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“Matty?”
No reply. But something is burning.
“Shit, shit,shit!” I’ve left the iron on my shirt. I can’t remember the last time I ran out of clean and ironed shirts—before this morning, that is. How? A mystery. My drycleaner comes for pick-up and drop-off twice a week, but my clean shirts aregone.
Now Clay is calling me.
“Yeah,” I answer, clipping my cell between my ear and shoulder, staring at a scorched mark on my shirt pocket.
“Where are you?”
“Still at home.”
“You know we have a meeting at lunch time, and you still have to go to the hospital?”
“I know, Clay.”
“Maybe you should reconsider your plan to be a bachelor forever.” He chuckles. “By the way, did I say that Amber looked cute in your sweater?”
He had, a few times.
I’ve shot down any thoughts about the possibility of bringing Amber-Rose into my life again. Although, I must admit I still think about her. The last time I made contact with her was, sadly, through text messages, when she thought I sent a rose to her. Could it have been Clay? But he’s still with Katie, and there’s no way he would betray his girl. Besides, he would’ve told me if he’d been interested in Amber-Rose.
Since then, I haven’t had any reason to reach out to her again, and I haven’t had the headspace to be a good man for her, so I’ve pretty much let her go.
“Just leave me to it, brother.”
“Just sayin’. So I’ll still see you at one?”
“Yeah.” I don’t even know if I’ll make it there today at all.
After picking up another unironed shirt, I see all the signs that indicate today might be the day from hell I’ve been dreading. Even the iron is busted!
Grumbling at a hundred miles per hour, I put on a turtleneck instead. I’ll drop by Clay’s house and raid his wardrobe on the way to Newport. He’ll have something decent for me to wear for our sailing meeting with Crown Princess Victoria’s cousin later.
Matty comes to me, eyes drooping. “I can’t find Bjork.”
“Well, he must be here somewhere. But we’re not taking Bjork to the hospital.”
“Why not?”
“I’m with you. You don’t need Bjork.”
“Yes, I do.”
My shoulders slump in defeat. The last thing I want is to have an argument with Matty this morning. “Okay.” I march around the house, looking in every corner and under every table.
After spending half an hour searching, I find Bjork lying under Matty’s bed—the first place I should’ve looked. I crawl under and pull the teddy out of the tight space.
“What’s the doctor going to do?” Matty probes.
“We’re going to take off the cast and stitches. You’ll be able to move better.”
Matty cries. “I don’t want to go. It will hurt!”
“It won’t hurt that much.”
“I want to go home!” Matty lies on his bed and hugs Bjork.
