"A tough minivan."
I laughed with everyone else.
The salt shaker was wrong.
Not dramatically wrong. Just... off. Maybe half an inch from where it should be. Too close to the pepper.
I moved the salt shaker. Centered it between the pepper and the sugar caddy.
Better.
Except now the pepper looked wrong. I adjusted it. Then the sugar caddy, which had been slightly askew.
"Pickle."
I looked up. Jake was watching me with his head tilted.
"Yeah?"
"What are you doing?"
"Nothing."
"You've moved the salt shaker four times."
"Three times. And it was crooked."
"It's a salt shaker. At a Thunder Bay bar." Jake's voice was gentle in a way that made my skin prickle. "Nobody cares if it's crooked."
"I care."
"Why?"
It was a tough question.
Across the table, Hog looked at me, and our gazes met. Steady. Knowing. He'd seen me do this before and understood exactly what it meant.
I grabbed my beer instead of answering Jake. Took a long drink.
"The salt shakers are conspiring," I said, forcing lightness into my voice. "I'm onto them. They're up to something."
"Salt shakers don't conspire," Evan said.
"That's what they want you to think."
Jake snorted. "You're insane," he said.
"Clinically unverified." I grinned at him and held the smile until my face ached.
The conversation moved on. Desrosiers resumed his fictional bar fight story. Jake started arguing with Evan about something on the jukebox.
I sat with my hands wrapped around my beer, not drinking or talking.
The salt shaker was perfectly centered now. The pepper was aligned, and the sugar caddy was straight.
It didn't help like usual.
Under the table, my knee started bouncing.
