Chapter Twelve
“Is there any way you’ll consent to see me?” I asked Reggie over the phone, one week later.
“Why?” he asked.
“I have to talk to someone, and I don’t know if anyone else could even begin to understand.”
“You should just talk to Will,” he countered. “It’s about him, isn’t it?”
“Reggie, please.” It seemed utterly stupid to plead with this man, but I actually won him over.
“How about a bowl of soup at the cafe across from the office, tomorrow noon?” he suggested, though he didn’t really sound all that pleased about it.
“I’ll be there,” I replied. “And thank you.”
***
In the cafe the next day, I sat down gingerly on the seat across from Reggie.
“Do I detect a sore bottom?” he asked.
“Very.”
“So, how’s it going?” He was cool, but not unfriendly, his disposition could
