The last week of school dragged on like an old dog walking down a long road. Brandon had half expected a visit from Frank, but was mostly glad when it didn’t happen. In the quiet nights he had lain in bed, listening to the sounds of the crickets and of the Aboriginal women down in the dry creek bed, shouting at each other over long distances, Brandon had had plenty of time to think.
With each night his anger and sense of betrayal had abated, though there were plenty of other feelings to replace them. Upon reflection, they hadn’t done anything really risky, and they’d only had s*x a couple of dozen times at the most. He also began to think more of Frank and less of himself. It can’t have been easy telling someone you had a fatal illness, and that you might possibly have passed it on to the
