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Halfway through the night, Terri put her hand on the small of my back.She smiled at me."My wife," she said. "I think I'll keep her."* * *A week later,...we were back at O'Malley's. More beer. More talk. Thedifference was that, this time, it was by birthday.You can imagine the attempts at humor. The gang toasted any femininecells in my body.Everyone is a comedian, aren't they? When the presents came out,everyone used the same joke. Glory bought me a nightgown. Linc got meearrings. Nick got me bras. Phelps told him he was experiencing familiar symptoms. He would be fine with time, rest and self-treatment.He took his meals in his suite. It was a sparse and sporadic diet. The truth was, Christopher Phelps was indeed sick. His sickness was rooted in the emotional, but it was extremely real. Saturday night and all day Sunday, he had experienced repeated episodes of severe shaking, continuing for upwards of a half-hour in duration, followed by hours of lassitude.He had awakened periodically. Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Mom would help me those days to pick up the girls and feed them and I took care of them the rest of the time. On Wednesdays, and every other week end, Mike would come for the girls. Mike remained living in the area. His bitch client moved here with him. Let’s get back to the important things. Back to Ellen. She and I, although we saw each other three times a week, had not developed a friendship outside of hellos and good byes. However, I admired her and her. Ms. Chen had wrangled a deal with an independent grocers association, getting access to their prices instead of what jobbers charged to outfit a bodega. They took it on faith, if it succeeded it would lead to more business, and if it failed they could shrug their shoulders and say they tried to help the community. I think they were shocked at the volume we did, rivaling some of their smaller full-service stores.We opened at eight every morning and closed at seven every night, and we were closed.
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