“Never be so sure of what you want that you wouldn’t take something better,” Adam says, slapping his hand on my shoulder. He rests it there. “Am I right or am I right?”
He’s eyeballing my new wife from across the room. I move out from under his grip. He doesn’t seem to notice. I don’t answer his question, but I understand it. What he’s really asking is how I managed to land a woman like that.
“Man,” he sighs. “You’re one lucky son of a bitch.”
He’s right about the latter.
The former, who’s to say? All of a sudden, I’ve gone from invisible, which I prefer, to a man with a secret. How’d he pull that off? That’s what Adam’s thinking. That’s what most men in here are thinking. What he’s saying is, what everyone is saying is, look at you, Tom. You took lemons, in this case a dead wife, and
