“I’m sorry,” Jason pleads. “Can I help you?”
“Please.” Dillon shifts to his left and Jason cuddles against his right side. They begin to organize the contents of the three suitcases, one by one, with very little talk.
* * * *
The next morning, they run into minimal traffic heading to the small airport which sits next to Lake Erie. Jason drives because his plan to get Dillon drunk, works. Dillon becomes a chatterbox on the short distance to the airport, always a talker when he’s had too much alcohol. He rambles about the beautiful morning (lots of sun, on the warmer side, and no humidity, the perfect day for a long walk and some pre-summer sunbathing, or to visit the wine galleries in the area, or stop into the Yol Gallery and study paintings by the up-and-coming oil painter, Ruth Mendell, or…), an all-black cat named Sylvia Plath when he was a teenager, his second boyfriend Teddy Rixen, and how he used to have a crush on the butcher at Della’s Meats, long before he met Jason.