Dawn Steiner? Her deadline loomed that week, just two days away, but I hadn’t seen or heard from her since that morning almost a month ago. And I’d made almost no progress on finding the money for her. Had she decided to come looking for me?

But then I saw who it was and slipped my phone back into my pocket.

“Is that really you?” I asked the figure still standing in the shadows of the building. Relieved.

He stepped closer, moving into the crisp light that spilled from the windows of the Pig. “It’s me,” he said. “Indeed.”

Blake Norton. My best friend from college. And also my most challenging. He was loyal, fun, and charming. He was immature, reckless, and juvenile. He was Butch Cassidy crossed with Bluto from Animal House.

I hadn’t seen him in six months, even though we lived in the same small city, Rossingville, Kentucky. He held out his hand, and we shook.

Blake looked thinner, healthier, like maybe he’d dropped fifteen or twenty pounds. His face was less puffy. I wondered if he’d stopped drinking and started exercising more, if he was on one of his periodic health kicks. He was shorter than me by two inches, and he wore a neatly trimmed beard. His shoulder-length hair was off his face and combed into place for a change, and his flannel shirt appeared to be free of stains, the sleeves rolled to his elbows with a measure of precision.

“Why are you skulking around in the parking lot?” I asked.

I realized I was happy to see him. Years of friendship, countless memories big and small, and an endless supply of fierce loyalty brought a smile to my face.

“Skulking.” He smiled as well. “I could always count on you to come up with a ten-dollar word like ‘skulking.’”

“I got one of those calendars for Christmas,” I said, “the kind that gives you a new word every day. Today’s was ‘skulking.’”

Blake shook his head. “No, you know all the fancy words. You always have. I remember you were an English major when we started college. You switched to marketing later, but I know what your real passion was.”

“You know why I switched to something more reliable as well as I do,” I said. “I minored in English. And before Henry was born, I read a lot. And you’re still not answering my question.”

Blake turned to the side, his brown lace-up boots scraping against the gravel of the lot as he did. He looked at the Pig, then faced me again. “I shouldn’t go in there. Too much temptation.”

“You quit drinking?” I asked.

“I stopped drinking. I’ll never quit.” He shrugged. “It’s been about six weeks now.”

“That’s good. I’m glad to hear it.”