Part 1

 

February 16, 2002

 

The mellow strains of Jim Croce radiated from Joanne’s phone, growing progressively louder as she hurried back from the stacks to silence it before the librarian could hunt her down and give her another lecture.

 

“Yes?” she whispered, ignoring the dirty looks from the students around her.

 

“Hi, it’s Jim.”

 

“Yeah, I know.  I’ve got you tagged on the ring.”

 

“Oh, yeah?  What’s my song?”

 

“What’s up?”

 

There was a pause while he digested her deliberate dodge.  “You’re not going to tell me what ring you put to my name?”

 

“Um ... no.”

 

“Fine,” he said with a chuckle.  “What are you doing?”

 

“Studying.  What else is new?”

 

“Shh!”

 

She resisted the urge to glare at the study group sitting across from her.  She worked just as hard as they did.  It wasn’t her fault she had friends who weren’t law students.

 

Instead, she slunk down in her chair a little, shielding herself behind the stack of reference books she had accumulated during the afternoon.  Pitching her voice a little lower, she asked, “What are you doing?”

 

“Brooding.”

 

She snorted softly.  “Sounds like you’re up to the usual, too.  You’re not moping about Valentine’s Day, are you?  It was two days ago.  Did you send Paige something?”

 

After the Bob-White Christmas party, Jim and Paige had gone out several more times while she and her family were in New York over the holidays.  Although separated by a continent they had continued a semi-casual relationship since then.

 

“I sent her flowers and no, I’m not brooding about Valentine’s Day.”

 

“Stupid holiday, anyway.  I hate all that sappy, pink Cupid crap.  Are you and Paige getting serious?”

 

“I don’t know.  I guess not.”

 

“Why?  She’s nice, she’s pretty, she’s smart, and she’s gaga for you.”

 

“She lives in San Diego,” Jim reminded her.

 

“Yeah, but not for long.”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

Jo saw the librarian coming out from behind her desk, her eagle eyes probably spotting the cell phone all the way across the library.  She scrambled out of her seat and left her study materials on the table, scooting between two bookshelves and zigzagging her way to the far corner of the library.  The layer of dust on the massive volumes of ancient Columbia Law Review told her students rarely ventured here.

 

Keeping her voice low to avoid discovery, she said, “You told me she graduates this spring and that her father has an office in Albany.  I’ll bet you twenty bucks she takes a job there.  Then she’ll be less than two hours away from you and you’ll start calling her when you need a shoulder to cry on.  I’ll be locked in this library 24/7 with Mrs. Prune Face and the future bastions of contract law until I graduate and when I get out, you’ll have found a new best non-Bob-White friend.  You’ll dump me, build her a McMansion somewhere between Albany and Indian Lake and raise a passel of kids with red hair and a natural gift for surfing, which will really suck for them living in the mountains.”

 

He was laughing now and that made her happy.  She wasn’t fond of Brooding Jim and she truly enjoyed trying to make him laugh and leave his troubles behind.

 

“I will never dump you as my best non-Bob-White friend,” he avowed.  “You know almost all my secrets and if I left you, I’d have to kill you.”

 

A smug smile started to cross her face but came to a sharp halt.  “Wait a minute!  What do you mean almost all your secrets?”

 

“I can’t tell you all my secrets, Counselor.  You can’t even remember the ones I do tell you.”

 

“That’s not true!  I know every inch of your dark, tortured mind and every secret you’ve ever—oh.”  She dropped any facade of feeling indignant.  “February 16th.  Your parents’ anniversary.  I’m sorry, I forgot.”

 

“It’s okay.  I don’t expect you to remember every date about my parents that brings out my brooding melancholia.”

 

She could tell he was teasing her so she countered with, “Like Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, birthdays, anniversaries, Flag Day, Martin Luther King Day, Columbus Day, Be Kind to All Woodland Creatures Day—”

 

“Hey, my dad was kind to all woodland creatures.”

 

“I’m sure he was.  Anyway, I’m sorry you’re feeling down.”

 

“I’m not really.  I just wanted to talk to you.  And, hey, you boosted my spirits right up.”

 

“Well, you know the rules for shaking the blues.  You have to tell me a story about your mom or your dad that will make you smile.  Preferably one you haven’t already told any of the Bob-Whites because I think you owe me a secret, Frayne.”

