Page 8 of Dozer

Fair point. Hunter watched me earn my bachelor’s and master’s degrees. He celebrated when I landed my first government position, listened and advised me through two terrible breakups and one regrettable attempt at online dating.

And the time I accidentally flooded my upstairs bathroom because I was trying to image a hard drive while running a bath. Multitasking, it turns out, has limits.

"Remember when Ryan convinced you that installing your own garbage disposal was a good idea?" Hunter asks.

I laugh. "Oh my God."

"You nearly electrocuted yourself."

"I absolutely did not."

"The breaker box disagrees."

"I was being innovative."

"You were watching YouTube."

"It was an educational video."

"It caught fire." In all fairness, it wasn’t because I was installing the garbage disposal. It was because I’d forgotten to turn the stove off when I drained the pasta and set a dishtowel on the still on electric stove. Now I have a gas stove and can see when it’s not turned off.

"The towel caught fire,” I correct.

"The cabinet caught fire."

"It was a very small fire,” I say with a laugh.

"There it is," he says.

"What?"

"You laughed."

"I do that occasionally."

"Not enough."

The words slip between us before either of us acknowledges them. Not enough. He isn't talking about today; he's talking about the last fifteen years. My life was divided into before and after. The after, being Ryan's death...

Laughter became something I stumbled into instead of something I expected. It’s not impossible, it’s just become... rarer. I still smile. I can even find joy. I just appreciate it differently now. It’s like feeling the sunshine on your face after weeks of rain or the first cup of coffee brewed exactly right, or hearing from someone who knew my brother when his laugh still echoed through team rooms and barracks.

Hunter has never stopped telling Ryan stories. Not because I ask that of him but because he understands something most people don't.

The dead only disappear when people stop saying their names.

Ryan still lives in memories because Hunter and I make sure of that. I’m sure the rest of the team does too, from time to time. But, for me and Hunter, it’s intentional.

"You still there?" he asks quietly.

"Yeah, I'm here."

"I wouldn't have called if I didn't think this job was right for you."

I believe him, completely. Hunter has earned my trust. He’s never lied to me and he’s never minced words. I glance around my townhouse at the colorful paintings, at the scattered coffee mugs and Dexter, sleeping on my mousepad.

I love this place. It's the first home that's ever truly belonged to me. But somewhere along the way... It's quietly become a place to hide. Freelance work means I can spend days inside without speaking to another human being, and at first it seemed comforting. Lately... it just feels small.

Maybe I've needed someone to remind me I'm built for bigger things.