owners would have had to take him to the state university for surgery. Wednesday included two spays and three castrations, plus six regular appointments every hour.
Griff called Arden on the drive home, explaining that he’d sleep in his own room at his parents’ house rather than disturb her. But he hadn’t made it past the couch in the den before collapsing, asleep before he hit the cushions.
Tonight, Friday, his sisters had abducted Arden for the evening, citing “girl stuff.” Griff hated to think what that might mean, other than he wouldn’t be able to spend the evening making love to his “fiancée.” Sex was the only way they could really communicate anymore.
And he hated to waste the whole night at home alone. He wasn’t in the mood for a bar or a restaurant filled with strangers, so he decided to check in at the country club. Not his usual hangout, but he would probably see somebody he knew to talk to.
Wearing the required jacket, though not the optional tie, he strolled into the club as if he spent every Friday night there.
“Good evening, Dr. Campbell.” The manager, who’d been there as long as Griff could remember, stepped out of his office to shake hands. “We’re glad you stopped by. Can I get you a table in the dining room?”
“Thanks, Harris. I thought I’d just eat in the lounge, if that’s okay.”
“Of course. I’ll send Thomas in to take your order.”
The General’s Den, as the lounge was called, had once been the bastion of the male members of the club, a center of social intercourse on evenings and weekends. There wasn’t much of a crowd these days, but Griff said hello to the three patrons present, all of them his dad’s age, then settled into a secluded corner seat with a view of the basketball game on TV, and a tall, cold beer.
As he ate, he gradually picked up on the unmistakable sounds of a party coming from down the hallway.
“Hey, Vince, what’s going on?” he asked, when the bartender brought a refill for his beer. “Sounds like a frat mixer.”
Vince rolled his eyes. “More or less the same thing. It’s a bachelor party for Al McPherson, in the club room. Open bar plus kegs of beer. We’ll be hauling them out in wheelbarrows.”
Griff didn’t comment. To himself—and to Arden, if the subject arose—he would admit that he missed his best friend and hated knowing that he couldn’t be Al’s best man. Not that they’d ever thought in those terms…until Griff and Zelda had gotten engaged.
But maybe Al was already in love with Zelda at that point, and hated the assumption that he would be the best man. When had things changed among the three of them? How, Griff wondered, had he missed the signs?
As he indulged in the club’s signature dessert—banana bread pudding—he watched a giant cardboard mock-up of a wedding cake roll past the door of the lounge, complete with lacy “icing” on the sides, plus a pair of dolls in wedding dress on top.
“The strippers,” Thomas said, taking away Griff’s empty plate. He was only about seventeen, still young enough to grin when he added, “Wish I could be in there when they jump out.”
“You’ll get your chance.” Griff made a mental note not to attend his own bachelor party, should there be one. There was only one woman in the world he wanted to see naked, and she didn’t jump out of cardboard cakes. Thank God.
Inevitably, Al’s party spilled out of the club room. Inebriated revelers, most of them friends or acquaintances of Griff’s, wandered into the lounge to watch the ball game and harass the bartender. The older patrons soon abandoned the scene, but Griff couldn’t resist remaining as an observer. None of the drunks had noticed him. As long as he kept his mouth shut, he wouldn’t get into trouble.
Then Al wove his way into the room. He patted a few backs, called for a double whiskey, neat, then turned around and fixed his bleary gaze on Griff’s face.
“You,” he said loudly. “What’re you doin’ here?”
Griff got slowly to his feet. He kept his voice down, as he did when he talked to Igor. “Leaving.”
But his old friend stepped in front of him. “Runnin’ away again?”
“My specialty.”
“No, your specialty is screwing up my life.”
“Don’t do this,” Griff begged. “Let it go.”
That wasn’t going to happen. Al had always brooded over his hurts, then exploded to release the pressure. “Do you know how long it took