 

“Okay, here’s something I’ve never told anyone.”  He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, even though Jo was sure he was alone in his apartment or office.  “When I was a kid, my dad and I ... we’d often get involved in … marathon tournaments of ... War.”

 

“War?” Jo echoed skeptically.  “Like the card game?  Really?”

 

Jim chuckled.  “When you’re a little kid and you don’t know anything about strategy, you learn how to play Go Fish and Crazy Eights and War.  It started out as a way for Mom to get the boys out of her hair.  She’d go shopping or do some baking or sit down to read a book with some tea and scones, and Dad and I would play War.  Even as I got older and smarter we still enjoyed it.  It’s a game you don’t have to think about, so we could talk while we played.”

 

Jo smiled at the image of a young Jim Frayne, sitting cross-legged on the living room floor with his dad.  As mindless as War was, she could still picture his brow furrowed underneath his mop of red hair, taking the game seriously as he took nearly everything in life so seriously.

 

“The short version was splitting a deck of cards between us,” Jim went on.  “The long version was when we each had a deck of cards.  And the marathon version was when we each played with two decks of cards.”

 

Jo laughed in amazement.  “Two decks of cards each?  That game is pretty endless as it is.  I can’t imagine how long it would take with four decks!”

 

“Yeah, we’d play all weekend sometimes.  Mom would bring us sandwiches when we were totally engrossed.  Sometimes she’d have to remind my father that it was well past my bedtime.”

 

“That’s a good memory, though it isn’t much of a secret,” she said, pretending to sulk.

 

“That’s because I haven’t told you about the Frayne War Tournament Cup.”

 

“You don’t still have it?”

 

“No,” Jim admitted regretfully.  “But I remember it and it was quite tacky.”  He sighed.  “I loved that cup.”

 

“Maybe you can resurrect it when you and Malibu Barbie get married and have kids.”

 

She heard a snort that sounded vaguely annoyed, though he didn’t say anything.  She didn’t know why she had called Paige that.  Paige was nice, but Jo wasn’t sure she was the perfect girl for Jim and she wanted him to be completely happy, not merely content with life and love.

 

She rolled her eyes.  “Listen, Gloomy Gus, if I have to drive across the state to give you an ass-kicking because of a tin cup with some glitter and Scooby Doo stickers on it, I’m not gonna be happy!”

 

“Lucky for me—or maybe unlucky for me—I’m not in Indian Lake right now.  I’m in the city.”

 

“You are?  What for?”

 

“Dan and Trixie’s housewarming party is tomorrow.”

 

“Right, right,” she grumbled.  “I have to work.”

 

“Yeah, Trixie told me.  But if you promise not to damage my derriere, maybe we could do dinner tonight.  Have you eaten already?”

 

Jo’s stomach growled at the mention of food and she checked her watch.  “Crap!  It’s almost seven!  I’ve been here all freakin’ day!”

 

“Are you exaggerating again?”

 

“Hardly.  I had two classes this morning and I’ve been here in the library since noon.”

 

“Did you even have lunch?”

 

“I snuck in a bag of chips.  That was the first thing I got in trouble for today.  Note to self: Sneak in non-crunchy foods next time.  Cell phone use is also a big no-no.  I’m hiding out right now, hoping Mrs. Prune Face doesn’t catch me.”

 

“Well, maybe you’d better make your escape while you still can.”

 

“That sounds like a plan.  I’ll pick up dinner on my way if you’ll provide the beer.”

 

“I’m pretty sure the Wheeler fridge is stocked, Counselor.”

 

“Good, that means it won’t be the cheap stuff.  I’m going to swing by the dorm and change first.  I’ll see you in about forty minutes.”

 

***

 

Jim rang down to the lobby and asked the doorman to let Jo on through but to call him after she got on the elevator to let him know she was on the way up.

 

Jo had a way of making him mischievous, devious, and sometimes a little paranoid.  He wanted to know what his personalized ring tone was and he was determined to find out.

 

He peeked out the door of the apartment and watched the lights above the elevator as it ascended to the penthouse level.  Just as it reached his floor, he punched in Jo’s number and waited for the doors to open.

 

Jo came prancing out of the elevator, phone at her ear, and stuck her tongue out.  “Hah!” she shouted into the phone.  “I put it on vibrate!  I knew you were going to try that.”

