“Let’s go to town,” Jo said. “Take me to eat dinner at the hotel.” I sucked in a breath and stared at her for a minute. Here she sat, her hair still wet although neatly braided, wearing an old Kiss sweatshirt, the one with the red mouth and tongue, red sweatpants, and ridiculous red pumps with black scuffs on the toes and heels. And she wanted me to take her to the Hotel Wyoming, where the rich tourists hung out. I smiled. Because it was possibly the greatest thing I’d ever heard. “Yeah, let’s go to the hotel. Grab your purse and I’ll find your coat.”
“I said you were beautiful. I slept in your bed!”
“I bought you love poetry! I love you as certain dark things are loved, secretly, between the shadow and the soul. I blink at him. Neruda. I starred the passage. God, he moans. Why didn t you open it?”