The Hunters

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It’s gonna be a long night.

Those were the words I spoke to Amanda just as Jack O’Donnell left us, heading back to wherever it was that he’d left months ago. The past few days had left me drained, cold, but seeing Jack was a shot of espresso after a long sleep. I felt strong, invigorated. Strange feelings, considering I was in the middle of trying to find out who killed my brother.

Amanda and I were packing up my apartment, getting ready to move in together at a new rental farther downtown. This old place held a lot of memories, but like Jack, perhaps it was time to start over. Come clean. At some point, even the good memories are overshadowed by the bad ones, and a fresh perspective can help you hang on to the ones you want to keep and forget the ones you don’t.

But as I told Amanda, it was going to be a long night, and memories didn’t wash away that quickly.

Once the final box was packed, and sealed with enough duct tape to strap it to a cruise missile, we hopped in a cab and followed the driver down to our new place on 87th Street. It was a nice neighborhood, populated by young families and young professionals-which meant plenty of parks and playgrounds, and a whole lot of dive bars. Amanda and I were somewhere in the middle of those two worlds: not ready to face the mortgage and two-point-five children yet, and not quite in the mood to wear baseball caps while spilling beer over ourselves because our team scored a touchdown. For us, the mating ritual seemed over. We preferred quiet conversation to boisterous applause. A cold bottle of beer in front of one television beat a watered-down draft in front of twelve.

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