Er SORRY, EVELYN,” DON SAID when he sat down. I had already ordered an iced tea and eaten half of a sour pickle. I thought he was apologizing for being late. “It’s only five past one,” I said. “It’s fine.” “No,” he said, shaking his head. He looked pale but also a bit thinner than some of his recent photos. The years we had been apart had not been good to Don. His face had bloated, and his waistline had widened. But he was still heads and tails more handsome than anyone else in the place. Don was the sort of man who was always going to be handsome, no matter what happened to him. His good looks were just that loyal. “I’m sorry,” he said. The emphasis, the meaningfulness of it, hit me. It caught me off guard. The waitress came by and asked for his drink order. He didn’t order a martini or a beer. He ordered a Coca-Cola. When she left, I found myself unsure what to say to him. “I’m sober,” he said. “Have been for two hundred and fifty-six days.” “That many, huh?” I said as I took a sip of my iced tea. “I was a drunk, Evelyn. I know that now.” “You were also a cheater and a pig,” I said. Don nodded. “I know that, too. And I’m deeply sorry.” I had flown all the way here to see if I could do a movie with him. I had not come to be apologized to. The thought had never occurred to me. I merely assumed I would use him this time the way I used him back then; his name near mine would get people talking. But this repentant man in front of me was surprising and overwhelming. “What am I supposed to do with that?” I asked him. “That you’re sorry? What is that supposed to mean to me?” The waitress came and took our orders. “A Reuben, please,” I said, handing her the menu. If I was going to have a real conversation about this, I needed a hearty meal. “Tll have the same,” Don said.