Eighteen
Jamison
I’m close to Sedona’s apartment on Main Street with two bags from Hammer Time Hardware when my phone vibrates in my pocket. My phone doesn’t blow up like it once did, so it’s likely one of two people—Sedona or Merrick. My money is on Merrick since he left me a concerned voicemail yesterday. Concerned meaning he’s worried I’m off the wagon since he hasn’t heard from me.
Stopping at a bench, I place the bags down and answer his call. “Hey, man, I’m sorry. It’s been crazy here.”
“So you’re good?” His voice is calm and steady, even though I know he’s worried. The man’s Zen-like state amazes me.
“I am. Things are progressing.”
“Really?” He sounds in disbelief. Merrick doesn’t know Sedona and has his doubts about whether we could make this work. He didn’t know us as a coup
