“There was an accident, Dennis. A car was set on fire-someone was in it. He had your wallet on him. They thought you were dead-your mom thought you were dead. Remember?”

Mrs. Flaherty reached over and rubbed Dennis’s arm, as if making sure he was actually there and not six feet underground.

“My wallet, huh?”

It was like talking to the elderly-to Anna’s father, maybe. Someone who’s misplaced their mind.

“If you give me a minute, I’ll invite you in,” Mrs. Flaherty said.

She retreated into the trailer and I heard the clatter of things being moved from one place to another. Dennis remained in the doorway, staring down at me with a slightly puzzled expression. A man walked out of the next trailer, nodded in Dennis’s direction, then leaned against a garbage can and lit up a joint.

“You said you didn’t have your wallet in the hospital. Are you sure?”

“The hospital?”

“The VA hospital.”

“I let myself out, man.”

“They didn’t officially discharge you?”

“I let myself out.”

“Okay, Dennis.”

Mrs. Flaherty reappeared in the doorway. She’d changed into a skirt that looked twenty years too young for her.

“Come on in, Tom,” she said.

When I walked inside, I was immediately assaulted by the astringent smell of household cleaner-the cheap kind they use in hospitals. She’d attempted a quick makeover to impress me.

She needn’t have bothered. Ty Pennington wouldn’t have been able to do much with the place.

It looked like a FEMA shelter. Yellow water stains trailed down the walls. A relic of a fridge emitted a constant hum. The screen door meant to separate the kitchen from the bedrooms hung half off its metal track. There was a kitchen table of sorts, but its linoleum top had mostly disappeared.

“Sit down, Tom,” she said.

“That’s all right,” I said. It was unbearably hot-not even a fan to move the fetid air from one part of the trailer to another.

Dennis had remained pretty much where he was, simply turning his body so he could keep staring at me as if I were an alien who’d shown up for breakfast.

“Would you like something to eat?” Mrs. Flaherty asked me, as if she were thinking the same thing. “You must be hungry driving all that way.”

“No, thank you. I had something on the road.” I could still taste the rancid sweetness that even hours later stubbornly stuck to my tongue. I turned back to Dennis.

“Before you went into the hospital, you said, you were living on the streets. Which ones?”

“Dunno.”

“You must know what city you were in?”

“Ummm… Detroit. I think.”

“Detroit. Great. What part?”

“By the park.”

“What park?”

“The ballpark.”

“Comerica Park? Where the Tigers play?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Okay. How long were you there?”

“Dunno.”

“Well, was it a year? Two years? Three?”

“Not sure.”

“How’d you survive-how’d you eat?”

“At the Marriott.”

“You ate in a hotel?”

“Behind the Marriott. Where they threw out the garbage.”

Mrs. Flaherty put her hand to her mouth to keep something from coming out. She probably hadn’t asked Dennis what life was like on the streets-she wouldn’t have wanted to know about that.

“Okay, Dennis. Did you have your wallet there? In Detroit?”

“Think so. Time for my pill, Mom.”

“You already had your pill, Dennis.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, son. You did.”

“What’s he taking?” I asked her. “Lithium?”

She shrugged.

“Okay, Dennis. You think you had your wallet when you were in Detroit? When you were living by Comerica Park.”

Another blank stare.

“Let’s say you did.”

“Okay.”

“Where’d you go after Detroit? Take your time. Think about it.”

“Seattle, maybe. I think.”

“How long were you in Seattle?”

“It rained a lot.”

“Yeah. How long were you there, Dennis?”

“Dunno. It rained a lot.”

“Did you still have your wallet? In Seattle?”

“Yeah.”

“How do you know?”

“I showed it at the VA.”

“You remember that. You’re sure? You showed your wallet at the VA office in Seattle?”

“Mom, I need my pill.”

“No, Dennis. You had your pill. I gave you one this morning.”

“Okay.”

“Dennis,” I said. “Why did you show your wallet at the VA?”

“I showed them my VA card. I needed help.”

“So they put you in the hospital there? In Seattle?”

“Nope.”

“You went to a VA hospital, Dennis.”

“Yeah.”

“In Seattle.”

“Nope. I need my pill, Mom. It’s time for my pill.”

“Dennis, listen. Your mom says she gave you your pill already, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Where was the VA hospital, Dennis? The one you went into?”

“Dunno.”

“It wasn’t in Seattle? You went to the VA office in Seattle. That’s what you just told me. You needed help, isn’t that what you just said?”

“Yeah.”

“What happened?”

“The computers were down. It was raining.”

“They didn’t help you in Seattle?”

“Nope.”

“Okay. Where was the hospital, Dennis? We’re making progress here-we know you had your wallet in Seattle. You took it out and showed your VA card. You remember doing that. Where was the hospital? Where’d you go after Seattle?”

Dennis was slumping, swaying with his eyes half-closed, like a music lover lost in his favorite symphony.

“He needs to take a nap,” Mrs. Flaherty said. “It’s the pills.”

“Can you stay awake a little longer, Dennis?”

“I’m tired.”

“I know you’re tired. Maybe you can stay awake a few more minutes. I need to know the name of that hospital.”

“I’m tired. I’m taking a nap, Mom.”

“Okay, Dennis.” She brushed past me and took him by the arm, leading him into the recesses of the trailer as if he were blind. As if he were still two years old and she still told him bedtime stories in the middle of the afternoon. Maybe the whole thing wasn’t as sad as it looked. She’d been deserted, by death or divorce; her son had come back to her; and now she got to be a mother again. Maybe a better one than she’d been before.

“Maybe you should go,” Mrs. Flaherty said when she reappeared.

“How long does he usually nap for?” I asked.

“All those questions tired him out. He’s not used to that. I think you should go. Okay?”

“I need him to tell me what hospital he broke out of. Maybe I’ll wait till he wakes up.”

“What difference does it make? Who cares what hospital?”

She sat down at the kitchen table. She looked out the screened-in window, which was letting in the pungent smell of homegrown weed.

“Would you like some coffee?” she asked. “It’s instant-but it’s okay.”

WHEN DENNIS WOKE UP, WE TOOK A WALK AROUND THE TRAILER PARK.

It was murderously hot inside the trailer and only a little less brutal outside. The air felt like a wet towel.

Dennis said he’d been in Desert Storm and that the petrochemicals in the air had poisoned him.

“Saddam’s killed me, man.”

“Did they check you out for that?”

“Huh?”

“For chemical poisoning?”

“Don’t think so. They have no clue.”

Dennis seemed a little more coherent after his nap. Mrs. Flaherty said he had moments like this, where lucidity flooded back and Dennis seemed more or less like his old self.

“Can we talk about the hospital, Dennis?”

“I don’t know.”

“I think you lost your wallet there. Somebody stole it, maybe.”

“Could be. That marine fucker, maybe.”

“Who was that?”

“He was nuts,” Dennis said, as if he himself were perfectly sane. “Those marines are fucking crazy.”

“Why do you think it was him?”

“I don’t know. His wife went commando on him. When he was overseas, man. Eighty-sixed his kids.”

“She killed his children?”

“That’s right. Buried them somewhere along Route 80. Then shot herself in the fucking head. He went AWOL looking for their bodies for like a year. Couldn’t find them.”