There ya go ... Five hundred dollars.”“Can I get change?”“Sure. 20,40,60,80, 90, 95, and five ones.”We traded.“Where’s your betting slip...?”“Gonna try again?”“Voices in my head.”She laughed and handed me a selection ticket.I looked at the ceiling, “Now, what were those numbers again?”So ... I picked those ... gave the clerk two dollars and handed in the ticket.When I handed her the slip, I looked at the ceiling again and said, “You’re sure?”The clerk chuckled and ran the slip through. The ticket. All I could do was sit there, eating, looking at her and wondering when she was going to gently tell me she was giving up on me. At least I hoped it would be gentle. I couldn’t deal with an angry or spiteful Fiona right then.She kept looking at me, waiting for me to talk. I concluded she was trying to be kind, letting me put together a proper apology, but the words just wouldn’t come. I hated the thought of disappointing her, but I didn’t know how to start. Eventually even her patience ran out. More

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