Page 102 of The Grumpy Defenseman
“For what it’s worth,” she said, “I am glad you chose home.”
I picked up the bag before she could and handed it to her.
“So am I.”
She took it. Our hands brushed.
The building hummed around us, awake now, full of doors opening and people arriving and the day beginning whether we were ready or not.
I was not certain.
But I had direction.
And when Sam walked beside me toward the hall, I did not slow down.
Evan
Two mornings later, I left San Antonio before the sun was up.
I was not up early out of obligation.
Because if I gave the day enough time to talk me out of it, it would.
The coffee maker worked in the dark. Ranger sat by the back door with his leash in his mouth, which was not a thing he usually did. He only did it when he had read something in my body that I had not said out loud.
Dogs worked like that.
He was not asking.
He was coming.
“Yeah, buddy,” I said. “You’re in.”
I poured coffee into a travel mug and fed him half a handful of kibble. I could not take him four hundred miles on an empty stomach, and he would refuse his real breakfast the second we turned the wrong direction anyway.
I checked the condo lights and grabbed my keys.
The photo on the counter was the last thing I saw before I left.
My father in his Zamboni uniform, the one with the patch on the shoulder. Me at five, stick held at the wrong angle, grinning at something behind the camera. I had walked past that frame every morning for nine years.
I picked it up. Looked at it properly for the first time in longer than I wanted to admit.
Then I put it back and walked out.
Ranger jumped into the passenger seat like he had been riding there all his life.
I typed one text into my phone before I put the truck in gear.
Me: Driving up today.
Lena’s reply came back in under a minute. She had been awake. She was always awake.
Lena: Take Ranger.
Lena: And tell Mom I said she still owes me that recipe.
I backed out of the driveway and turned north.
