I have thought it all through a hundred times. Only I’m pretty sure that I’d be back out here tomorrow night, or the night after. They would hold me, hug me, say all the right things. Claire, Cindy, and Jill would be here almost before I hung up the phone. She’s a good, loyal friend who’s been nuzzling me good-night every single night for the past six years.Īs I stare into the Border collie’s eyes, I think that maybe I should go inside and call the girls. Martha won’t leave, though, won’t look away. “It’s okay,” I call to her through the door. I turn and see she is watching me through the glass doors that lead to the terrace. Quite a sentiment, but appropriate and just, I think. I’m looking out over glorious San Francisco and I have my service revolver pressed against the side of my temple. IT IS AN UNUSUALLY WARM NIGHT in July, but I’m shivering badly as I stand on the substantial gray stone terrace outside my apartment.
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