“Dr. Fuller?” “Yuh-huh?” “I can’t…I dunno what I’m s’posed to say here.” The caller paused, his voice gravelly with misery and dirt. “She asked me to call you soon as… She wanted you to come to El Paso.” “She who?” “Chrissy.” That was the word last night that brought me instantly awake. I sat up in bed, waving at Fern to go back to sleep. The connection wasn’t great, and I had no idea who this man was or why he was calling me at 3:16 in the morning, but he sure as hell knew the magic name. Chrissy. I hadn’t heard from her in probably ten years, save for two or three postcards featuring jackalopes and cacti with sunglasses. Regardless, when the man called, I jumped, leaving my disapproving wife, my three confused daughters, and my struggling medical practice while I galloped madly across Lone Star country to my childhood soulmate. The state of Texas, from the Panhandle to Corpus Christi, from the Rio Grande to Texarkhana, has given birth to so many singular breeds of men it’s a w...
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