I dreamt of you again last night. You come to me angry, usually, fitful and mean. But the last few nights, you’ve just sat watching me. From the corner of the room, up in the stands. That same look from under the umbrella. Were you just visiting as they opened up your body and wrapped it back together?

I should’ve known from the Nashville number calling that afternoon something awful had happened. I called back yesterday, but it never stopped ringing.