“Dusty,” I said as we walked toward his car, hand in hand. “What’s up, angel?” he asked, and I pulled him to me, careful to avoid the cling wrap and gauze on his neck. When I looked up at him, I felt resolute. “I want to go with you,” I said. “Where? Are you hungry? Do you want to go get something to eat?” “No, Dusty. I want to go with you to Montana. Next week. Take me with you.”
