Fuck.
At eleven he thought he should call it a night. Thirty minutes
later he was still on the sofa, staring at the phone where it sat
on the coffee table. Part of him was afraid to go to sleep, afraid
he’d miss Jamie’s call. Maybe I should call the shelter,he
thought, or even go down there, see if he’s in yet. Maybe he
thinks it’s too late and he doesn’t want to wake me up.
Maybe…
He dialed the shelter’s number, but it was late and all he got
was a recording. As he listened to Father Nate’s voice reeling off
meal times and hours of operation, he mused, Why didn’t he put
on there whether Jamie was back yet or not? That’s the important
stuff—that’s what I want to know, what I called to find
out.
So the shelter was closed. It was too late to go looking for
Jamie again—if he hadn’t found him in broad daylight, how would he
ever find him now? Just go to bed,he told himself. You
can go over in the morning and he’ll be there, you’ll see. You’ll