Before Miggy could respond, one of the guys bellowed his name from the second floor that the shower was free. Miggy shrugged and left the kitchen, his shoulders drooping, his face a mask of concern. Maybe after his shampoo and shower, with clean clothes on his body, something would come to him. He wondered if he had the guts to cut and run. And go where? He felt like crying as he peeled off his filthy clothes in the pretty bathroom that smelled like a spring day. He grimaced when he saw the line of towels hanging from the top of the shower doors.

Miggy soaped up his body three times, then washed his hair three times before he felt clean enough to step out of the fancy shower. It took him awhile before he found a toothbrush and shaving tackle in a linen closet that was as big as some people’s bedrooms. Al hadn’t said anything about shaving, but who cared. He could also trim his hair. All of which he did in twenty minutes. He looked around for clothes and was about to call out when Alonzo appeared in the doorway with a bundle of clean clothes and a trash bag for his old things.

“How do you feel?”

In spite of himself, Miggy laughed. “Like a few bucks short of a million dollars. I don’t know what the smell is, but I like it.”

“It’s lavender and lemongrass,” Alonzo said.

“And you know this how?” Miggy asked as he pulled on a T-shirt that fit him perfectly.

“It was on Mrs. Cricket’s profile on the net.”

“Oh,” was all Miggy could think to say.

“One more thing, Miggy. The Crickets do not sleep on silk sheets. I checked just for you. The tag said the thread count was one thousand, so they are soft, but they aren’t silk. And the pillows are the ones you see advertised on TV every ten seconds.”

Miggy wasn’t sure if he should thank his friend for the information or just move on. He mumbled something about the kid having so many clothes and shoes, and the sneakers being a size too big, to which Alonzo replied, “Suck it up, pal; no one gets it all. Go on down now and keep the boys in line. They’re a little antsy for some reason.”

“For some reason,” Mig muttered as he barreled out of the room. Sometimes, and this was one of those times, he simply did not understand his childhood friend and how he thought the way he did. More important, he didn’t understand himself and how he was where he was right now.