“I don’t know, something. Maybe get a drink somewhere. Or have dinner.”

I groaned. “I don’t really think going out is the proper move for me right now.”

“Stratton,” she said in a whine, shaking my arm as though to wake me. “Why did you take Xanax?”

“I don’t know. I couldn’t get ahold of you, and then I started worrying where you might be, or if something bad had happened. I kept calling your phone because all I really wanted to do was talk to you but it kept going straight to voicemail. And on top of everything else, I got another letter from my father, just sitting there patiently waiting in the mailbox for me.”

She sighed. “Why do you always worry yourself like that?”

“I’m neurotic.”

She kicked off her shoes and undressed. I dropped my head back on the pillow.

“You should have called. I was worried.”

“I would have but my phone died.”

“From the Starbucks phone then.”

“Stratton, I don’t have your number memorized.”

“Well, memorize it then,” I said, trying to reclaim a bit of the anger I had had before, but the pill was working, and any anger I found was nothing more than a mouse’s squeak from the room next door.

Carolyn stepped into the shower and I closed my eyes. She shook me awake sometime later. She was fully dressed, wearing makeup and looking pretty.

“Where am I?” I asked. It felt as though the bed was spinning.

“In bed, silly,” she said.

She grabbed my pants and pulled them up my legs. I lifted my ass so she could work them over my hips. Then she grabbed a shirt at random and pulled it over my head and arms.

“Why are you dressing me?”

“Because you’re going to take me out for a drink.”

“I am?”

“Yep.”

“What time is it?”

“Eight.”

I groaned and begrudgingly climbed out of bed. We walked down Clark Street. Or rather, she walked and I stumbled, dizzy, fighting the effects of the pill. It seemed to have hit me harder than one normally would have, and all I really wanted to do was sleep. I paid no attention to where we were and instead focused on putting one foot in front of the other and staying upright. Carolyn kept looking in the windows of the bars, sighing, then walking on. Five minutes later, she stopped.

“Oh look,” she said with a grin.

I looked. Without my realizing it she had navigated us to the Lamplighter.

“The place where it all began,” I said, opening the door for her. “After you, my queen.”

The bar was half full and we sat in the very same seats we had before. Sam, the bartender, recognized us and said hello. He poured us both a drink without us having to tell him what we wanted, a Grand Marnier, neat, for me, a vodka and cranberry for Carolyn.