Page 159 of The Best Shot

Beside me at the bar, Grant shifted and set down his empty bottle.

“You should go see her.”

“Who?”

He gave me a look so pitying I regretted the question.

“It’s the middle of the season,” I said. “She’s working.”

“She’s got the R&R.” He stood. “Christchurch, right?”

I looked at him.

“Ava mentioned it.” He shrugged. “Said it was coming up.”

“And?”

“And you look like hell.”

He started toward the door.

“Same time next Monday?” I said.

Grant stopped. “What?”

“On the schedule? Nico’s Sunday. Carter’s Thursday. You’re Monday.”

He turned around slowly. “There’s no schedule.”

“Rotation a better word?”

His mouth twitched.

I thought so. “Ava’s doing, I assume?”

“You didn’t hear it from me.”

“Does knowing about it get me out of it?”

“No.”

I thought about the penguins, rotating through the dark. “Lucky me,” I said.

“Yes, you are.” He opened the door. “Go see your girl.”

Then he left me with the tab, the quiet, and his empty stool.

I sat with what he’d said longer than I wanted to.

I couldn’t go.

I had the shop. I had Harry. I had a whole life bolted down around me, every piece of it a reason to stay put.

All of them true.

I counted them off like they still added up.

They didn’t hold the way they used to.