I need something else to think about but my mind seems to be hijacked. Instead of complying and laughing at funny cat and dog videos on YouTube, my thoughts keep going back to Nicholas. When I manage to push some of him out, I come back to Owen.

Owen is another man who has disappointed me, in a long succession of disappointing men.

Maybe I should have known better but, how could I?

I trusted him and he played such a good game.

When he was in prison, he appeared to be rehabilitated. He learned to read and write and wrote me the most eloquent letters. None of them mentioned love or obsession or any of those thoughts that I now know that he had.

I thought that he was my brother and I knew that he needed help.

How could I have known he would turn on me so quickly?

How could I have known that he would be one of my biggest regrets?

Hours pass slowly when you’re sitting in the small seat of an old car. First, I listen to music until I get bored and then switch around different audiobooks. I wish I could read but then I could miss them coming and going so I try to put the phone away and not even browse social media.

And then, suddenly, after about the fifth time that I give up hope and plan to drive away, I see him.

Same leather jacket.

Same blank look on his face, but with just a tinge of the eagerness some guys have in their teens.

He walks out of the front door and heads north down the street.

My car is facing the same direction so I just wait for him to get a little bit ahead of me before pulling out.

At the corner, he turns left and a few moments later, I do as well.

And then I lose him.

Where did he go? I search the street up and down.

There isn’t a soul around and he couldn’t have just vanished into thin air!

Did he go into another building?

Shit, shit, shit, I mutter to myself silently.

There are only a few cars on the street and I look them over again. This time, however, I see what I couldn’t have known.

Ricky must have leaned over and got something out of his glove box when I see him move in between the two seats.

When he starts his old El Camino, I’m careful to scrunch down behind the wheel and even put on a pair of sunglasses to keep him from recognizing me.

I follow Ricky out of the neighborhood and then out of the city. He drives a good forty-five minutes, all the way to the newer suburbs and then pulls up to a brick apartment building.