She answered the phone.

“It’s been a while,” she said.

“Yeah. I don’t know exactly what to say, but I miss you.”

“I miss you too, Hap. It’s just… Well, I don’t know. My head’s all confused. It’s not like I’m seeing anyone else. It’s not like I really want to see anyone else. Life is just a mess.”

“Yeah.”

“I feel guilty too.”

“How?”

“After what you did for me. I thought things would be great, back to normal. They aren’t.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s not you. I promise. I still feel for you, it’s just that what I feel is so buried in shit. So buried in all manner of stuff. Can you understand that?”

“I think so. We did discuss those Kentucky Fried Chicken biscuits pretty good. I thought we had a moment there.”

She laughed. “Oh, Hap. That’s what I miss most about you.”

“My humor?”

“The stupid shit you come up with.”

“Oh, thanks.”

A beat.

“Don’t forget me,” she said.

“I won’t.”

“Let’s don’t say it’s over.”

“Sure.”

“Bye, Hap.”

“Bye, Brett.”

A couple minutes later, I called the cruise line. They had space. Me and Leonard would soon be on our way to Mexico, Jamaica, and the Caymans.

Yeehah.

Brett. Brett. Brett.

6

It was a pretty interesting week. I paid off the little bit I owed on my worthless truck, had my stitches taken out, went by the hospital late morning to see if I could look in on Sarah Bond, and they let me. She had just been out of intensive care a couple of days, still in serious condition, able to see visitors, but not long.

I slid in there and saw her sleeping. Her head was swollen, her face was dark blue, and her lips were puffed and cut and there were stitches all over and wire contraptions and tubes and such. Her hair was oily and pulled up and clipped. A portion had been shaved and in that spot was a red swelling in the shape of a boot heel. Her eye was patched over with a large gauze pad.