You can’t go to San Francisco with me. There’s too much going on at home, or so you say. It isn’t exactly a stretch, but mostly it’s because of her. Also, you won’t admit it, but you aren’t sleeping. That makes two of us. The nightmares are back. I know because when you do drift off, it’s fitful, and you mumble, and on occasion you even cry out. So, maybe you’re right. Maybe it is better if you didn’t come this time either. At least one of us will get more rest this way. That’s not to say I don’t miss the old days, the days we worked as a team. They weren’t perfect; we had our issues. But at least we were together. Now, I’m not sure what we are. We’re neither here nor there—or rather—you’re here and I’m there.
I don’t have a choice about leaving town. Otherwise, I lose time and money and
