Tommy Gavin would have thought he'd have been relieved, but he was just plain lonely. He hadn't seen Jimmy since that night he was with Sheila.

Tommy was sitting on the couch, drinking MGD. The TV was on, but he wasn't watching it. He turned to look behind him abruptly as a noise came from his bedroom.

"Jim? Jimmy?"

But instead of his cousin with the disturbing severed finger, his daughter's poodle trotted down the stairs and jumped in his lap.

"What were you doing in there, huh, Asshole?"

The poodle arfed and dropped a piece of red cloth in Tommy's lap.

"What the hell...." It was a piece of his hockey jersey.

"You stupid little shit!" And he pushed the dog to the floor. It landed with a satisfying yelp.

Tommy tossed what was left of his shirt in the general direction of the garbage can.

He took a long swig of beer, downing the can.

His first thought when he realized Jimmy was gone was good riddance. But that thought didn't go far.

Tommy was lonely. Most people only have to lose someone once. But he had to loose Jim twice. It was like he'd died all over again.

On the TV, the news anchorman was talking about the fire, the one that had claimed Billy. Angrily he stabbed the power button with his thumb and let the remote drop on the couch.

The house was silent save for the tick of the mantle clock and the hum of the ceiling fan.

Tommy leaned his head back on the couch and crushed the empty beer can. Habitually, he expected Jimmy to be sitting across from him, or standing in front of the TV with his arms crossed, demanding to know why Tommy was drinking.

He wasn't.

Just that stupid mutt, wagging his ugly tail, and staring up at him pathetically.

"What are you lookin' at, Asshole. Huh?"

The poodle rolled over onto his back with an aruff.

Tommy rolled his eyes and pulled himself to his feet. "Jesus."

Without thinking, he picked up the phone... maybe he should call Sheila. So what if people thought was moving on the widows. Why not? Jimmy had been dead for 3 years. Wasn't it about time to move on?

Tommy shrugged and dialed her number.

Besides, he could use a little action to take his mind off of how much his life was starting to suck.

Tommy didn't get home until 3 am, but was up at seven anyway. He got in the truck, thinking about Sheila, and smiled.

She was a wildcat in bed.

That was Saturday night. Now it was Sunday morning.

He drove past Sheila's house, past the station, and parked in front of his destination. He buttoned the collar of his shirt and walked in, trying to keep a low profile.

Tommy slunk through the door and took a seat in the back of the room.

It had been years since he'd last attended a church service.

As he knelt to pray, he realized it wasn't God he needed to talk to, not yet.

Jimmy...Sheila is happy. She will always love you. But she's ready to move on now.

I won't hurt her, Jim. I promise.

Tommy would have stood again, but for the vague feeling of a hand on his shoulder.

It was Jimmy. In his head, Tommy heard Jim's voice.

"I know."

And he was gone. Again. But not on bad terms this time.

Still kneeling, Tommy let Jim go, and thanked God... for Jimmy resting, and for Jimmy being there, in life and afterward.

He thanked God for everything.