It’s while he’s saying this that I see Tully not as Georgia’s jilted suitor, or the driver of my father’s MG, or even an oddball author of oddball books. No, I perceive him as his own man. I look away and remember how it was traveling with Tully these last few days, just the two of us, to Chicago. I remember that he has his own interests, his own passions. Perhaps even his own demons.
