Every evening I turn my worries over to God. He's going to be up all night anyway. (Mary C. Crowley)

“Vince?”

“Tommy, listen man, it’s not what it looks like,” Vincent explained as he lay in Ricky’s bed with the woman he had so affectionately named “the enemy”.

Tommy put his hands up in the air and began to back away.

“Tommy,” Vincent repeated.

“What you do in my dead brother’s bed with my dead brother’s girlfriend is the kind of messed up shit that you can bring to a therapist. I’m not – I can’t deal with this.”

Tommy left. He got in Tony’s car and drove to Penny. By the time Tommy got back, the enemy was gone. She had permanently removed herself from the house. Vincent tried to explain but Tommy wouldn’t let him.

“I don’t want to know,” Tommy kept repeating. Eventually he said, “Whatever kind of messed up Freud shit you have to do to get over Ricky’s death is on you and that’s none of my business. Let go and let God – that’s what Penny tells me when I’m mad. She’s brilliant that one, like really [freakin’] smart, so I listen to her and that’s what I’m going to do now.”

Vincent sighed.

“Let go and let God,” Vincent repeated with a relieved smile. He chuckled. “You’re really going to marry someone who preaches to you like that?”

Tommy punched Vincent in the face. Vincent tackled him to the kitchen floor. When the others came in and broke it up Tommy had a cut bisecting his eyebrow and Vincent had swallowed a tooth.