Stormy nods once and straightens up. He’s Stormy again, composed and quiet. Instead of taking the elevator, he heads for the stairs.
“Hey, Stormy.”
He turns back around.
“I’m going to take photos of everything and send them to Benji. He’s going to go crazy when he sees it.”
He smiles. That made him happy. Then he’s gone running down the stairs.
I pull my phone out and take a photo of the room and another of the view of the water.
Mickey:I’m here. Stormy built me a home above a bar. It’s perfect. The Gulf is right outside the windows and the light is filling the whole space. I can’t wait to show it to you. Here are photos. You’ll love it!
Three dots.
Benji:Mickey! It’s beautiful!! Can’t wait! The plants better have their own shelf by the time I get there.
Mickey:I’ll leave the decorating to you. Miss you.
I hear Tex’s heavy footsteps on the stairs. I suspect the elevator is too slow for them to use it much.
“Everything okay up here?” He comes over to join me at the window and hands me a beer.
“I’m so damn happy to be home, Tex.” I choke on the words. “I can’t tell you how happy I am.”
“Me too, Mickey.” He puts his big hand on the back of my head like he did the first night in the hospital. “Don’t worry, we’ve got you now. Everything’s going to be alright. That’s my promise to you. Just wait. You’ll see. You’re home and good times are coming again. I swear on my life, they’re coming.”
Chapter 31: Benji
The confirmation email arrives on a Tuesday night while I’m lying on Dante’s couch eating pad Thai out of the container and half-watching a show about people renovating houses in Portugal.
I’d told Mickey on Sunday that I was coming this weekend no matter what. I said I’d figure out the drive, maybe leave Thursday night, sleep somewhere along the way. He said okay and changed the subject, and I thought that was the end of it.
Then the email lands.
An airline confirmation number. Friday, departing 11:45 AM, arriving 1:20 PM. One passenger. Benjamin Bennett.
Below it, a second confirmation email for a rental car.
I stare at the screen. Mickey went online, looked up flights from Miami, compared times, picked the flight that got me there fastest, typed in my name and his credit card number, and then went to a rental car site and did it again. Two transactions. Fifteen minutes of effort, maybe. And it’s the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me.
I call him. “You bought me a plane ticket.”
“I did.”
“And a rental car.”
“The rental counter is right at the terminal. You won’t even have to take a shuttle.”
“Mickey.”
“You’ve driven to me countless times. Now it’s my turn to make it easier on you.”
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know I didn’t have to. I wanted to. There’s a difference and you taught me that.”
I press the phone against my ear and close my eyes. “Thank you.”
