The next morning, Wilson woke me. I was still in the lounge chair on the deck. They’d covered me with a blanket.
“Coffee?” he asked as he handed me a mug.
“Thanks, Wil,” I said, as I sat up to sip the hot brew. “I’m sorry about last night, I thought I’d gotten past that. I guess I hadn’t.”
“Honey, we knew it must be hard on you. I can’t imagine what you’ve been going through.”
“It has been hard. Sometimes I think I’ve gotten past it, but when the concerts are over and I’m alone in my hotel room, many times I cry.”
“Honey, whenever that happens, you can call here. Call collect. I’ll always listen to you. You’ve been alone for too long, that’s not good for anyone.” Wilson’s face showed how concerned he was. “I’ll listen to whatever you want to talk about.”
“Thanks, Wil, but you may be
