Waiting for him, now. Been watching for three nights. Guy’s first time, it seems. Gets up frequently at night. Drinks water. Won’t open fridge. Wo...’t look at garbage can. Shame. Nerves keep him up. Got a plan. Scare him. Waiting for him to get up, again. Have page from old anatomy book. Red marker dissecting colorfully diagrammed body. I’ll tape it to bedroom window while he’s gone. He’ll come back. Scream, likely. He feels like a screamer. He’ll run and check on the garbage can he never looks. “Where are we going, Julia?”Andrew's gentle voice brings me back and I feel my face redden from embarrassment for staring a bit too long. "We are going to the Porterhouse." Andrew smiles, saying nothing as I start the car and drive.While driving to the restaurant, Andrew places his hand on my knee and gently moves his hand in a circular motion.“Julia…”“Shhh…Andrew, we will talk at the restaurant.”Glancing out the corner of my eye, I can see Andrew has a slight look of disappointment and yet his. While this was going on, I got out my Epiphone 12 string and my Martin D-18. Billy got his Dobro and banjo out. Once we were tuned we serenaded the group. Chad Mitchell Trio songs were ok, Kingston Trio songs were well received and they all liked the Peter Paul and Mary songs we did when Lisa joined us. We had a sing along and Billy and I did a couple of Smothers Brothers routines. I did Pumas and John Henry. Billy liked to do the Nightingale song (chirp chirp!) It was great fun. We had the. “Sure as long as you brew the next pot, and put it in the aging jar,” I said. The aging jar was actually an iced tea pitcher with an ‘x’ on the outside. The ‘x’ was made of red duct tape. Like everything in my life the coffee ritual was complicated. I brewed the coffee one day, then poured the whole pot into the brewing pitcher. The brewing pitcher lid was self sealing. The thing let me have day old coffee first thing the next morning.“Sure, I remember how to do it,” she informed me. “You are.