Page 117 of South of Nowhere

Annie Coyne swept them off the comforter with one hand and pulled Colter Shaw after her with the other.

Thursday,

June21

50.

Time Elapsed from Initial Collapse: 24 Hours

“If you were wondering,” she said.

Shaw was just floating out of sleep. The time, he noted, was 6 a.m.

Coyne, it seemed, was as wide awake as she had been before.

She had pulled up the gold chenille comforter, it just covering her breasts.

Shaw tugged it down.

Only an inch.

Made all the difference.

He kissed her once more. She kissed him back but it was of a different species. And he knew the moment last night—which had been about as perfect as moments like that could be—wouldn’t repeat itself. Not at this moment.

There was an agenda.

The “wondering” part.

He looked at her quizzically and opted for the comforter too. Nothing to do with modesty. The house was old and drafty.

She pointed to the corner of the room.

There sat two gym bags and a wheely suitcase. A man’s suit in adry-cleaning wrapper was draped over the bags. And two pairs of shoes—running and oxfords, in a man’s size.

“I wasn’t wondering. I am now.”

“Danny and I were together a year. He works in Fort Pleasant. Teaches environmental science. Not a thing in the world wrong with him. Not. A. Hair. So I didn’t have a damn reason in the world to sit him down, take both his hands and tell him it wasn’t working.”

“And his reaction?”

She thought for a moment. “Perplexed first. Then hurt. Then problem-solving. His solutions didn’t take.”

Obviously. Given where she and Shaw presently were.

“His last stage of grief was gallantly backing away. If I ever need a friend…that playbook.”

Shaw was thinking of Fiona Lavelle, whose personal life he had also come to learn about. This was not uncommon in his job. There’s a certain intimacy in the act of posting a reward: offerors’ guards come down and they confess to failings and limitations and mistakes.

And express—sometimes desperately—hopes.

Coyne rolled toward him. Her hand was on his chest and she twirled a bit of his hair. He liked it that each of her nails was a different color. Her toes too? That was one of the few parts of her physique that he had not paid any attention to last night.

She repeated, “Not a flaw about him. But you know my real love?”

“Dirt.”

“Acres and acres of dirt.” She kissed his shoulder. “With him I was facing a life of faculty dinners, small talk, movie dates, playing charades.” She squinted. “You don’t strike me as a charade player, Colter.”

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