* * * *
Barbara stops by the bungalow sometime after noon. Her arms are filled with flowers, a plastic bag of fruit, and a greeting card, all of which I learn is her subtle way of apologizing for some bad and intense behavior. She places all of the items on the dining room table, studies my boxer-briefs, scruff on cheeks, and inquires, “You look like hell. What’s going on?”
I don’t want to bother her with the downs in my life. She doesn’t respond well to Trent Long, and certainly won’t handle my tale of separation from the lifeguard. I choose not to share this information with her, and shrug my shoulders, keeping quiet.
“Lighten up, darling. I’m not here to bite your head off. I came to make up.” She passes me a fresh looking banana from the plastic bag, smiles, and adds, “Why don’t you put something decent on and we can take a walk along the Coast? I need to tell you a few things I’m sure you’ll want to hear.”
* * * *