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“You okay?”
“Yeah.” He held out his hand, which I was quick to take. “I am. You know, I think we’ll be okay.”
I kissed his knuckles. “I think you will be too.”
“And you and me,” he added. “I think we’ll be okay too.”
“You bet your arse we will be.”
He snorted. “Can we drive past my office?”
“You sure?”
He nodded with a tired smile. “Yeah. I just wanna see it.”
“Okay.”
So I drove him to his office. The gate was open, Doreen’s bike was under the carport, and a utility van was parked alongside it. It looked like an electrician’s van, with ladders and gear on top.
Doreen came out and grinned when she saw it was us. Her shirt had a picture of a cat-shaped bottle with the wordspussy liquoron it. I got out of my car laughing. “Possibly my favourite shirt yet.”
She looked down at it. “It’s a ripper, ain’t it?” Then she looked at Jeremiah. “What are you doin’ here?”
“Just thought I’d call past. I’m not staying.” He nodded toward the van. “Work’s started, I see.”
“Early days. But yeah, he’s fixin’ something to do with the mains and a new transformer.” She shook her head and shrugged. “Needed a full upgrade for your new computers and shit.”
Jeremiah was obviously pleased to hear this. “Thank you for being here. I should be back at work soon.”
“Uh,” I objected. “The doc said two weeks.”
“Yes, two weeks until full-time work. He said nothing about calling in and checking on progress. It’s not like I can help them or do anything.”
“You just take it easy,” Doreen said. “I can come and open a gate for ’em. It’s not like I’m busy these days.”
“And I do appreciate that—”
“Are you arguin’ with me, son?”
He sighed. “No.”
She gave a victorious nod. “Good.”
I coughed to cover my laugh, and Jeremiah took his phone from his pocket. “I have a new number, if you should need to call me.”
“Lemme grab mine,” she said, disappearing back inside.
Phone numbers all sorted and a quick update on the street—Arty was still a stubborn old goat, and work had started on Casey and Presley’s house—it was time for Jeremiah to go home.
“I wish I wasn’t so tired,” he grumbled.
“I know, babe. But you’re doin’ better every day. We’ll get you situated on the couch and you can take it easy. I’ll make us an early dinner.” I helped him inside. “How does homemade pizzas sound? I got those pita bases and low-fat cheese.”
He snorted. “They sounded good until the low-fat cheese part.”
Ellis met us in the living room. He was just heading somewhere. “Is that dinner about tonight?”
“Yeah, homemade pizzas. Why?”
