* * * * *

We were al upstairs in the second bedroom, known as Burgundy’s Room, (Burgundy Rose was Tod’s drag queen alter-ego) and we were al staring in disbelief at Annette. Her hair was teased out to three times its volume (compliments of Daisy) and she was wearing a blood red, hoop-skirted formal with black marabou feathers drifting about the bodice.

“This is phat. I’m like, Scarlet-fucking-O’Hara,” she announced, admiring herself in the mirrored closet door.

I looked to Jet. Jet was obviously struggling to keep her face noncommittal.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit much?” I asked.

“No… I… do… not,” Annette said. “It’s the shit.”

“I love it,” Daisy declared. “It’s you.”

It was so not Annette that somehow, in some weird way, it worked.

The doorbel rang.

I looked at my watch. It was five after nine.

“Shit!” I yel ed, jumping off the day bed. “That’s Hank.” I was wearing a day-glo yel ow, Lycra, strapless mini-dress. It wasn’t what I was going to wear to Daisy’s, that had been the first thing I tried on (picked out and then careful y packed in a garment bag by Stevie). The mini-dress was just one of the fifteen dresses I’d tried on for the hel of it.

“I have to get out of this dress,” I was in a dither.

“I’l get the door,” Stevie said.

Indy gave him a look. “I’l come with you.” I didn’t have time to worry about their look, it was nigh on time for Hank and my “conversation” and I was not ready for it.

I pul ed off the dress, hung it on a hanger, put my clothes back on, handed out hugs, blew air kisses, apologized to Tod for not helping with clean up and ran down the stairs.

Hank, Stevie and Indy were not in the living room or the kitchen. I grabbed my bag and opened the front door to check if they were outside.

They were standing halfway down the front walk. Stevie was carrying my garment bag. Indy’s arms were wrapped around her middle. Hank had one hand at his waist, the other at the back of his neck, rubbing there with his head tilted forward as he listened to Stevie saying something I couldn’t hear.

“What’s going on?” I asked, knowing exactly what was going on and walking to them.

Stevie’s back was to me. He stopped talking and turned.

“Nothing, girlie. Get home,” he said, leaning into me and he kissed my cheek.

I stared at him, not believing him for a second.

Indy gave me a hug. Stevie handed Hank the garment bag and Indy and Stevie walked into the house.

I looked to Hank. “What’s going on?” I asked.

His arm went around my shoulders. “Nothin’. Let’s go.” I planted my feet, stubborn to the last. “What did they say?” I asked.

Hank looked at me. I could see by the outside light that his eyes were soft but unsettled. “We’l talk in the 4Runner.”

“Hank.”

He pul ed me into his side. “Please Roxie, get in the car.

We’re standin’ exposed on the front walk.” I realized what he meant, nodded quickly and walked with him to the car. He opened the door for me and closed it when I got in, threw the garment bag in the backseat, rounded the hood and got in beside me.

We didn’t speak until we were on the road.

“Hank –” I started.

He cut in. “They told me you had a bad night. Just that.

They’re worried.”

I looked out the side window. “I didn’t have a bad night. I just had…” I struggled to find the word. Final y, I found it. “An episode. I’m fine.”

He didn’t say anything.

I turned to him. “I’m fine,” I repeated, maybe trying to convince myself.

He stopped at a stop sign, turned to me, lifted his hand and ran the backs of his fingers down my cheek.

Then, without a word, he looked toward the road again and we were off.

I was so stunned by his loving touch, feeling the sensation of something knit together that had been torn apart in me, that I didn’t say another word the rest of the way to Hank’s.

I was staring out the side window again, lost in thought, when I felt the air in the cab of the 4Runner go funny.

I looked to Hank and I knew something was wrong.

“What?” I asked.

He drove right by his house and I watched it slide by. The outside light was on as wel as the lights in the living room and kitchen.

“What?” I repeated.

“I didn’t leave any lights on,” he said. “Do you have Lee’s number programmed in your phone?” He leaned forward to pul his own out of his back pocket.

I felt fear glide down my spine.

“I don’t know,” I answered.

“Sweetheart, get out your phone. I’l tel you the number.” With trembling hands, I pul ed out my phone. As I started to flip it open, it rang. I jumped, the phone went flying in the air and I fumbled it, then caught it.

The display said, “Uncle Tex cal ing.”

“What the…” I started to say.

Uncle Tex, to my knowledge, never used the cel phone I bought him and his cel was the only number of his I had programmed in my phone.

I flipped it open. “Hel o?”

“Why’d you drive by? Saw you doin’ it, f**kin hel ,” Uncle Tex said.

I blinked in the dark cab. “Where are you?”

“Standin’ in Hank’s living room window. Jesus. What’re you, goin’ out for ice cream?”

I turned to Hank, he was driving and scrol ing through his phone book at the same time.

“Uncle Tex is in your living room. He saw us drive by,” I told Hank.

Hank glanced at me, flipped his phone shut, then, at the next crossroads, he swung a uey.

“We’re coming back,” I told Uncle Tex.

“See you in a minute,” then Uncle Tex disconnected.

“What’s Uncle Tex doing in your living room?” I asked Hank.

“Don’t know. I gave him a key when you moved in, just in case. He obviously used it.”

We skirted a block out of the way so Hank could park in front of his house. I got out of the SUV, met him on the sidewalk and we walked up together, Hank holding my hand.

He opened the door, dropped my hand, keeping me back at the door and went in first.

“Sweet Jesus,” I heard my mother say from somewhere inside the house.

Holy f**king cow.

I pushed in beside Hank.

Shamus came lurching toward us, in ful body wag, he head-butted Hank’s thighs.