His Saab was parked in the driveway—he’d given Gerry his keys before getting into the ambulance. David Einstaff pointed at the open chair beside him on the porch. Without having eaten since breakfast, Damon felt famished. He managed a weak smile and sat. “Rough day?” David asked, glancing at the crutches. David poured his neighbor a tumbler of whiskey to match his own. The man always seemed to have an extra glass on the porch. “Painful but fruitful,” Damon said. “I’d rather not talk about it if you don’t mind.” “Not at all.” David clinked the two glasses together and handed the fresh one to Damon. “David, I know it hasn’t been too long since you and your wife divorced,” Damon said. “Not since it was finalized,” David corrected him. “But the marriage has been over for a while now.” “Would you have any interest in dating someone?” “Your mother?” David asked with a hint of hope. Damon wasn’t surprised at the question. “No,” he said. “It would be a blind date.”
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