Chapter 8: Nolan's POV

Nolan's POV

Broderick called me at four in the afternoon, which was one in the morning for him.

He was drunk on the only beer the base sold.

I took it on the back step of my house in Point Loma with my boots off.

"She's going to file," he said. "Shelby says she's talking to a lawyer."

"Then she's talking to a lawyer."

"Nolan. Come on."

I waited.

I had known Broderick since we were eighteen, and I knew the silence he left before he asked for something.

"I need a message," he said. "One of your messages. Something to make her hold off until the board."

"No."

"Just a few lines. Tell her I've changed. Tell her I'm lying awake over it."

"Are you?"

"I'm going to be, if you write it."

He laughed at his own joke.

The sound used to make me laugh too.

"You could do it in ten minutes," he said. "You always could. She believes you."

"She believes you."

"She believes the guy in the letters," he said, almost kindly. "And that guy's real, isn't he? He lives in your head. You just lend him to me."

The line hissed.

Behind him someone was shouting about a football game.

"I'll think about it," I said, which was the coward's answer.

"Good man. Put it in an email. Send it before Sunday."

He hung up.

I sat on the step with the phone dead in my hand.

The ocean sounded far away, and my kitchen light made a yellow square on the grass.

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