 

He gave Jo a shrug that said, “It was worth a try” then laughed and shut his phone.  “Well, you brought pizza so I guess I can’t complain,” he teased, giving her a peck on the cheek as welcome and taking the box from her.

 

“That’s not all I brought.  I have a surprise for you,” Jo answered as he ushered her into the apartment.

 

“A good surprise or a bad surprise?”

 

Jo dropped her bag on the coffee table and dug into it without replying.  When she turned around, she had a deck of cards in each hand.  “Feel up to the long version of War?”

 

Jim laughed and shook his head.  “You really want to play War?”

 

“Sure I do.  I would’ve suggested the marathon version but I could only find two decks of cards and besides, I have to work tomorrow afternoon.”

 

“The long version still takes a while.”

 

“I brought my p.j.’s and toothbrush,” she answered.

 

“Because you wanted to play the long version of War?  Or because you wanted to stay the night and use the jetted tub in the master suite tomorrow morning?”

 

“You know me too well.”

 

She smiled winningly and he could only smile back.

 

“Yes, you can stay the night.”

 

“Great!  Let’s eat before the battle.”

 

“My dad and I used to eat and play at the same time,” Jim reminded her.

 

“These are my roommate’s precious euchre cards.  If I get any pizza grease on them, she’ll kill me.  Plus, I’m pretty sure I’m going to need a couple of beers to get me through a game of War.”

 

Jim gave her his disapproving big brother look, so she added, “Don’t tell me you never needed a few beers to get through it.”

 

“I was ten when my dad died.”

 

She blinked innocently.  “So, that would be no?”

 

***

 

It was just as much frivolous fun and comforting conversation as he remembered from his childhood.

 

After scarfing down most of a large pizza and six-pack of beer, Jim and Jo settled down on the living room floor to play War on the coffee table.  It was now just after one o’clock.  They had been playing for several hours and Jo was kicking his butt.  Instead of pointing out the obvious, he just carried on with their meandering conversation.

 

She told him about her classes, her fellow law students, and her part-time weekend job doing what she described as “scut work” for one of her professors.

 

He updated her on the school, their mutual friends in Indian Lake, and three new students that had started at Winthrop in January when the winter term had begun.

 

Two of the boys, Drew and Max, were brothers who had lost both of their parents within six months of each other.  Their guardians, an aunt and uncle who traveled extensively for their careers and wanted them to have some stability, had sent them to Winthrop.  The boys had each other to lean on and that had made their transition fairly smooth.

 

Jo flipped over a ten and took Jim’s six of spades.  “You ready to surrender?” she asked.

 

“It ain’t over ‘til it’s over,” Jim replied.

 

Jo snickered.  “You have, like, five cards left, Yogi.  Give it up.”

“No way.  I have thirteen cards left and I could still make a comeback.”

 

He flipped over a jack and Jo promptly trumped it with her king and said tartly, “Twelve cards left.  You said you had three new students.”

 

Jim chuckled to himself.  Jo’s abrupt turns in the conversation were sometimes hard to follow but always entertaining.  She kept him on his toes in more ways than one.  While he waited for her to gather her 92 cards and shuffle them, he said, “Yeah, Zach is the third boy.”

 

“What’s he like?”

 

“He’s thirteen.  His father died several years ago of cancer.  His mother died a few months ago, also of cancer.”

 

Jo didn’t comment but he noted that her movements became slower as she absorbed what he said.

 

“His mother had remarried,” he went on, knowing he was better off spilling it all rather than waiting for Jo to pry it out of him, “and his stepfather abused him—physically, emotionally ... and sexually.”

 

Keeping her expression even, she said simply, “Sounds a lot like you.”

 

Jim nodded and turned over a four.  Jo flipped the five of diamonds and swept both cards into her win pile.

 

“Except that Jonesy didn’t…?”

 

“No,” Jim affirmed.  “But abuse is abuse and Zach has had more than his share of it.  Throw losing both of his parents on top of it and he’s pretty messed up.  Hah!”

 

He had taken Jo’s eight of clubs with his nine of clubs.

 

“You’ve been thinking about him a lot?”

 

“Zach?  Of course.  He’s still trying to adjust.  I’m trying to assure him that I’m there if he needs to talk without making him feel too smothered or pitied.”

 

“I meant Jonesy.”

