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I was still sitting with all of this when my phone buzzed on the table.

Adam. I smiled.

Adam: How's the paperwork going?

I stared at the message for a second. Then I laughed, out loud, alone in my kitchen.

Me: Terribly, I typed back. The spreadsheets are winning.

His reply came fast.

Adam: Need reinforcements?

Me: I need a miracle. Or possibly a new career.

Adam: Is there anything I can do?

I sat up straighter. Perfect.

Me: Can you play hooky tomorrow? At least for part of the day?

Adam: What did you have in mind?

Me: I need a treat after all the spreadsheets. I figured I would go up the mountain and pick-up some work from Judy and Janice and stay for a visit. You would love them, and you would love the scenery.

Adam: And I would love the company. What time would you pick me up?

Me: What time would be good for you?

Adam: I could drop James at daycare at seven o’clock. How about at seven thirty?

Me: Perfect. I’ll see you then.

Adam: Stop with the spreadsheets and get some sleep.

Me: Soon. Good Night, Adam.

Adam: Good Night, Zoe.

I set the phone down and looked at the spreadsheet. Then I found the problem. It had been staring me in the face the entire time. The weights were off. There was no way that a cashmere throw weighed six pounds to ship. Our scale needed to be recalibrated.

I closed the laptop.

I ate the rest of my cold pad thai standing over the sink, looking out at the dark backyard, thinking about three ridgelines and what it felt like to be brave.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Zoe drove the way she did everything else. Completely in command, no wasted motion, hands easy on the wheel of her Jeep while the mountain road climbed and curved ahead of us. She knew every turn before it came. She'd brake just early enough, taking the curve clean, and accelerating out of it without thinking about it. I watched her from the passenger seat and thought about how that was the thing people missed about competence. It didn't announce itself. It just worked.

"You've driven this road a few times," I said.

"Once or twice." The corner of her mouth curved. "Or about four hundred times."

The town had dropped away behind us. The trees pressed closer on both sides, the kind of old-growth canopy that turned morning light green and gold. Tennessee in early fall was not a subtle thing.

"Tell me about Judy and Janice."

She was quiet for a moment, the way she got when something mattered to her.