Page 31 of Night Shift

Then she smiles.

The universe rights itself.

“Good morning.”

“You are seven minutes early.”

“Couldn’t sleep.” She drops her bag behind the counter and glances toward the windows. “The sky was weird this morning. Pink forever. Did you see it?”

“I was there.”

She pauses, then smiles again. “I love that you say things like that.”

“They are always true.”

“That’s why I love it.”

She begins moving around the kitchen, checking the schedule and gathering cups while I watch her. When she is near me, I find it difficult to remember anything Petra said. I remember instead the taste of chocolate on Calliope’s mouth and the warmth of her fingers in my hair.

“Petra texted me seventeen times this morning,” she says.

I become attentive again.

“Apparently sunrise yoga nearly became sunrise physical therapy. She says her left hip is filing for divorce.”

“She spoke to me.”

Calliope laughs. “Oh, no.”

“She was displeased.”

“I bet.”

“She threatened me with consequences.”

“That means she likes you.”

I consider this. “Your town has unusual methods of demonstrating affection.”

“You have no idea.”

She reaches for a mug, and I know I should leave the subject there. The delay has ended, Dawn has risen, and forty-three minutes have already been absorbed into the vast accumulation of history.

Instead, I say, “It was my fault.”

Calliope’s hand stops.

“What was?”

“The delayed sunrise.”

She laughs, but when I do not, the sound fades.

“Wait. You’re serious?”

“Yes.”

“You delayed the sun?”