Page 51 of Smoke and Roses

Rob is at the whiteboard by the watch desk. He has wiped off the duty roster, and in its place, in red marker, in letters about a foot high, it says EVERY INCH.

“Rob Wallace,” I say. “That’s your duty roster.”

“Was.” He caps the marker. “Now it’s a mission statement.”

“I’m getting it on a damn hat,” Bear says.

Devin joins in. “Heidi says he looked at Wade like a stain on the carpet.”

“I heard he picked him up by the collar,” Novak says. “Held him against the stamp machine.”

“He did not,” Cassia says. “Heidi swears he never laid a finger on him.”

“Holy shit,” Novak says. “That’s way scarier.”

Nate Folsom is coiling a line by the engine with Bruno on his boots. He doesn’t look up when he says, “That’s how you do it.”

Everybody turns and looks at him. Bruno thumps his tail twice, seconding it.

“Can I please ask all of you to never say it again?” I beg. “I brought enchiladas.”

“No, ma’am,” Novak says.

“Not a chance in hell,” Rob says cheerfully.

“Wallace,” Caleb says from his doorway, still looking at the ceiling. “Fix the roster.”

“Yes, Chief.” Rob erases every inch. Then he writes it again, tiny, in the bottom corner.

Travis comes out of the locker room drying his hair with a towel. He sees me, then every man in the bay grinning at him, and he stops.

“Novak,” he says.

“Yes, Ranger?”

Travis looks at him. “Your new name is Pinky,” he says.

Nobody moves. Then Novak holds up his left hand, with its missing two fingers, and looks at it, and sits down on the floor laughing.

“Oh, that’s good,” he wheezes. “That’s mean. That’s so good. Romeo’s got jokes.”

I set the pans down on the table and look at Travis. He’s trying hard not to smile.

“He started it,” Travis justifies.

I kiss him on the cheek and leave them to their antics.

He knocks on my back door at nine with the last of the leftover enchiladas on a paper plate.

“They saved you some,” he says. “Novak guarded it.”

“Novak ate the other half,” he adds.

I set the plate on the counter and don’t let go of his shirt. I’ve been thinking about it all afternoon, through two sympathy arrangements and a woman from Huntsville who wanted to talk about lilies for forty minutes.

“Nobody’s ever said that,” I tell him.

“Said what?”