Chapter 13Jimmy slept at his mother’s Monday night, in his own bed rather than on the sofa, a sure sign he was nearly back to full strength. The bruises on his body would fade eventually, but the hurt was gone, aided partly by his mother’s pre-St. Patrick’s Day corned beef and cabbage but more so by the late-night phone conversation he’d had with Barry, in which they had agreed to meet up on Wednesday night.
“To talk,” Barry had stated with an undercurrent to his words: verbal intercourse, not the other kind.
Still, the mere fact Barry was giving him a second chance warmed his heart, and so it was with a rare smile Jimmy slept, the good mood continuing into the next morning when his phone buzzed and stirred him from the deep slumber his achy body craved.
“This is Jimmy,” he said, his vo
