more surprised about this than I am.”
“Put the dog on. He’ll make more sense.”
“Possibly. But nevertheless.” Her voice trailed away. “Besides,” she added, rather sadly, “Rocco’s gone back to Elisabeth and Roger.”
Pete smiled his most engaging and sympathetic smile, and Fiona sighed again at how far away he was. Her loneliness was intensified by the sight of him.
“Well, I hope you win. What is your slogan?”
“I don’t actually have a slogan yet. But if I did, I think my philosophy could be summarized as ‘Anyone But Stella.’”
“I like it. It has a ring of authenticity.”
“I have to win, Pete, because she has to lose.”
“Hmmm,” said Pete. “Whatever happened with that soil remediation?”
“She has a nephew in the legislature. He whispered in somebody’s ear. Or something. It’s never come up.”
“Hmmm,” said Pete again.
“Have I told you that I want an asteroid named after me?” asked Fiona. “I saw an advertisement saying that for a fee you could name an asteroid after anyone you choose.”
“I shall bear it in mind,” said Pete, with a turn of phrase that suggested how much of his life had been spent around British speakers of English. “And may I say that it seems increasingly appropriate.”