was first to stand. “Ain’t been up this late since… well, forever, actually. I’ve been up this early to get out of the harbor. But never been up this late, if you know what I mean.”
Cookie bade all a good night and went about the business of clearing the table while Sal, Stan and I walked outside.
Sal clicked on a small key-chain flashlight to see his way home and with a raised arm called over his shoulder, “Lunch. Minute Café. Noon.”
Stan and I crossed the gravel drive to his Ram diesel pickup.
“Cookie’s a good one, Nick. You lucked out.”
“That’s the truth.”
“Heard you were married once before.”
“For about seven minutes.”
“Where’s she now?”
“Got hit by a log truck.”
“Dead?”
“Stan, she got hit by a log truck.”
He mulled that for second. “That would make her dead.”
“As a mackerel.”
He climbed into the cab, fired up the diesel and backed out of the drive.
I was walking back inside when the thought struck me. Stan’s mention of my ex snapped a synapse in my brain.
“Well, Jesus H. Christ.”
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