The universe, operating through the specific and enthusiastic instrument of Gus Granger, had other ideas entirely.
Moose found me in the weight room mid-afternoon, where I’d retreated on the theory that physical exertion might help.
It was not helping.
He leaned in the doorway with his arms crossed. “Wrong door, Meatball.”
“I’m working out.”
“You’re sitting on a bench, staring at the wall.” He came in and dropped onto the bench across from me, and I heard footsteps behind him. Twitch appeared at his shoulder, and then Rico behind Twitch, the three of them arranging themselves with the comfort of men who spent too many shifts together and operated as a single organism when the occasion called for it. Powell materialized in the doorway a moment later, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed, which meant Cord had probably sent him.
“So,” Moose said. “Thinking about your wife?”
“I’m working out,” I said again.
“You’ve been staring at that wall for four minutes,” Twitch said. “I timed it from the hallway.”
“Why were you timing it from the hallway?”
“Because Paladin told us you had a look on the way back from Commerce Street, and we wanted to see if it was still there.” He tilted his head. “It’s still there.”
“What look?” I asked.
“The look,” Moose said, as if this were self-explanatory.
“Man whose brain went somewhere more interesting and forgot to come back,” Rico supplied helpfully. He leaned against the wall with his arms crossed and the grin of a man who’d won five hundred dollars on the strength of his judgment and felt his credibility was fully established. “Classic.”
“Going in the wrong door happens,” I said.
“Not to you,” Moose said. “In six years I have never once seen you go in the wrong door.”
“There’s a first time for everything.”
“The first time,” Twitch said, “happened to coincide with you moving in with your wife. Who you married. Who you’ve beenin love with since before any of us can remember.” He paused. “I’m not saying those things are connected. I’m just noting the timing.”
“They’re connected,” Rico said with conviction.
“They’re definitely connected,” Moose agreed.
“The wrong door,” Powell said from the doorway, “is the least of it. You want to know what Diego said on the way back?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “He said you looked like a guy composing a text message in your head the entire drive.”
“I wasn’t composing a text message.”
“What were you composing?”
I didn’t answer that because what had been scrolling through my head wasn’t fit for sharing with anyone but Ellie. In great detail. Preferably with hands-on demonstrations.
“He was thinking about his wife,” Moose announced to the room at large.
“We know, Moose,” Twitch said.
“I just think it bears repeating.”
“How many times are you going to repeat it?”
Moose considered this with genuine seriousness. “I’m not sure yet. At least a few more.”
“This is the most fun we’ve had since you backed the engine into the fence,” Twitch said to him.
