The phone buzzed again at three-fifteen.
It was Audrey.
"You sitting down?"
"I'm at the counter."
"Sit down."
"Audrey."
"Astrid. Sit."
I sat on the stool behind the counter.
"Talk to me."
"Caldwell's been working it. Telling the older folks at the diner that you're young, that you haven't run your own practicebefore. That your methods aren't what most of them grew up with."
"Well, he's not wrong."
"He's not wrong. He's just saying it. He's not saying anything you could sue him for. He's just saying it in every room he walks into."
"Who's switched?"
"Three of the families I know told me at the church coffee two weeks back that they were coming over to you. None of them has moved their charts. They're still on his books."
"How do you know that?"
"I've known his receptionist since high school."
"Audrey."
"I'm a good friend."
I let it sit. She let me.
"I love you."
"I love you, too."
"Eat the cinnamon bread."
"There's nobody here to eat it with."
"Eat it for me."
"I will."
"He's not winning, Astrid."
"I know." My throat closed once and opened.
"You're going to outlast him."
"I know."
She hung up.
