Edward Adrift

Kylealone—and have begun the work of repairing what has been done. I have spoken with the administration at Kyle’s school, and to their credit, they are taking this issue seriously. I would destroy them if they didn’t.
    We’re eager to talk to you again very, very soon and to have you come out here and have the vacation we never managed to give you (I’m so sorry about that!). One of the keys to moving beyond this is finding a way to live normally again. We look forward to that.
    All our love,
    Donna
    I was wrong about the letter from the
Herald-Gleaner
. It can’t ruin my day. Kyle is getting the help he needs. Nothing can ruin my day now.

    I’ve returned from a post-dinner walk around my neighborhood when my phone rings. I pick up the receiver.
    “Hello?”
    “Hello, Edward.”
    It’s my mother.
    It’s funny—not ha-ha funny, but just funny—how a few hours and some good news can change things. I’m still angry that my mother intruded on my sovereignty and spoke poorly of my father, but I’m no longer angry at her. One tiny preposition is removed, and everything changes. I still intend to make sure she understands that she cannot do that to me again. I simply have no intention of being mean about it, and I was a bit mean earlier today.
    “Hi, Mother.”
    “I know you’re angry at me, but I’m hoping that you’ll come for dinner tomorrow. I didn’t expect to be in Billings for the holidays, but since I am, let’s try to make the best of it, OK?”
    “Yes. I understand.”
    “I want us to get back to where we were. I don’t want to be feuding.”
    “I don’t want that, either, Mother. We can talk about that when we see each other tomorrow.”
    “That sounds good. Good night.”
    “Good night, Mother.”

    I’ve made another important decision. My effort to renew routine in my life is going so well that I realize I’ve been missing my most important routine for far too long. It’s time for me to get back to watching
Dragnet
every night.
Adam-12
was fine, a perfectly worthy show, but it’s not the gold standard. If it were, I wouldn’t have gotten off-track with it. That’s clear now.
    As today is the 355th day of the year and there were ninety-eight color episodes of
Dragnet
, if I had been on my old routine all year, where I start with the very first episode on the very first day of the year and watch the episodes in order, one a day, I would be watching the sixty-first episode of the series, “Narcotics: DR 21.” This is the sixteenth episode of the third season and it originally aired on January 30, 1969. It is one of my favorites.
    I queue this episode up on my bitchin’ iPhone and settle into the couch to watch it.
    In this episode, Sergeant Joe Friday and Officer Bill Gannon are flummoxed because drug cartels are moving large amounts ofcontraband through the airport and the police are having trouble stopping it because they cannot develop probable cause. It’s an offhand comment from Officer Bill Gannon about not being a dog who’s able to sniff out the drugs that gives Sergeant Joe Friday an idea—the police department should train a dog to identify packages containing marijuana.
    This seems like a no-brainer, and I remember when I watched it for the first time wondering whether Sergeant Joe Friday and Officer Bill Gannon were idiots for not thinking of it earlier, but it turns out that training a dog to sniff out drugs is not easy. In fact, I get stressed out watching the episode for fear that the dog, Ginger, won’t be up to the task. This is silly, of course; I know how the episode goes. Ginger ends up joining the police force, and she’s so good at what she does that the drug cartels put a price on her head. Drug cartels are assweeds, and it’s a testament to Jack Webb’s filmmaking ability that I stress out every time I see this episode.
    But regardless of the stress, today has made this much clear: I’m on the right track. I’m on the right track. I’m on the right track.

TECHNICALLY THURSDAY, DECEMBER 22, 2011
    It’s 3:06 a.m.
    I am not on the right track.
    I did not give Sheila Renfro permission to be in my dreams. I guess she didn’t need permission, because there she was, in the nightgown she wore the night she slept in my bed, following me in the night through a wooded area. She would let me see her, but she would not look at me and would not respond when I called for her. For hours, we walked through the woods, a place I did not recognize. It