Jeff Abbott: Cut and Run

I find articles on him. Still in office, conducting a death inquest on a homicide over in Laurel Point. A mention in a story on Babe’s passing, dated two weeks ago. Babe gone. Whit grieving bad, I know, I’m aching to hold him now.

So Whit’s safe. He stayed in office. I didn’t ruin him. He’s tough like me.

But it made me miss him more, bad enough where I felt sick and I went home early and lay on my bed. I could buy one of those prepaid call cards. Pay cash. Make it impossible to trace. Let him know I’m okay, hear his voice for a minute.

But no. He let me walk away when I needed to and it’s not fair, me opening the door again. Let it be shut. Let me be strong to keep it shut. He doesn’t need me.

At night I rent the movies. Caddyshack and Monty Python and all those Woody Allen ones full of jokes only New Yorkers and Whit get. I pretend he and I are sitting together, sharing popcorn, watching the movies. It is all I’m gonna get now.

And it has to be enough.