 

Jim flipped over a queen of diamonds without answering.  He saw Jo peek at her next card and scowl.  She flipped over a jack, slapping it irritably to the coffee table.  He didn’t comment but merely swept the cards into his pile and continued playing.

 

“Is he still in prison?” she prodded.

 

“Yeah.  He’s eligible for parole in two or three years, I think.”

 

“You think?  You’re not paying attention?”

 

“The parole board is required to call me when his review comes up.  I try not to think about him if I can avoid it.”  He turned over a nine of diamonds.

 

Jo turned over a nine of spades and shouted, “War!”

 

Jim grinned.  It didn’t matter that the game was mindless.  Jo had a competitive streak a mile wide and she especially enjoyed winning over him.

 

Dutifully, he laid out three cards face down on top of his nine.  He peeked at the fourth card, a ten.  He might take this round.  He raised his eyes slightly and saw Jo peeking, too.  She was grinning and his hopes sank a little.  A loss would cut his meager stack practically in half.

 

He was surprised when Jo turned over a three of diamonds.  He stared at it for a second before shifting his bewildered gaze to his ten.

 

“You won,” Jo grumbled.  “Take ’em.”

 

She shoved the loot toward him—five of her cards including a jack and a queen that were revealed when he turned over the cards that had been lying face down.

 

“What are you up to?” he asked, his voice laced with suspicion.

 

“Kicking your butt ... still.  Just because you won one ‘war’ doesn’t mean I’m not gonna hang you out to dry.”

 

“Joanne Cecilia Darnell, are you letting me win?”

 

Jo snorted loudly.  “Yeah.  Because that sounds like something I’d do.  How long have you known me, Frayne?”

 

He stared evenly at her but she refused to meet his eyes.  She reshuffled her cards and prompted him to play with a nod of her head.

 

But Jim didn’t play a card.  He continued staring at her, knowing she wouldn’t be able to tolerate the silence for long.

 

It took about six seconds.

“So I threw that round.  Didn’t your dad ever slip a few good cards your way?”

 

“No,” Jim replied firmly.

 

“Yeah, I forgot.  You Fraynes got honorableness out the ying-yang.”

 

He shook a finger at her and said sternly, “No cheating.”

 

“Fine, be a loser then.  Hah!”  She had taken his newly acquired queen with an ace of clubs.  “Maybe I wasn’t really cheating, anyway.  Maybe I just like playing cards with you and talking with you and wanted to keep the game going a little longer.”

 

“A little longer?  We’ve been playing for more than four hours!”

 

“We have?”

 

She was so genuinely surprised as she whipped her head around to look at the clock on the mantel that Jim had to laugh.

 

“Pretty intense game, huh?” he said, trying to sound serious even as he was still laughing at her.

 

“How many cards do you have left?”

 

He shuffled quickly through them.  “Nineteen. Told you I was making a comeback.  Do you want to quit?  You have to work tomorrow,” he reminded her.

 

“And you think that’ll make me forfeit when I have four times as many cards as you do?  The work I’m doing for Professor Sadler does not require me to actually be awake.  Lay your card.”

 

He flipped over a nine and she flipped over a jack.

 

“Eighteen cards.  Play.  Why did your mom ever marry Jonesy anyway?  Especially after your handsome, kind-to-all-woodland-creatures, never-cheats-at-cards father.”

 

Jim took her middling six with an equally mediocre seven.  “I told you.  My mother needed somebody to take care of her.  I was too young.  She was ... weak.”

 

“From all you’ve told me about your stepfather, I can’t imagine why he’d so willingly take on the care of a frail woman and her son whom he hated.”

 

Jim gave up an eight of spades and automatically reached for his beer bottle.  It had been emptied hours ago but his throat felt dry all of a sudden.  “He was after the Frayne fortune, plain and simple.  Can we not talk about him, please?  We’re having fun playing cards, remember?”

 

She nodded, flipped over an ace of hearts, and smirked at him.

 

He flipped over an ace, as well.  In unison, they both cried out, “War!” and grinned at each other.

 

This time, Jo took the round.  He was reduced to thirteen cards and had lost his only ace, as well as a jack and two tens.

 

Less than ten minutes later, he was down to two cards, a shaky nine and a pathetic four.

 

“Better start shining up that trophy, Frayne.”

