It wasn’t like we hadn’t planned it: It was the one thing that Conner and I had talked about since deciding to take this trip in the first place. Conner had me laughing so hard, I thought I would pee in my pants. It felt good. Finally, good. There were only a few other people in the pub; even the bartender sat down with us and had a beer. He wanted to talk about basketball, and assumed we did, too, since we were from California. He said he was a Lakers fan, but neither of us cared about basketball much at all. And he said, “That gent who bought the beer for you the other night, he did come back yesterday. I told him that you had his glasses, but he said they weren’t his. He said they belonged to you.” Conner looked at me. I just hoped he was so drunk that none of this would matter. I wasn’t really scared that Henry was looking for me. He had to be hurting so bad, wanting to return to Marbury, but he was dead there. Game over. And, sitting in the pub in that weak state, I couldn’t help but think about Ben and Griffin, even if I hated myself for it, too.
