Edward Adrift

the curtain and made my way back across the room. I opened the door, and Sheila Renfro stood there in her nightgown.
    “I knew there was something about those two,” she said.
    “What happened?”
    She walked past me into the room. I closed the door.
    Sheila Renfro sat at the foot of my bed and invited me to sit down with her.
    “They were selling crank.”
    “What?”
    “Meth.”
    “Meth is bad. And illegal.”
    “Very, very bad. And totally illegal.”
    “Totally illegal” is redundant; something is illegal or it’s not, subject of course to the vagaries (I love the word “vagaries”) of the local ordinances. Meth is illegal everywhere.
    Sheila Renfro put her hand on her chest and fluttered it.
    “That’s a lot of excitement,” she said.
    I was flummoxed by that. I felt only fear, especially when the deputy sheriff was walking toward me with his gun.
    “Edward, I’m sorry, but I’m not going to be able to take you to Denver in the morning. I mean, I know you want to go, but the cops are going to be in and out of here tomorrow, and I really need to stay.”
    “It’s OK.”
    “I can ask around town, see if anybody’s going to Denver tomorrow. Maybe we can find you a ride.”
    “No, I want to ride with you. I can wait.”
    Sheila Renfro reached for my hand, and I let her have it.
    “I was hoping you would,” she said. “I know you have to go home eventually. But it would be nice to have a little more time.”
    “Yes.”
    Sheila Renfro looked down at the floor. Her left foot was thumping up and down.
    “Can I ask a favor?” she said.
    “Yes.”
    “Can I stay here with you tonight?”
    “I—”
    “No kissing or funny business,” she said. “I just don’t want to be alone.”
    Her eyes, normally fixed and unblinking, were looking around the room with uncertainty. She looked scared, not excited, and that made sense to me.
    “OK, Sheila Renfro.”

    She had no trouble falling asleep. We watched the late news, and then we subdivided the blankets so she would have hers and I would have mine. By 11:27 p.m., she was lightly snoring, a tendency I did not notice when she slept next to me at St. Joseph Hospital. I suppose I was preoccupied with my own problems then.
    At 12:14 a.m., she rolled toward me and set her arm across my lap, which was in her path because I continue to sleep—or try to, anyway—in a sitting position. She has violated our agreement to segregate (I love the word “segregate”) the bed, but I am not going to call a penalty. I’m going to let her sleep. One of us should.
    I keep looking down at her resting head. In my mind, I draw patterns by connecting the small freckles on her nose. I think about the R.E.M. song where Michael Stipe sings about secretly counting his lover’s eyelashes, and I wonder where Michael Stipemust have been sitting when he did that. I cannot count Sheila Renfro’s eyelashes from here.
    She stirs just a bit. I hold my breath. She falls back into slumber, and she grips me tighter across my hips.
    She looks peaceful.
    She is beautiful.

OFFICIALLY TUESDAY, DECEMBER 20, 2011
    From the logbook of Edward Stanton:
    Time I woke up today: 3:18 a.m. and then again at 8:37 a.m. Sheila Renfro was already up and gone, which did not surprise me. She has to wake up early to get this motel moving. I threw on yesterday’s clothes and hustled out to the lobby for breakfast. The deputy who walked toward me with a gun last night was there, eating a muffin.
    “How’s it going?” he said.
    “Fine. I’m sorry I left the room.”
    “No harm, no foul.” That’s a sports euphemism.
    High temperature for Monday, December 19, 2011, Day 353: 35 in Billings, a 15-degree drop from the high the day before. Might we finally be seeing some seasonable weather? Let’s see what the facts bear out.
    Low temperature for Monday, December 19, 2011: 18. That’s a 17-degree drop from the day before.
    Precipitation for Monday, December 19, 2011: 0.07 inches
    Precipitation for 2011: 19.48 inches
    New entries:
    Exercise for Monday, December 19, 2011: I took a long walk with Sheila Renfro during which she suggested that she struggles with an affliction similar to mine. She did not go into specifics, and I did not ask, because I don’t like people asking me what’s wrong with me. There’s nothing wrong with me, and there’s nothing wrong with Sheila Renfro.
    Miles driven Monday, December 19, 2011: None.
    Total miles driven: Holding steady at 1,844.9.
    Gas usage Monday,