I turned. Al was in the kitchenette, the water running behind him. Tan, weathered face, greying hair, sturdy frame. A man who had survived hell but still fought the devil every day. “What the fuck am I going to do?” I asked him.

He came toward me, opened his arms. We embraced. This man, like a father to me. He pressed his grizzled cheek against mine, hugged me so tight it was hard to breathe. Tears stung my eyes and I gulped saliva that had thickened.

“You’re going to kick ass, man. Like you always do. And I’m going to be here to help you.”

I squeezed so hard I could have cracked a rib. Al always knew exactly what to say. And always followed through on his word.

“Okay,” I said.

He released me and there was none of that awkwardness that often comes after two men show honest affection. His eyes were steady on mine, and they gave me strength. Confidence that I lacked.

“We fall down, we get back up,” he said.

I nodded. “Yep, okay.” Like it was decided.

“Unpack, or whatever. Settle in. I’ll run back down to the store and stock up. Be back in an hour or so.”

“Got a resort guide here? List of amenities?”

“Yep, it’s real short. There’s reading, and there’s thinking.”

He twirled his keys as he walked toward the door.

“I appreciate this, Al,” I said.

He paused at the door. “I know,” he said, then left and closed it behind him.

I stood there and listened to the engine start and the crunch of tires as he drove away. Thinking about the letter on the wall, and all the normal days I’d taken for granted.

I haven’t seen Al since.

And the son-of-a-bitch took my knife.

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty

Alone, again. Out in some place in the middle of the fucking woods. An isolated lodge made to rehabilitate train wrecks like me. Get us back up and running. Back on the rails.

The cabin had electricity, but no phone. Not that I was ready to give Cassie a call. I figured Al would let her know I had made it home safely and that he was helping me get straightened out.