Edward Adrift

off. “I’m sorry,” she says. “Listen, I’m not really up for watching this show. I’m just going to go to sleep, OK?”
    I nod and leave it be, which is difficult.
    “Good night, Edward,” Sheila Renfro says as she pulls the hospital blanket over herself.
    “Good night, Sheila Renfro.”

TECHNICALLY SUNDAY, DECEMBER 18, 2011
    I wake up at 1:33 a.m., as if I’ve been jolted. Usually, it’s a dream that causes an abrupt wake-up like this, but I can’t recall any dream. If I was having one, the visions associated with it have left my head.
    But, in this case, I do not require a dream to be preoccupied. I’m worried about what my mother said to Sheila Renfro. I tried to get Sheila Renfro to talk about it as she was falling asleep, but she was having none of that conversation.
    She said, “Forget it, Edward. It’s not important. Just get some rest, OK? Big day tomorrow.”
    It is, indeed, a big day, and technically tomorrow is here. I’m leaving the hospital, first of all. Second of all, I’m going back to Cheyenne Wells to stay at Sheila Renfro’s motel while I recuperate (I love the word “recuperate”) for a few days. Sheila Renfro says she will feed me good food and make sure I exercise and even let me help her with some small repairs at the motel, or at least talk her through some repairs if my injuries don’t allow me to do them myself.
    I have to be honest about this: the idea that someone would find me useful for small jobs is making me excited about goingto Cheyenne Wells. After I was involuntarily separated from the
Billings Herald-Gleaner
, having something to do is what I missed most. Not the money. Not even hanging around with Scott Shamwell and listening to his creative cursing, which now I’ll have to curtail because Sheila Renfro does not like it. Once I was consigned (I love the word “consigned”) to my house after being involuntarily separated, I found that I had little interest in doing the household chores and repairs that filled my day before I had the job at the
Herald-Gleaner
. They no longer seemed important for a man who had been entrusted with painting parking lot lines and repairing inserter equipment and unplugging spray bars on the press. I suppose it’s haughty (I love the word “haughty”) of me to say that, but that’s how I felt.
    As long as I’m being honest, I have to carry it over—I’m excited about spending more time with Sheila Renfro. I do not make friends easily, and the ones I have moved away from me in this shitburger of a year. To be able to make a new friend as easily as I have with Sheila Renfro—and under such difficult circumstances—makes me happy. I’ve also noticed that she’s a lot like me in that she’s no-nonsense and doesn’t spend a lot of time talking around things. If something needs to be done, she does it. She doesn’t talk about doing it. I appreciate that.
    On the negative side, she does put more energy into conjecture and generalities than I am comfortable with. Take what she said about my mother as an example. I’m reasonably certain, from what I heard of their phone conversation, that my mother said something that upset Sheila Renfro. I don’t like that, but I cannot control what my mother says. Whatever my mother might have said, it’s no excuse for Sheila Renfro to extrapolate (I love the word “extrapolate”) that statement into a much broader assumption about my mother. Sheila Renfro said, “I bet she thinks allwomen are like that,” in reference to the Penny Lang character from
Adam-12
. I don’t know if Sheila Renfro was being serious about wanting to lay down a bet; if she was, she’s doubling down—that’s a gambling term—on assumption, and I think that’s a risky thing to do.
    I also think it’s odd that I’m suddenly being fought over by women in my life. That’s never happened before. By the time my mother found out about Donna Middleton (now Hays) a few years ago, we had already been through some tough situations, like dealing with her mean ex-boyfriend Mike and learning how to be friends with each other, and my mother was just happy I’d found someone who liked me. Now I’ve made another friend, and my mother isn’t so happy, apparently. That’s not consistent behavior, and I think my mother owes me an explanation. She might even owe Sheila Renfro an apology, although it would be wrong to assume anything at this point.
    I’ve decided what I am going to do. Tomorrow, I’m going to