"We didn't show you the upstairs because Howie is taking a nap in our bedroom," he continued.
Howie was about to become Father Abbott, a Catholic priest when a drunk in a half million dollar motor home broadsided him.
Howie doesn't remember any details of his prior life; family; studying for the priest hood, college... a blank slate and he can't find the chalk.
When Howie was released from the hospital, Rose took him in.
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.
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.
"Don't expect me to say grace," Howie quipped.
If Howie was stunned he didn't show it as he pulled off his toupee with a smile.
Howie asked, adding, "Did I sleep with you?"
Howie put his knuckles to the side of his head and closed his eyes.
While we played the first few turns, Howie described how indiscriminate elements of his memory remained.
The rest of us were spiraling toward bankruptcy when Howie turned to Martha.
"No problem," Howie said.
"I'm pleased you got along with Martha well enough "I feel sorry Howie, for getting stuck with the lab room, but in general he seems in good humor, considering his condition."
I'm sure neither Quinn nor Martha is surprised and Howie is probably asleep.
I told her Howie had a flashback but I didn't relate the rest of his whacky conversation.
A little later I heard Howie shuffling back downstairs.
Howie was nowhere in sight.
It's so nice not to listen to police sirens and taxies honking their horns but I'm afraid we might have woken Howie up earlier.
From the porch we could see the huddled figure of Howie Abbott sitting under a large red umbrella on the edge of the pier.
Howie, what in hell are you doing?
While the rest of us breathed a sigh of relief, Howie remained uncomfortable.
"No," Howie said quickly.
I savored it, but my concern for Howie remained.
You know, Howie, I've given some thought to your flying saucer analogy.
I'm worried about Howie but I don't know what to do.
I just hate to see Howie suffering; especially after all he's gone through.
Howie, who had remained silent, stepped forward.
Howie took a deep breath and began.
Howie shook his head.
Howie, I'm sorry if this vision was disturbing, but it's really interesting.
I'm sure Howie didn't snack on what I'm growing!
What happened to Howie was no ordinary dream, just as he said.
What does Howie have to do with ironing clothes and reaping hay?
Howie can have our bed.
Perhaps something that happened to Howie in there and his past is resurrecting these visions!
Howie nodded but said nothing.
Howie started to say something but changed his mind, interested to hear everyone's opinion.
Howie began to pace.
Howie, anything said here stays here.
I lay there several minutes after I awoke and thought about what Howie experienced.
"Oh, Howie," Martha said, "you don't have to go to that much trouble just to convince us."
We'd the decision up to Howie alone.
Howie turned to Betsy.
As Betsy and I climbed the stairs to the lab room, Howie laughed nervously.
Howie and I entered the room and closed the door.
Howie shot up to a sitting position.
The phone was in the kitchen and we gave Howie privacy.
The longer Howie spoke on the phone, the more I felt guilty that we were manipulating him into a parlor game at the expense of his privacy.