Page 136 of When the Smoke Clears

“I am,” he says with his back to me as he makes his way to the table.

“I think you should spend the rest of your shift in the kitchen,” Alexandria says when the line is gone. “That’s where we put the prodigies.”

“Oh. Do I get to help bake?”

“No, dear. There are dishes to be washed.” She blows her wiry black-and-silver hair away from her eyes.

“I see.” I smile. “I can do that.”

“Good to know,” she says with more sarcasm than I’m used to.

By the end of my shift, I’m hot, I’m sweaty, and most of my hair has fallen out of my ponytail. And as promised, Will is waiting for me.

“Is this by chance or by design?” I ask as he holds open the door for me.

“Everleigh, I live in Montana. This is most certainly by design. You wouldn’t return my calls or texts.” He walks beside me as I head toward my house.

“I’ve been busy learning a new job. I realize what you saw there probably looked easy, but it’s not. Did you see the register? It’s older than I am. And the four key sticks, so I’m constantly having to just do the math in my head, which is fine because I’m pretty good with math. But they don’t know that. I’ve made several suggestions, but Alexandria keeps saying, ‘If it ain’t broke, why would I fix it?’ However, I think that register is broken.”

“So, I met the woman who’s staying in your Airstream.”

“Yeah? She’s very nice. I told her it didn’t seem fair for me to get a two-bedroom house while she gets an Airstream. I should have finished the barndominium, but . . . the ocean called.”

“The ocean called, huh? Funny, I thought a new job called. Can I ask what happened to Baltimore and Johns Hopkins?”

“Nothing, to my knowledge. I think they’re both still there. So tell me about you. What have you been up to?” I ask as we turn the corner onto my street.

“I’ve been hiking, stargazing, and spending time in solitude. I took a break, and now I’m going to look for a job.”

“That’s nice. What sort of job are you looking for?”

“Everleigh, I’m a firefighter. That’s what I do. Like you’re a psychiatrist.”

“Life is about more than work, Will. You shouldn’t let your profession define you. One day you’ll resent it. I think humans are too complex to do one thing forever.”

“But I like what I do,” he says as I lead the way to the front door of the single-story turquoise house with white shutters and a small yard littered with bird feeders and whimsical metal sculptures.

“Then you’re one of the lucky ones, and that’s what you should do.” I open the door and slip off my white sneakers. “I like my new job. I don’t know if I’ll do it forever, but it’s a nice change of pace.”

He slips off his tennis shoes. “You run a broken register and wash dishes. No offense to everyone else who has that kind of job, but isn’t that an insult to your intelligence?”

I love all the little things he remembers about me. “Look at this fish tank. Isn’t it amazing? I hope I don’t kill her fish while I’m here.” When I glance back at Will, he’s still at the front door, but he’s not looking at the fish; he’s looking at me. “You’re extra handsome with that beard. It will be a shame when you go back to work and have to shave it.”

Will makes a poor attempt at smiling before he drops his chin. “Is Dr. Reichart available for some free advice? Or did she not make the trip to Key West?”

When he lifts his head, I fold my hands in front of me and grin. “How can I be of service?”

“I wasn’t with my father when he died. And I know I can’t change it, but I also can’t stop thinking about it, wondering what his last minutes were like. Did he die alone? Was he in pain?” He looks at my hands, and I ease my grip, just like I force my jaw to relax.

But I can’t do anything about my racing heart or the hunger I feel for oxygen. So I count to four on an inhale and eight on the exhale. It doesn’t help this suffocating sensation.

“The fish are cool,” he says, stepping closer and turning his body to face the tank. “Is it weird to have an aquarium this close to the ocean?” He grins at his own musing.

I have always loved Will’s smile. He’s the only man in my life who has made me feel . . . anything. When he glances at me, I look away.

“I wonder how Marie Curie would have felt about fish,” I say.

“Is this a segue into how I killed your bird and didn’t save your house?”