“Not the tussle over their meeting space, the yarn bombs. It started with the C.O.C.K.s making beautiful little bracelets for their members and allies.”
“Allies.”
“Once the K.I.N.K.s saw what was happening, they began recruiting their own allies with knitted bracelets.”
Okay, yes. I’d seen those on a couple of people in town. “They’re asking people to fly their colors?”
“Show their support.”
“Right. That’s so much different.”
“Out of bracelets came door handle wraps, bike stand cozies, and tree sweaters.”
“I saw the lamppost flower. It was cool.”
“Yes!” Three of the knitters said in unison. They high-fived each other, then went back to furiously working yarn between needles.
“Yes. It is lovely, but required an extension ladder under the cover of darkness. I’d like to establish some safety measures. Perhaps borrow a few of the city workers to help install the art?”
“I thought you called them bombs.”
She rolled her eyes. “I didn’t make up that term, Delaney. It’s an international phenomenon and it’s time Ordinary staked its claim and become a part of it.”
“It sounds like you’ve got everything in place to go ahead with this. You know the forms you need to fill out and file. I’ll tell my officers not to drag anyone in on graffiti charges if they catch them in the act of installation.”
“Good. Then at the end of the summer season, let’s say Labor Day, we’ll have a nice little ribbon ceremony for the most original, a few other categories, and maybe give a walking tour to anyone who wants to see the creations in a sort of art on the lane.”
“You sure you’re not jumping in on this a little late? This stuff usually takes months to plan.”
“In this case, I think striking while the iron is hot is more the way to go.”
Several of the crocheters were done packing their gear and were making their way toward the exits. Bertie kept an eye on Chester, following the Macy sister’s slow but steady shuffle.
“There are a details I need to sort. Delaney, don’t wait for me. I’ll catch a ride from someone here.”
“Are you sure?”
She gave me an arch look. “Why don’t you get a cup of coffee before you go patch things up with Ryder?”
I blinked. Not because she’d guessed that I was thinking I should find Ryder and make sure he wasn’t angry, but because I wasn’t. That thought hadn’t even crossed my mind. And it should have. I should have felt worried and maybe even miserable about him storming away from the station.
About me telling him to leave. That I needed time and some space and he was angry about it. Probably justly so. Was I making a huge mistake pulling away from him? It seemed like the right thing to do. I didn’t want him hurt, and there were too many things in my life that weren’t under my control that could hurt him.
This was the smart thing to do. For both of us. Because I cared about him. So it made sense to step back, make sure the choices I made didn’t negatively impact, or worse, actively harm him.
For a second I was absolutely frozen with the terrifying notion that this would be my life. I’d drift through it, nothing making me happy, or sad, or excited, or terrified. That I’d live every day with a sort of blank, steady progression from logical thought to expected action, to logical thought, over and over again.
I couldn’t just drift like that, a tourist in my own life. Not for long. It would drive me crazy. It would tear me up inside, even if I couldn’t actively feel it. And then what would happen? Would the next logical step be that my life was pointless? My life wasn’t worth living? Would I just give up my badge, walk away? Would I even have the strength to end my life if I was living it while dead?
Did I just seriously just map my remaining days out to the inevitable conclusion of suicide? And was that the only thing I had to look forward to?
I couldn’t be overreacting, since I didn’t even have the emotional energy to fuel a panic attack.
Although this felt like a panic attack, minus the panic.
“Breathe.” Bathin held out a cup of coffee. “One, two, three. Exhale.”
I stared at him. “What?”
