Kenny
I awoke in total darkness to a ringing phone. The illuminated clock read “1:16:24 AM.” I groped for the receiver, cut off the third ring, and answered while still arising from the oceans of a deep sleep.
“Mm—hello.”
“Kenny, hi. You busy?”
Kenny, I thought. Only two people still called me Kenny at age thirty-one—my mother, and Angela. Angela Hart.
I swallowed. Angela was in trouble again.
“Kenny Huang, you speak to me! I’m coming right up to see you, okay? Now that I know you’re home.”
“Listen, where—”
She hung up. Speak to me, she had said.
I lay in the dark, inhaling deeply, trying to wake up. As always, Angela was the last person I wanted to see—even an angry ex-lover would have been more welcome. Anyone but Angela.
And whenever I dealt with Angela, that little kid came a
