Art’s Critters was a small storefront operation sandwiched between an optician and a cut-rate jeweler in a modest strip mall. Lou offered to get whatever was needed, but Joey refused. He fished a thin, tattered wallet from his jeans and strode excitedly into the store. A few minutes later, he emerged carrying a medium-sized brown paper bag.

“Can’t wait to get home,” he said.

When they arrived at Millie’s, the lunch rush was over, leaving plenty of available parking spaces. The restaurateur was waiting for them just inside the entrance, and burst out the front door before Lou shut off his engine. She was carrying a cardboard box of food. Lou helped undo Joey’s seat belt, then reached across his lap to open the passenger door. Joey set his bag on the floor before getting out.

“Hi, there, buddy,” Millie said.

“Hi, Ma.”

Millie set the box on the ground and gave Joey a quick peck on the cheek. Lou popped the trunk and set the food inside.

“I just put some snack stuff together for you. You can come over to the restaurant for your meals if you’re up to it.”

“Oh, I’m up to it.”

“The report is good. His surgeon thinks we’re looking at maybe seventy-five percent functional recovery. Maybe more.”

“Joey, you sure you don’t want to stay with me?”

“No, Ma. You know how happy I am to be in my own place. All I thought about in the hospital was how much I just wanted to get home. I have some pain medicine that I don’t even think I’ll need, but if I do, I can take one or two every four hours, and some infection medicine I need to take twice a day.”

“He needs to go back in three days,” Lou said. “I think I can adjust my schedule to come out and—”

“Nonsense. I have people who will drive us. You’ve been just wonderful, Lou.”

“He’s going to help me get settled in at my place,” Joey said, perhaps a bit too quickly. “I’ll be at the restaurant for dinner.”

“Very well, dear,” Millie said. “You know how I respect your privacy. That’s your home not mine.”

Millie thanked Lou again, wrapped him in her arms, and stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

The Dorms, ten or twelve units, white vinyl siding, black shutters, was nothing special. In fact, despite well-trimmed hedges and several small flower gardens, it reminded Lou of the sort of motel that might have rates by the day, half day, or hour. Unfortunately, it also reminded him of places he once took refuge in when he was in no shape to go home.

Never again, he thought, violating AA’s most essential day-at-a-time maxim. Never ever again.