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  67. 3:46 a.m.

As for your mom, I didn’t find out a whole lot more. I spent most of the day making calls, and no one is talking. I tried the morgue, but they said the body was moved to the federal freezer in McLean. When I tried calling them, they gave me the runaround. But I’ll keep at it. I have a B-I-G meeting bright and early, so I couldn’t stay over and play with you (sad face). Should be interesting. I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow.

Kisses,

Grid

P.S. Lassie got into the leftovers while I was dealing with you and he ate a bunch of Thai. Just want to warn you in case he’s super gassy (happy face).

P.P.S.S. HAPPY SIX MONTH ANNIVERSARY!

My smile fades with her words and the lightning in my shoulder returns. I look around for Lassie, thinking he will be asleep on the arm of the brown sofa, but he’s not. I push myself up with a grunt, holding my left arm to my sternum, and walk into the bedroom. Lassie is sleeping in the center of the king bed.

The clock on the dresser reads 3:03 a.m.

“Hey!”

Lassie bats his eyes and wrinkles his nose.

“Glad to see you were worried about me.”

Meow.

“I don’t know, maybe sleep on the floor next to me.”

Meow.

“Yes, I know you aren’t a dog.”

Meow.

“How would it not be fair to the bed?”

Meow.

“Dude, forget it.”

I turn around and head for the kitchen. The Advil aren’t sitting well on my empty stomach and I stand in front of the open fridge chugging a smoothie and devouring a sandwich in four bites.

Lassie looks up at me.

I shake my head at him.

“Dude, you don’t get any breakfast.”

Meow.

“Because you ate a shitload of Thai food that Ingrid brought for me.”

Meow.

“You’re telling me that if I smell your breath right now, I won’t smell curry?”

I lean down and he runs away.

“That’s what I thought.”

I ponder making an ice pack, but I don’t have time.

I sit down to the computer.

It is 3:06 a.m.

I hit the Skype button to call my dad, then remember Murdock shattered his laptop. I find my cell phone where Ingrid has it charging in the kitchen and dial my father.

He answers on the third ring.

“Sonny boy.”

“Hey, Pops.”

“Listen, sorry about last night.”

“Don’t worry about it. Is Murdock still in the doghouse?”

“Naw, he feels bad. Don’t you, boy?”

I can hear the dripping kisses through the phone.

Lassie hears them as well and jumps up on my lap. He claws at the phone. I shake my head at him.

After a couple more kisses, my dad asks, “So, how was your yesterday?”

“Mom is dead.”

“What?”