"You in the right place."
For the first time since he'd landed in Hawaii, Joe was lonely. Alison had given him something, and he missed it already. What was it? Her directness. It was how to be, a gift. He watched the young and the not so young prowl along the beach, bodies glistening with tanning oil. None were for him. Morgan was coming through for a night, he remembered. And Mo was due back soon. He could talk to them, anyway. He trudged home anesthetized, wished Batman a good sleep, and lowered himself onto his mattress.
The next day his poem was returned in the mail, rejected without comment. The day after that, he reached Mo on the phone.
"Hi, there."
"Oh. Hello, Joe."
"Welcome back. How was your trip?"
"Exhausting. Got some good shots of the boundary waters area, though.
And my parents' anniversary—what a scene."
"Alcohol consumed?"
"Lord! It was touching, really, my folks and their old friends toasting each other and their fallen comrades."
"Ah," Joe said.