I’m at the kitchen table, eating breakfast, when Fisher walks in wearing his sheriff’s uniform after a long overnight shift.
“You okay, man?”
He nods. “Just beat.” He grabs a water. “I’m showering and going to bed.”
He disappears upstairs, and I continue scrolling through my phone and eating my eggs. I’m midway through seeing what my high school girlfriend, Reese, posted last night when my phone vibrates, and my grandma’s name flashes across the screen.
“Hey, Grandma,” I say.
“How’s my favorite grandson?” she asks, which means she needs a favor.
“Would no one else answer their phone?”
She laughs. “You’re my first choice, always.”
“What do you need?” I pick up my plate, rinse it, and put it in the dishwasher.
“Something is wrong with Dori’s Cadillac and it won’t start. We promised
