I don’t know what to do, and I have no one else to sell to.”They drove in silence for a few more minutes, until Frankie sat up straight, and a smile stretched her little face. Bill glanced over and cringed at her grin.“The hell’s the matter with you? Why are you smiling like that?”“Does Scott smoke weed?”“My co-worker you screwed? Don’t you talk to him anymore?”“Not since that night.”“Hmmm, well… ”“What? What is it?” Frankie turned to Bill; her eyes widened, and her mouth opened, awaiting news.“I did hear him talk to some of the others in the office about how he smoked occasionally in college, but hasn’t done it since.”“That’s it. He’s our buyer.”“I don’t understand.”“For everything. He’s going to take the rest of this off our hands.”“Really? And why would he do that?”“Remember that video you recorded?”Bill nodded, and Frankie unfastened her bottoms.“What the hell are you doing?” he asked.“You’ll see. Give him a call.” Frankie’s bottoms graced the floor, and she snapped selfies with. Even now at times and without warning my chest will tighten, my lungs stop working, and the enormous hole inside me overwhelms everything. So here I am, alone in a queen-sized bed made for two. I have my blankets on (and nothing else), and like Ishmael, I feel warm on this cold night. But that doesn’t cancel out the aching emptiness that never seems to leave me anymore. I have stacked up three or four pillows so I’m kind of sitting up. Thinking maybe it’s time to reread Moby Dick, because…why not? After a few chapters, sleep is lapping up over my consciousness like waves on a, particularly, peaceful shore. The blankets had slipped down toward my waist, I didn’t notice when.But now something is different. I am no longer leaning—half sitting, half reclining—against my pillows. I feel the firm, warm contact of skin-on-skin. I am leaning back against a familiar chest. A man’s chest. Ben’s chest. I can’t see him of course, but I know these sensations well. I feel his thick, strong,.
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