He shook my hand and climbed into the front of the cab. After he’d shut the door, he rolled down the window and said, “Thanks for everything, Dunph.”

“Thank you, Irv,” I said. “You’re a very cool guy.”

I finally got the nerve to call Jane and beg her forgiveness, but she’wouldn’t talk to me. Her roommate told me to fuck off, Jane and I were finished. I knew it wasn’t true. I’d done some major damage but I loved her and I’d tell her so and she’d smile and maybe cry again and find it in her heart to take me back.

I finally spotted Jane walking back to the bus following classes. The catwalk was choked with people moving in different directions, but I twisted through them and caught up to her. “I got to talk to you,” I said.

“Write me a letter,” she said and pushed past me.

I ended up walking backward all the way to the bus. She kept her head down, her hair hanging limply over those eyes, purposely blocking her view of me.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I was under pressure and lapsed back to the Pawtucket way of doing things. Please look at me. You were right, I was a jerk.” I bumped into the bus and continued up the steps backward. “Come on, Jane, give me a break, I swear I’ll never snap like that again.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she said, looking up with shiny, wet cheeks. “It turns out I’m not after all.”

Everyone on the bus was watching her bawl. I scoured my pockets for decent tissue. I couldn’t find anything but shreds so I wiped her eyes and nose with my hand.

“What do you mean ‘you’re not’?” I whispered. “You said you were like a clock.”

“Well I must’ve forgotten to set my clock ahead because I’m not.” She continued to sob. “Must’ve been nerves.”

I tried to wipe her face again, but she pushed my hand and said, “Just go away. You did me a big favor. I didn’t think I was ever going to get over you but now I am.”

I didn’t budge, just stood there wiping my brow.

“Dunphy!” Jane cried. “Please get out of here. I know what you did to S.D.!” She looked into my eyes. “I know,” she said. “Jack told me everything.”

As I shuffled down the aisle of the snickering bus, I heard a familiar voice say, “Domestic problems, Dunphy?” To my right, in the front row, sat a smiling Funderburk. He hugged a briefcase to his chest like a bulletproof vest. “That’s five hours each,” he said. “You broke Socials.”

I dropped by Jack’s room with a six-pack of beer. Offered him one but he refused, saying he wasn’t feeling well.