“Are you OK?” she asks.
I pause and wipe the smallest tear from my right eye before she notices. “I’ll be fine.”
Jessica pours herself a glass of wine and smiles that begotten godliness.
The dog writhes his three legs as if he’s running from something, mewls dampingly, and scoots a bit from under the pool table.
Jessica and I both look at him. “Sometimes he has the most terrible dreams,” she says.
I wonder.
“How old are you, Jessica?”
“Well, that’s not very polite of you,” she says as she grins. “How old do you want me to be?”
I ponder.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say. “Please forgive me for asking. Sometimes, a man just gets to wondering and he can’t help himself, like me.”
I molest the penny in my pocket that she gave me just two days ago.
“Can I ask you a question, Jessica?”
“Sur
