So he died, calling on Him who is lord of life and spirit to restore them to him again. —II Maccabees “I can’t make it on my own.” “I got you the glue,” Eric said, tossing it on the pull-out couch. “Oh wretched humanity!” I cried, perched on top of the covers, slightly fetal, leaning over Fish-tail Pie, its two broken tails resting on my thigh. “Man-made decisions will be the end of us all!” “You still got the runs?” “I surrender to God, Eric. Right here, you as my witness.” “Look, man, you did nothin’ wrong. We were protecting Lucy. Frank was dead when we got there.” The phone rang. Eric picked it up. “Yeah?” Eye movement. “Oh. Oh … hi … yeah, just a sec.” Eric covered the receiver with his right hand and groaned. “It’s Lucy,” he said. “Oh no. What does she want?” “You.” I took the receiver. “Hello?” “Can you come over?” “You’re home.” “I need you to come over.” “Really? Is everything—” “It’s Frank.”
