At eleven, Gavin texted me. This wasn’t unusual. He always texted me in the morning. He lived an hour away, in Denver, where he owned a garage and made his own hours so he could come and go as he pleased. The man had two college degrees but preferred working on cars and living in a studio apartment above a tattoo parlor. If Gavin wanted to add a new tattoo to his collection on a whim, he could easily do just that. There was no cohesiveness to his ink, no well-planned sleeve. Though most of his forearms were covered, it was by piecemeal artwork. He didn’t have health insurance but he had plenty of tattoos. That was Gavin.
Not that I could judge him. I was thirty-five and had never had a job. I’d had some very random luck with stock investments but that wasn’t exactly a career.
Gavin: Hey...
Me: What’s up? I’m dancing.
There was a long pause, so I took my phone downstairs to pour myself more coffee.
Gavin: You’re dancing?
Me: I was, now I’m drinking coffee. What’s up?
Gavin: I’m lost, P. I need you.
It had been a long time since Gavin had said anything like that to me.
Me: Where are you?
Gavin: In your driveway.
I laughed in shock, then ran to the door and swung it open. It had been two months since I last saw him—almost the longest we’d gone since meeting each other fourteen years ago in Ling’s psych study.
He was standing on the porch right outside, looking at me with sad, tired eyes. “What’s going on?” I asked.
He leaned his body to one side to look past me into the house. “Where’s whathisface?”
“You were in our wedding, you know his name, and he’s away on business for two days. Tell me what’s wrong?”
“Milo?”
“He’s at school.”
“I didn’t want to impose.”
“How long have you been out in the driveway?”
“An hour or so.”
“Doing what?”
“Staring at your house.”
“That’s creepy. Get in here, dork.”
I stood aside so he could come in. He didn’t move. He was wearing his usual boots, jeans, and a T-shirt, with no jacket or flannel. He had his hands deep in his pockets, his arms pressed to his body, and he was shaking.
“What are you waiting for? Come in, you’re cold.” It wasn’t that cold out but he was practically shivering.
He walked in and basically collapsed into my arms, his warm breath on my neck. “Fuck, Penny.”
“What?”
“He’s dying. For real.”
I knew he was talking about his dad. He was the only man Gavin gave a shit about.
“Oh no. No, no.” My heart was broken in an instant. Broken for Frank, Gavin’s dad, whom I loved, and for Gavin, my best friend, whom I also loved.
