Chapter 24: The Nuclear

The oak went down in the back bedroom on the first Saturday of September.

Burke laid most of it himself, on his knees, with a borrowed nail gun and a very serious face.

Greta handed him boards and critiqued his technique, and I sanded the last strip by hand because I wanted to.

When we were done, I stood in the doorway and walked the length of it in my socks.

Nothing creaked.

On Friday the twelfth we went to Dutch's.

It was Carly's real birthday.

I had thought for a week about whether I could walk in.

The bar looked exactly the same.

It had the sticky floor and the crooked dartboard.

The neon beer sign in the window still buzzed when it rained.

The bartender saw me and set down a glass.

"Macy," he said. "It's been a while."

"It has."

"I read about it." He said it quietly. "I'm sorry. Table in the back's open, if you want it."

It was the same table.

Greta slid into the booth first, in a new green sweater, and patted the bench beside her.

"Sit by the wall," she said. "You always sit with your back to the room, and it makes me crazy."

Burke sat across from me, and his knee found mine under the table.

He wore a clean shirt and no badge.

On Monday he would start in the cold case unit.

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