After the wake, I crawled through town and opened it up on I-84. Free and clear to Harlequin. I was coming off a handful of pills my doctor prescribed. Little tabs designed to help me live through the service. “We see it more and more,” she said. “Male hearts do explode.” So of course I panicked when my pulse went haywire outside the chapel. I fisted the whole eight-day supply and choked it down with a bottle of Squirt. An hour later it occurred to me: Either the pills had performed as described or the gouged-out feeling inside me was real.