 

“You remember there isn’t a trophy anymore, right?”

 

“We can make a new one.  Of course, it’ll have to be called the Darnell War Tournament Cup.”

 

“I’ve won hundreds of games of War,” Jim scoffed.  “You don’t get your name on the trophy with one lucky win.”

 

She took his four with an eight of diamonds and crushed his nine with the king of hearts.

 

“The winnah!” she shouted in triumph.  Pulling herself up off the floor, she winced as her cramped legs protested.  “Give me my damn trophy.” 

 

“Would you settle for a foot massage before bed?”

 

Her eyes brightened.  “Sounds divine!  I’m just going to go get into my p.j.’s, wash my face, and brush my teeth.”

 

“Okay, I’ll clean up here.”

 

Her apologetic expression was so contrived he almost laughed out loud.

 

“Oh, I was going to offer to do that but then...”

 

“You didn’t?” he finished with a wink.  “Go get changed.  I’ll clean up.”

 

“You’re such a gentleman, James,” she purred.  Tossing him one of her smiles that put the sun to shame, she grabbed her overnight bag and went to the bathroom to change.

 

As she disappeared down the hall, Jim’s smile slid off his face.  He sat on the couch and started sorting the cards into two decks, red and blue.

 

You’re such a gentleman, James.

 

Shoving the memory back into the recesses of his mind, he abandoned the cards and picked up the pizza box, the paper plates and napkins, and the two empty beer bottles and took them into the kitchen.

 

There were two pieces of pizza left.  He placed them on a clean paper plate and put them in the fridge.  Jo would probably pounce on them for breakfast.  He dropped the empty bottles into the recycle bin and dumped the plates and napkins into the garbage.

 

You’re such a gentleman, James.

 

Even after all these years, those pale blue eyes still haunted him.  She was the only one who had ever called him James, except in jest.  His mother hadn’t called him James even when she was mad.  James was his great-uncle.  He was just Jim.

 

Reluctantly, he closed his eyes and tried to picture her face.  The eyes were always there but he had to work to bring back her face.  He hadn’t seen her in almost thirteen years.  Where was she now?  Was she happy?  Was she still haunted by those memories?  Or was she yet another person in his life whose burden lay squarely on his shoulders?

 

Gritting his teeth, he grabbed the empty pizza box and tried stuffing it in the garbage can.  Too big.  He’d have to take it out to the trash chute.  He made his way to the front door, frowning as he cracked it open and heard voices.  Who was at the Lynch penthouse at two in the morning?

 

He peeked out and saw Simon Drake, leaning close to Diana Lynch by her penthouse door.  He had one hand against the wall, over her shoulder, his expression leering.

 

“There’s no doubt about that, Lady Di.  I would love to take you to bed.”

 

Lady Elizabeth and Gentleman James.  What a dashing couple you two make.

 

Jim snapped.

 

***

 

Joanne rinsed the toothpaste out of her mouth and pulled a hand towel off the rack by the sink.  It was late but she wasn’t ready to go to bed just yet.  It wasn’t only the promise of a foot massage, though Jim’s hands were masterful in that regard.  She just enjoyed talking to her best friend.

 

Patting the towel over her wet lips, she thought, Has it really been two years since New Year’s Eve here at the penthouse?

 

Self-conscious was never a word anybody would use to describe Joanne Darnell but she flushed at the memory of Jim’s lips bruising against hers, the feel of his hard body as he pressed her to him.

 

She hadn’t thought much about that brief moment of heat in the past two years.  Jim was her friend.  Nothing more.

 

And besides, she mused, a frown creasing her forehead, I’m still mad at him about it.

 

He had pushed her away after that fiery kiss, his passion all an act.  He was simply trying to teach her a lesson after he had discovered that she’d spent the evening in Simon Drake’s bed.

 

What right does he have to tell me who I can and can’t sleep with? she thought petulantly.

 

Neither of them had mentioned it or discussed it since that night, but from time to time a word or phrase in a conversation would tickle along the edges of that moment and one or both of them would hastily move in a different direction.

 

She didn’t have many friends and none she could trust like she trusted Jim.  She planned to stay far away from any topic that could damage that relationship.  While outsiders might look on their unlikely friendship and see a straight-laced humanitarian and a foul-mouthed narcissist, they fed off each other’s strengths and smoothed each other’s rough edges.  Jim unwound his tension and wasn’t afraid to let his guard down around her.  And what else could describe her efforts at keeping him out of the darkness but humanitarian?  She had a soft side and Jim knew how to bring it out of her.

