"I can stay?—"
"Matthew." He looked at me, tired in a way that went deeper than sleep. "Go to work. I need you to go to work."
So I went.
The station wasquiet when I walked in. I logged into the system, checked the patrol assignments. Route 12 today. Standard.
I grabbed my keys and headed out, stopping at the gas station on the edge of town for coffee. The good kind, not the station sludge.
The place was busy with the morning rush. I got in line behind two guys in work boots, one of them complaining about a delayed shipment.
"—gonna have to push the timeline. Can't do shit without the materials."
"Call Wright. He's always got extra stock."
"Wright's booked solid through next month."
"Damn. Everyone wants him."
"Saw him at the lumberyard yesterday. Had Dr. Whitaker with him."
"Elena?"
"Yeah."
A pause. "No shit."
"Looked cozy."
"Good for her. Heard the ex was a piece of work."
"Yeah, well." A shrug. "Onward and upward."
They shuffled forward. I stared at the back of their jackets and didn't move.
The clerk looked at me. "What can I get you?"
"Large coffee. Black."
She poured it, handed it over. I paid and walked out.
In the patrol car, I sat with the engine off, the coffee untouched in my hand.
A piece of work.
That's what I was to them. Just the guy who'd messed it up.
I started the engine and drove to Route 12.
The day passedthe way days did. A wellness check on River Road, a noise complaint on Maple Street, paperwork at the station. The coffee went cold on my desk.
When I got home, Dad was making spaghetti. Mom was at the table, cutting up vegetables for the salad. She looked up when I walked in.
"Hello," she said. Pleasant, no recognition.
"Hi, Mom."
She went back to the carrots.
