I gulp the Tylenol and force down an egg or two, then fall immediately asleep on Marilee’s bed. I’m dimly aware of time passing, of clanging pans and slamming doors, and people laughing on the deck. When I finally open my eyes, the worst of the headache is gone. Nothing’s left but what Mama used to call that echo pain, a sort of low-level soreness, like something came in and stretched my head and now I’m just trying to settle it back to its previous size. I’d thrown a towel over the curtain at the window before I lay down, trying to keep the room as dark as possible, but the towel must have gradually slid out of place, because when I roll over and slowly open my eyes, a rectangle of light has broken through to the floor. It’s dim. Looks like I’ve slept most of the day away. My bladder is ready to burst, so I struggle to my feet and push open the door. The restaurant is empty, except for Marilee and Lucy that is. Both of them are at the same table, with Marilee sipping coffee.
