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I ignore it for seven minutes, then I pick it up.

No calls or messages.

I open Instagram.

Callie has posted again.

What the fuck? Does this woman document her entire life?

I tap the Story. This time it’s a video.

Her face fills my screen. “Okay, I need opinions.”

I sit down to watch it.

“I have a client who can’t decide between two graphics, and Violet is being completely useless because she likes both.”

Callie turns the camera.

Two book graphics appear on her monitor.

I don't know what the fuck I'm looking at.

Fonts. Colors. Some half-naked guy that I immediately dislike.

Callie flips the camera back around. “So, help me out. Option one or option two?” A poll appears at the bottom.

I stare at it.

I have no opinion. None.

I tap option two.

The results appear. Sixty-two percent chose option two.

I have no idea why.

I set the phone facedown on the table.

Three more days, then I can get my truck and leave Vermont. Return to my usual routine.

My phone vibrates. I grab it immediately. It’s Bishop.

Disappointment hits before I can stop it.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

I answer. “Yeah.”

“You staying put?”

I glance around the cabin. “Where the fuck would I go?”

“With you, that's never an easy question.”

“I’m here.”

“How’s the wound?”