With frustration, he stammered, “Hi, I–I–I was just getting ready to call you. E–Everything okay? C–Can we meet to talk about it?”
His stuttering was so rough—he probably was shaking in his boots. He’d been busted flat out. Really, we had nothing more to talk about. My calling him was just a move to stack the deck, but it unfolded a winning hand. It was even better finding out they were still together. And even if she was not his wife, it was still a woman who answered.
I’ll say it again: “Been there, done that.”
Lying friends were the last thing I needed. I’d proved he wasn’t honest. It was difficult for him to adapt to the fact that the pussycat he once knew was a clawing, roaring tiger. Wilson tried every possible way to stay close to our lives. He tried to reconnect in some way or another, but it was a little late for
that. I really had to stand fast on this, vowing to end any relationship.
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