CHAPTER 45
I’m sitting in Reginald’s favorite chair, hating myself for not coming to visit him sooner. And why not? Because I was ashamed of the mess I’d become? I should have known Reginald would never think less of me. He and Harper Lee adopted a very similar mentality: Don’t judge someone until you’ve worn that person’s skin and walked around in it for a while.
I’m comfortable with Reginald’s silence. Sometimes we just sit, sometimes I tell him what’s going on.
“Justin wants me to call him this afternoon,” I say. “We’ve been talking quite a bit lately.” I don’t tell him how much. I don’t tell him how long. I don’t think Justin and I have had a phone conversation in the past two weeks that didn’t last at least forty-five minutes. Thank God for all that Seattle traffic he’s got to deal
