Page 20 of Chasing Smoke

Me

You’ve just been on a lucky streak.

Hollis

For a decade?

Whatever helps you sleep at night.

I roll my eyes and don’t respond, slipping the phone back into my coat pocket.

“You want a tray for these?” Dottie asks, sliding two to-go cups in front of me.

“Nah, I’m good. I’m just headed down the street.” I pick them both up.

“You give Collins my best.”

“Will do.” I walk toward the door and push it open with my back, calling to Dottie, “Why’d you leave Vegas again, Dottie?”

“Skipped jury duty and the sheriff issued a warrant for me.” She winks and smiles, and I turn to leave.

The snow crunches under my feet with every step down the sidewalk.

The Shoreline Studio is farther up Main Street, closer to the water. The streetlights still decorated with holiday greenery and red ribbons light my way, and I nod and smile at the few people I pass.

Growing up in Echo Lake means I know pretty much everyone in town. Something I have always enjoyed. If I take that Portland job, should I even be offered it, I won’t know anyone. But if I can work my way up the chain of command there faster than I could in Echo Lake, there’s a chance that I could come back here and fill a position ranked above Ramsey.

I spot Collins waiting outside the art gallery and pacing like someone who is contemplating how they can get out of this. She looks about seconds from bolting, but we’re here and doing it. I’m going to make tonight fun, get her remembering doing fun things, and remind her how much she used to like being around other people.

My stomach grumbles when I pass the Birdhouse Bakery, the scent of Deacon’s delicious confections filling the air.

“Hey,” I say.

Collins startles, whipping around at my voice. She raises a mitten-covered hand in a small wave. “Hey. Hi.”

“Let’s get out of the cold?” I nod toward the gallery door.

Collins hesitates, biting her lip. Yeah, she wants to tell me she can’t, but I’m going to try to persuade her the best I can.

“Oh no, I’m not letting you back out.” I hold the drink out for her. “I know you’re probably going to have wine tonight, but it didn’t feel right getting myself something and not having anything for you.”

She pulls her mitten off her one hand and takes the cup from me. “Thanks.” Then she pulls open the tab on the lid and brings it up to her nose. Her eyes flick to mine. “My favorite. How did you know?”

I shrug. “You practically have one affixed to your hand every winter.”

Her lips tip down. Not quite into a frown, but close.

“What’s wrong?”

She gives her head a shake. “Nothing. I was just thinking of how Caleb could never get my order right. He’d always forget the white chocolate and get me regular.” A sad sort of chuckle leaves her lips.

Silence follows in the wake of her invoking Caleb’s name. It’s always awkward whenever one of us brings him up. But that’s exactly why we’re doing this. So that she—and I’m realizing me—can move through this stage of grief.

So rather than say nothing, as I might have a few weeks ago, I say, “Caleb always had a shit memory. I remember his mom told him to go to the grocery store once when we were thirteen. He was supposed to get milk, ground beef, and pears. Instead, he came home with orange juice, chicken, and apples. His mom was so pissed and made us go back with a list.”

We laugh at the memory, and in order to keep the mood light, I pull the gallery door open, motioning for Collins to go first.

The two of us walk through the gallery on the main floor toward the stairs at the back. Collins leads us upstairs, and when we reach the top, I see that the second floor houses a workshop space.