They were on their way to Greenley for Dave’s cancer treatment, and as he was the only passenger scheduled this time, they both knew they could relax, didn’t have to make polite talk. Later, on the way home in the afternoon, Dave would be worn out; he and Tom would drive back in relative silence. Lots of energy on the way there, however. Dave, despite his weight loss, was raring to go. He had stories to tell about the inmates. Tom assumed the listener’s role and didn’t mind one bit. He was ever aware of the fact that he did not have to deal with what Dave was dealing with.

“Dumbasses,” Dave said. “Pardon the language. First of all, this morning, the guy in charge of the kitchen set everyone off. This guy has sleek black hair, wears a two-inch ponytail at the crown of his head so it sticks straight up. A silver bauble on an elastic holds this frickin’ little ponytail in place. He’s good in the kitchen, this guy, but tough on his staff. Well, he was ranting at top pitch about needing more carafes of decaf, and that voice of his got everybody off on the wrong track. After that, when the plates were cleared away, there was a fuss about toothbrushes. One of the inmates needed a toothbrush and wanted the tuck shop unlocked, but it’s closed early in the day. So a predictable flare-up, another crazy man shouting down the hall. I tell you, Tom, people around here don’t have enough to think about. The joke of it is, when you talk to this guy who wanted the toothbrush, you can see three teeth and that’s it. If he throws his head back and laughs—not often, because he’s a complainer—you see that he really does have a mouthful of teeth. With gold caps on his molars. Or maybe they’re crowns. I don’t know the difference.”

Tom pulled out of the roundabout while Dave tugged at the seat belt, adjusting it gingerly around what he referred to as the chemoport implanted in his chest. He’d showed it to Tom one day and Tom had felt sadness, seeing it.

“All that fuss for a lousy toothbrush,” said Dave. And went silent.

Tom thought about Ida and how, after brushing her teeth, she used to rinse her mouth with lukewarm water. She had sensitive teeth or gums, one or the other; she couldn’t rinse with cold at all. What a thing to think about now. He’d teased her about it once, and she had flared up. They’d been in their thirties at the time, maybe forties. Turned out it wasn’t only her teeth that were sensitive.

He had told himself before and told himself now: we had a good marriage, sensitive teeth and all.

Dave was starting up again. “A few of us walked up the hill to McDonald’s for supper last night. A change from the dining room, you know how it goes. After that, with full bellies, it was downhill all the way.” He laughed at his own joke. “Anyway, we had a yearning for fast food. Too much healthy food in an institution wears you down after a while. Well, there was someone in the lineup ahead of us and she had stovepipe legs, I tell you. I’m not kidding. I never saw the like. No fat, just solid legs shaped like stovepipes. Big. She was a young woman, maybe about thirty, short overalls that stopped at the thigh, rubber boots to the knees, arms akimbo, and she stayed like that the whole damn time she was in line. Daring anyone to say a word. To top it off, she was wearing a railroad cap. What an outfit! And at this time of year.”