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Couldn’t sit still.

Did you eat?

Nothing comes back for two minutes, which is its own answer.

At noon I flip the sign on the door to BACK IN 30 and walk over to Marlene’s. She packs up two turkey clubs to go along with a quart of chicken noodle soup. Marlene tapes the lid on the soup and adds two of her cinnamon rolls I didn’t order.

“For the Ranger,” she says, and won’t let me pay for the rolls. “Betsy says he had a stomach thing.”

God, this town.

The bay doors at the station are rolled up, letting in the sun. Rob and Devin are out front washing Engine 1 with a radio playing Brooks & Dunn. Devin spots me first.

“Oh, hell yes,” he says. “Room service.”

Rob shuts off the hose. “Is that a Marlene’s bag and soup?”

“It’s not for you.”

“It’s never for me.” Rob puts a wet hand over his heart. Then he hollers over his shoulder. “Raines! Your florist’s here. She brought soup for your poor little stomach.”

“How’s his stomach?” Devin asks me, very serious. “Rob says it was a real bad stomach thing.”

“Terrible,” I say. “Soup is in order.”

Rob catches my eye over the hood. He knows I know. He gives me one small nod and goes back to hosing off the bumper, and I decide right then that his mother’s April roses are on the house from now on.

Travis comes out of the little office off the bay with a report form in his hand. There are shadows under his eyes, and his hair is standing up on one side like he’s been pushing his hand through it all morning.

He stops when he sees me.

“Hi,” I say. “You didn’t answer about lunch.”

Quietly, he replies, “I was going to eat.”

“When?”

He thinks about it. “Later.”

“That’s what I figured.” I hold up the bag and the soup. “Sit.”

He sits on the bench by the turnout racks. I sit down next to him, peel the tape off the soup and put the spoon in his hand, because I know a man who’s planning to forget his lunch on a desk.

“She’s feeding him,” Devin announces to the bay.

“Leave it, Mathews,” Rob says.

“Shit, I’m just saying. Nobody brings me soup.”

“Nobody likes you.”

“Cassia likes me.”

“Cassia puts up with you. Big difference.”

Travis eats the soup. All of it. Then half a club sandwich at a slower pace. Some color returns to his face. I keep my knee against his and keep my mouth shut about it.

“You left me a note,” I say quietly, once Devin is busy with the hose again.