 

Not that she didn’t find him just a little bit sexy.  Strong.  Rugged.  Unconventionally handsome.  Jo loved anything that was unconventional.

 

She stared hard at her reflection in the mirror.  “Friends,” she said out loud.  “Not friends with benefits.  He’d never sleep with you, anyway.  He’s not that kind of guy and you aren’t the kind of girl he’d fall for.”

 

She hung the towel back on the rack, hastily finger combed her shoulder-length locks, and went back to the living room.

 

As she came down the hallway, she heard a ruckus that sounded like it was coming from outside.  Seeing nobody in the living room and the front door wide open, she picked up her pace.

 

From the doorway, she had a clear view of the mayhem.  Diana Lynch was cringing by the door to her parents’ penthouse, her violet eyes brimming with tears.  Jim was scrabbling with Simon on the floor, two overgrown boys throwing punches like teenage hoodlums.

 

Jim was her best friend and Simon ... well, Simon was too pretty to get damaged in a fistfight.  She sprang into action.

 

“Stop it!  Stop it!  What’s the matter with you two?  This is a Manhattan penthouse not a Bronx schoolyard!”

 

She wasn’t sure what had possessed her to jump into the mix.  She realized too late that she wasn’t physically capable of tearing them apart.  She kicked at them with her bare feet, connecting briefly with Simon’s lower back.  He let out a grunt and she jumped back with a little yelp as he rolled over her toes.  Jim instinctively drew back at her cry of pain and she saw her opportunity.  Pushing her way in between them, she somehow managed to shove them apart.

 

Putting her hands on her hips, she glared at each of them in turn.  “What the hell is going on here?”

 

When they both started spewing angry accusations, she yelled, “Shut up!”  Pointing her finger at Simon, she said, “You first.  I suspect you’re the instigator.”

 

“Am not!  He hit me first!” Simon protested.

 

“I’m not your mommy!  I don’t care who hit who first or who looked at who first or who stole whose baseball glove!”

 

“I came out here and he was hitting on Diana,” Jim growled.

 

She whipped her head around to glare at him, the memory of New Year’s Eve still hot in her mind.  “Diana’s a big girl and I think she can take care of herself.  If she wants to screw Dr. Playboy that’s her business.”

 

“She and Tad—”

 

“Shut up!  Not everybody’s the saint you are, Frayne.”

 

“I’m not cheating on Tad,” Diana whimpered from near the door.  “Simon was just joking around.”

 

Jim snorted derisively but Joanne saw the anger in his emerald eyes dim a bit, replaced with a trace of remorse at the sight of his friend’s obvious distress.

 

“Jim, you should go back to the apartment,” she said, softening her voice to counter Jim’s fire.

 

He held her gaze for a moment.  She stared levelly at him, not backing down.

 

“I’m sorry, Diana,” he mumbled, shooting Simon a quick glare before going back to the penthouse.

 

Joanne started to tear into Simon but she quickly realized she was more worried about Jim and why he had overreacted so badly to Simon’s typical shenanigans.  She reminded Simon about the Belden solidarity and, giving a last warning glance to both him and Diana, she returned the Wheeler penthouse and shut the door behind her.

 

Keeping her voice low so their argument wouldn’t be heard in the hallway, she said, “That wasn’t your standard knight in shining armor behavior.  You may have a redheaded temper but you don’t act unprovoked.”

 

“I told you,” Jim offered without enthusiasm.  “He was hitting on Di.”

 

“Simon may be a pig but he’s not going to sleep with Diana.  She’s Hallie’s best friend.  Hell, he wouldn’t even kiss me New Year’s Eve without Hallie’s permission and that was, like, two years before they were dating!  He is totally hung up on her.”

 

“He told Diana he’d love to take her to bed.”

 

“I’m sure he would.  But that doesn’t mean he’s going to.  He was just flirting with her.”

 

Jim shrugged and moved away but as he raised a hand and raked it through his disheveled hair, Jo was shocked to see that it was trembling. 

 

“Jim?”

 

“What?” he mumbled.

 

“What’s going on?”

 

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