I dump them all on top of the bed and watch each white pill roll toward the middle of the purple comforter. I want to put one in my mouth, but I’m afraid if I do that I’ll have to do it again in two hours, and then the next two and the next, and then I’d just be right back where I started.

I decide to play the waiting game. To see just how long I can really go. It’s almost seven o’clock, and Randall’s not due for another hour. I’m thinking: What am I going to do to kill a whole hour? Can’t eat. If I start doing something, won’t be able to finish. Could call Janelle, but all she’ll want to talk about is her new townhouse or her new job at Elegant Clutter, and since George’s daughters testified against him, when she gets her settlement most likely she’ll be able to go into partnership with the Orange Blossom lady. She’d probably tell me again how she’s going to put George’s ex-wife’s name on the deed to that duplex she’s been living in all these years, and how much she and Shanice are getting out of the support group they’re going to for incest survivors. And even though I’m happy for them, I just don’t think I can be engaged right now. I always do the listening, and this time I need someone to listen to me.

The miracle of miracles is that I can finally call my brother, who actually has a phone in his own name, but all he wants to talk about these days is his sobriety and how he’s started filing patent applications for his many inventions and how he’s even getting prototypes made for some of them. He’s so excited about being productive that you can’t shut him up, except when he switches to the subject of his kid and how he took some of Mama’s insurance money and cleared up his back child support. He’s been working on the Twelve Steps of AA and even apologized to Donnetta and her husband for hitting him with that mop, and they forgave him and are letting Jamil spend a weekend with Lewis. He’s so excited to be alive and feeling good that I doubt if he’d be able to hear my plea for a receptive ear.

And last but not least is Charlotte, who actually left me a message a while back explaining that she may or may not be ready to talk to me by Thanksgiving, because she and Al might start going to couples therapy, but first she’s thinking about going by herself. She said she can’t deal with him and her, me and my bullshit, Mama being gone, her son being gay, and now both daughters bleeding, all at the same time. She said we’ve still got issues, so I guess I have to wait for her to come around.