"But none of his past is familiar?"
"His mother, Martha's Aunt Rose says he's not the same person. It's been tough on her. Howie's father died while he was in the coma. Rose remarried; some guy named Ronnie that Martha thinks is an asshole. When Howie was released from the hospital, Rose took him in. He was like a boarder, or maybe the visiting brother-in-law you want to kick out but don't know how. Howie lived with them for a few months but they eased him into an apartment nearby. I get the hint this Ronnie and Howie don't dance to the same fiddle player."
"You say he's physically okay."
"In the sense he can function but the memory is probably gone for good. He physically lost a portion of the brain itself."
"How does he stay active? Is he going back to the priesthood?"
"The seminary released him at his request. It was either that or start from scratch but he's not even sure he's a catholic, much less committed to anything. He's thirty-six years old and starting life over; he's an empty box. "
"How does he support himself?"
"Insurance money and maybe the drunk had some money. Howie doesn't have to work but he still suffers from head trauma, is pretty depressed and frankly, doesn't know what to do with himself."
"Who wouldn't be disheartened? There's no chance some of the memory is still there?"
"From what I've learned his entire brain structure is distorted. The accident did a hell of a job and the long coma and operations further messed him up. His mother says there was a lot of experimental stuff done on him while he was out of it. No one ever thought he'd return to the living."
"It must drive him nuts not knowing."
"You'd think so and I guess he's curious about his past, but he's not as obsessed. His mother pushed him off on us because he stayed up here in New Hampshire because he stayed here a couple of summers growing and she thought visiting might jar something loose. I think she just wanted to get him off her back. He's a bit of a pain in the ass."
Quinn slapped me on the back as he looked up at the darkening sky. "There but for the grace of God,' and all that shit," he said. "Let's toss on the steaks and get some more beer before the rain starts."
Betsy was alone on the porch but as we approached, Martha opened the screen door, her arm around a frail looking man, about five-seven, who wore an off-center toupee and a fragile smile. He walked with a slight limp and looked older than thirty-six. I try to resurrect my first impression of Howard Abbott not colored by Quinn's negative appraisal. A single word comes to mind. He looked incredibly sad.