"IT COULD HAVE been worse," Larry says as we enter the two-bedroom suite that will be ours for the next few days. We were quiet in the car because we didn't want the driver to overhear us.
"He hates me," I groan. Larry knows exactly who "he" is.
"He doesn't hate you. He's slightly shocked, I'll admit."
My laugh isn't humorous in the least. It's more like the squeal of a cat who's been stepped on. "Shocked?" I walk past the main room, toss my backpack on the floor of the first bedroom I come to, and fall back on the bed with my arms spread. "Look, I know what I'm getting myself into," I say as I look at the ceiling. "This is only the beginning." I cover my eyes in high dramatic fashion. "There will be denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Just like someone died." I peek through my fingers. "Add in testosterone-laden Neanderthals, vindictive assholes, and whiny mommy's boy temper tantrums and you'll understand what the next few weeks will be like."
