Keenan sat at a table for two at a popular upscale restaurant. Lost in thought, he listened absentmindedly to the background music, the tinkle of utensils, and the murmur of conversation at surrounding tables. He stared into the flame of a candle which flickered in an amber glass container. He nursed a drink while he waited for Tucker.
Keenan checked his phone. Tucker was late. He tried not to worry that Tucker had changed his mind about meeting him for dinner. He deliberated as to whether or not he should text Tucker to see if there was a problem.
About a week after Tripod had gone home with Charity, Keenan had called to find out how Tripod and Charity were getting along and, on a whim—well, in reality, a calculated whim—suggested he and Tucker meet for dinner. He’d struggled with the i
