Page 91 of Never Alone
The caption wasthe girl and the firefighter.
"It's everywhere," Sam said. "Channel 5 ran a thing this morning. They zoomed in on the ring."
"Of course they did."
Sam looked at me. He didn't grin. He waited.
"What?"
"They want you for the calendar."
"What calendar?"
"The firefighter one. The state one."
"Sam. I amnotdoing the firefighter calendar."
"That's what I told them."
"Then why are you telling me?"
"Because Davis is going to bring it up at lineup, and I wanted you to have yournolined up before he made it weird."
He didn't lie about that. Davis brought it up at the lineup. The crew got eight or nine minutes of it before we moved on to the run sheet. They had another twenty in the kitchen after, over coffee. By the time Martinez had drafted me into a hypothetical centerfold pose, I'd stopped responding.
I spent the rest of the morning hoping a barn would catch out off Highway 17 just so we'd have something to do. Nothing caught.
By two in the afternoon, I was thinking that if a call didn't drop in the next five minutes, I was going to call one in myself.
Nothing dropped. I didn't call one in myself.
I worked out in the station gym. I racked the weight twice. I went to bed in my bunk at ten-thirty without checking my phone. I woke at five-forty and was in my truck headed home by six.
Tessa's car was in the lot when I pulled in.
Tessa wasn't usually home before noon. She was at Mrs. Thompson's by sun-up. The only mornings she was home before noon were the mornings we had a meeting with Miranda.
I sat in the truck for a beat and ran the case calendar. I didn't think we had anything with Miranda this morning. I'd had my phone in my bunk for the last twenty-four hours.
I unlocked it. Nothing from Miranda. Nothing from Tessa.
I went up the stairs.
The smell hit me in the entry.
Butter. Citrus. Sugar. I had not smelled it in any kitchen I'd lived in since I was sixteen.
"Tessa?"
"In the kitchen!"
I closed the door behind me and walked toward her voice.
She was at the counter with her hair up and a dish towel over her shoulder, lining cookies up on a wire rack. She had a row of them already laid out and another tray's worth waiting for her on the stove. There was a wooden box open on the kitchen table. The one I'd put on the shelf in the living room when we'd moved in.
I had not opened it in eighteen years.
"Were we supposed to meet with Miranda?" I said.
