“I’m aware. Sad thing, that fire.”
Reno was silent. Hank was silent.
“Got any plans after your knee heals?” Hank finally asked.
Reno sighed. “I know you and Dillon are dying to find out what I’m gonna do next, and I get it. You’re both unapologetic busybodies. But I don’t know what comes next, yet. So give it a rest, will you?”
“It’s older brother prerogative to be nosy,” Hank declared.
“Tell you what. When I figure out what I’m doing with my life, you’ll be the first to know. Until then, how about you don’t bring it up again?”
Hank scowled as he watched Reno stand up and test the knee and its wrapping. “You coming over this afternoon to help with the upstairs bathroom?”
“I’ll be here.”
“My last appointment will be over by three. I’ll get to work right after that.” Hank added, “Dinner’s on me.”
“So . . . cold pizza and warm beer?”
“You got it. The supper of champions.”
“And of free labor strong armed from your friends and family.”
“You’re walking on your knee more than you should,” Hank announced abruptly.
“How do you know that?”
“I’m a doctor. It’s my job to know.” A pause. “Also, I know you. And a more impatient man I’ve never met.”
“Hah! I’m the soul of patience when it suits me.”
“Yeah, well, we both know having a bum leg doesn’t suit you in the least.”
Hank was not wrong.
Hank continued, “Promise me you’ll go straight home and prop your knee up for a few hours.”
Reno huffed. “Fine. I promise.”
“Good. Now scram. My next patient’s waiting in the hall.”
Reno sat with his brothers at Hank’s kitchen table with a bunch of tile samples spread across it.
Hank picked up a plain white one. “Is this one boring enough for a judge?”
Reno replied, “Depends on why you need to bore the judge.”
“I’ve got a custody hearing in Bozeman in three weeks. I’m supposed to establish a stable lifestyle so Madison can come live with me.” Hank sounded frazzled, which was a rare thing for him.
Reno said kindly, “You’ve thought of everything. It’ll go fine.”
“I’m trying. Maybe I’m trying too hard.” Hank picked up another tile, this one beige. “Dillon, would a teen girl like it?”
Dillon examined the tile skeptically. “How would I know? I’m not a teen girl.”
“You’re about to have a daughter.”
“Doesn’t mean I know her taste in bathroom tile.”
