Summerkill (39 page)

He liked that well enough to shore up our positions, bum shoulder or no. And then after a few nice minutes: “Damn! I stopped
at the drugstore yesterday, but they’re still in my car, which is still at the station.”

Detecting about as much relief as regret in that statement, and harboring major doubts as to my own physical capabilities
just then, I elected not to mention that I’d stopped at a drugstore, too, on the way back from Pittsfield. “You can fetch
them tomorrow,” I said.

“That’s today already,” he reminded me.

“Whatever. We both ought to get some rest. Can you cuddle decently with that shoulder of yours?”

“We’ll manage just fine.”

And so we did.