The Atmospherians by Alex McElroy (digital ebook reader txt) 📕

brought a hand to his forehead. “Coding,” he muttered.

“Who here knows how to code?”

“You know how to build websites and make videos. I’m a pro at videoconferencing.”

“Videoconferencing isn’t coding.”

“For these men it is. They aren’t tech savvy—they aren’t even smart. We show them how to make a few videos, how to build a website, they’ll think they know how to code. And that’s just as good as teaching them code. We’re younger than all of them. We’ll be their hip millennial friends—they don’t know enough to not trust us.”

Dyson had no right to show such confidence. Hearing him talk clenched me in the same claustrophobia I’d felt when I arrived. “Tell me about the men,” I said.

“I don’t want to prematurely shape your opinions.”

“Tell me about the men or I’m leaving.”

“You don’t have anywhere to go,” he said. He made it sound as if he was concerned.

“Don’t think I couldn’t find someone to take me in. I could sucker some random man in the street—it’s easy for me. I’ll move in with my mother if I have to.” I wouldn’t. And Dyson knew that I wouldn’t. But he also knew that voicing even the mere possibility of returning to her was proof of my seriousness.

He set Barney on the porch and stepped inside the cabin. Barney licked his front paw, sizing me up. “How much has he told you?” I asked the cat.

Dyson returned to the porch carrying a manila envelope. He handed it to me. “The dossier is inside.”

STUBBORN MAN: Randy Dent

Past Employment: In-laws’ furniture warehouse in metropolitan Oklahoma

Past Loves: Wife and daughter

Greatest Regret: Refusing to take his sick daughter to hospital

Greatest Grief: The end of his marriage

Desires: Forgiveness

Sign of Completion: Self-compassion

RIGHTEOUS MAN: Gerry Simpatico

Past Employment: IT director at Bakersfield area elementary school

Past Loves: Sandra Tomlin (unrequited)

Greatest Regret: Letting down former students

Greatest Grief: The death of his brother

Desires: To find a friendship like the one he shared with his brother

Sign of Completion: Humility

ACCOMMODATING MAN: Peter Minston

Past Employment: Grocery store clerk

Past Loves: Darla Janice (requited, one kiss)

Greatest Regret: Overconsumption of avocados

Greatest Grief: Loss of mother

Desires: Respect

Sign of Completion: Assertive communication

MILITARY MAN: Leon Cranch

Past Employment: Marine

Past Loves: His brothers

Greatest Regret: Smuggling contraband booze for his brothers

Greatest Grief: Dishonorable discharge

Desires: Return to service

Sign of Completion: Acceptance

WORKAHOLIC MAN: Dr. Mapplethorpe Lang

Past Employment: Family physician

Past Loves: Elly Delano (divorced)

Greatest Regret: Demanding his employees work during hurricane

Greatest Grief: Death of his receptionist, Susan Lane

Desires: Absolution

Sign of Completion: Peace of mind

SPORTS MAN: Hughie Mintz

Past Employment: Gym teacher

Past Loves: Jane Kling (divorced)

Greatest Regret: Missing two free throws in State Championship semifinal

Greatest Grief: Fathering an uncoordinated son

Desires: Athletic recognition

Sign of Completion: Acceptance of past failures

NEGLIGENT DAD: Kevin Sweston

Past Employment: Deliveryman

Past Loves: N/A

Greatest Regret: Missing every major event of his daughters’ lives

Greatest Grief: Lack of handsomeness

Desires: Attention

Sign of Completion: Remorse

YOGA MAN: William Gremb

Past Employment: “Freed Spirit”

Past Loves: Humanity

Greatest Regret: Ever regretting anything

Greatest Grief: What we do to our hearts

Desires: No desire

Sign of Completion: Practical goals

COLLEGE MAN: David Simplesun

Past Employment: Boat dealership owner

Past Loves: The Nebraska Cornhuskers

Greatest Regret: Leaving Lincoln

Greatest Grief: Losing the Chi Phi keg stand championship

Desires: To be twenty again

Sign of Completion: Change of wardrobe

ADDICT MAN: Mack March

Past Employment: Divorce attorney

Past Loves: Cocaine

Greatest Regret: The Hendershot Case

Greatest Grief: His children’s refusal to forgive him

Desires: Stability

Sign of Completion: Patience

PROFESSOR MAN: Lawrence Footbridge

Past Employment: Tenured professor

Past Loves: Students, too many students

Greatest Regret: Getting caught

Greatest Grief: The imposition of bureaucracy on true love

Desires: Students, too many students

Sign of Completion: Professionalism

CHEATER MAN: Benjamin Tire

Past Employment: Finance manager

Past Loves: Ellen Jenkins (divorced)

Greatest Regret: Tamara Rincon (mistress)

Greatest Grief: Hurting Ellen

Desires: To get Ellen back

Sign of Completion: Accepting he never cared about Ellen

Dyson’s list hardly seemed comprehensive. What about Rich Men and Predator Men and Feeble Men and Undeterrable Men and Desiring Men and Ugly Men and Pitiful Men and Boring Men and Unemployable Men and Chivalrous Men and Bellicose Men and, the worst men of all, Well-Meaning Men? But the last thing I wanted was more men at the camp. So I flattered Dyson, told him I admired his list and his vision, that he was absolutely correct, should we reform these twelve types of men then we could reform anyone, that funding would roll in by the millions. He was pleased by my assessment, and I was pleased that I made him believe me.

eight

THAT EVENING, I willed myself awake around one in the morning. Dyson snored gloriously, his body as still as a shadow. I snuck outside cautiously, cranking a flashlight. Moonlight carved through the trees and animals howled, daring me to return to the cabin, but I kept cranking the flashlight, aiming the light at my feet until I stood before the fallen tree where I’d thrown my phone. Learning about the men did not bring me the peace I desired, and I returned to the woods longing for the familiarity of Cassandra’s voice—and for the old life contained within it.

Dirt crusted the corners of the screen. I hit the power button. The blue light of the screen set the forest aglow. Cassandra had not left a message. And I hesitated to return her call, fearing she’d called by accident, or as a joke. Nevertheless, I dialed her number. She owed me a conversation. She owed me hundreds of conversations. And apologies. And cash for the money she had made off her interviews about me. Cassandra’s guided meditations had once been a critical part of my skin-care regimen—nearly 70 percent of her clients came via my referrals. I’d always had more followers than her, but she wielded more influence. She was a child of wealth who knew how to impress established influencers and the moneyed. I admired the ease she showed around power. She never expressed undue emotion in conversation. She said, That’s funny, rather than laughing. She used phrases like how horrid and what are they thinking and pardon. She was moved, never impressed. Nothing on her ever itched. Instead of using perfume, she dabbed her wrists with fruit-infused water, and, in the summer, confused butterflies would alight