Chapter 43

O.B. clung to the word almost. It gave him a glimmer of hope. He got an idea—a crazy idea. It might be the only way he could get through to the man he loved, who was in such pain and unable to listen to anything O.B. tried to say.

“Don’t go away. You stay right here. I’ll be right back.”

O.B. grabbed his car keys off the table next to the door and ran out of the apartment. He got in his car and drove across town as fast as he could without the risk of getting a ticket.

O.B. pulled into the driveway of a modest house in a suburb outside the city. The lights were still on inside. He checked his watch: eleven-twenty. Probably still up watching the news, he thought as he got out of the car, dashed up the steps to the front door, and rang the bell.

An older man—balding and stout, in bathrobe and slippers—opened the door a crack. “Can I help you?” he asked suspiciously.

“Is Chuck here?” O.B. blurted out.

“Chuck?” the man asked, seeming not to understand.