Bud’s been a wreck since the band broke up. He sleeps all day and glares at his guitar all night. When I’m at work, he forgets to eat. He doesn’t forget to check his texts, though. He’s waiting for an apology from Denny. One that’ll never come. I try to distract Bud from his unmitigated misery by putting on the baseball game right after dinner, talking to him about hitters’ counts and launch angles, but it’s no use. He can’t focus on anything except the band. So I do what’s best for everybody: I call Denny and tell him Bud’s sorry.
By Lori Cramer