The color scheme, hospital-scrubs green, is not my favorite, but if the heater works, it’ll do. I try it and initially get as much noise as heat. Maybe, like Betty, it just needs to calm down. For twenty-five dollars I can’t ask for much. I unpack and mix myself a bourbon and Coke in the one plastic cup (I must have the salesman suite) Betty has provided, and add a couple of ice cubes. I turn down the sound on the TV, and from a built-in shelf next to the bed, I take the phone and fulfill my promise to call Amy and let her know for certain I won’t be coming back tonight.

“What happened?” she asks, her voice sounding fatigued. Like myself, Amy is a morning person, which may be the only thing we have in common.

I rehash the afternoon’s events while staring at an animated and charming black female newscaster on Channel 5. It is amazing how much things have changed since I lived in this part of the state.

“How’s Jessie doing?” I ask, not wanting her to ask me too much about what I’ll be doing tomorrow.

“She’s so sweet!” Amy exclaims.

“I hate that crate you make her stay in. It’s terrible, isn’t it sweetheart? Here, I’m putting the phone next to her ear. Say something

nice. She misses you.”

Hoping Betty isn’t listening in, I say, “Jessie, don’t shit on the floor again, okay?”

Jessie doesn’t deign to respond, and Amy yelps, “That wasn’t nice.

She’s done good today, haven’t you sweetheart? I just took her out.”

“I appreciate you taking care of her,” I say sincerely.

“I’ll be by about this time tomorrow to pick her up.”

There is silence on the other end.

“Maybe we can go out to eat or something,” I add.

“That’d be nice,” Amy says promptly. She is still young enough to think of Saturday as “date night.”

“What are you doing tonight?” she asks, sounding more curious than suspicious.