Page 38 of Keeping It Professional

“Unless the surprise is, he collects human heads.”

Mom swatted me with a paint stirrer, still in the plastic. “Don’t say things like that.”

“Sorry. I won’t.”

“I guess you need that dark humor, with the job you do. But make sure you keep laughing, or you’re left with dark thoughts.”

I set down my roller and leaned over the tray, and pulled Mom into a careful one-armed hug. She stiffened at first, then hugged me back.

“What was that for?”

“For keeping me smiling, no matter what.”

Mom’s face lit up at that, and my heart soared. She’d worn that same smile like armor after Dad passed. Stayed upbeat for me through the absolute worst. But for a long time, her smiles had been hollow, none of that spark that could light up a room. It was good to see her happy for real.

We worked our way down the hall, then we painted the kitchen, and by the time we were done, it was dark. Mom ordered a pizza and I picked out a movie, just like we’d done on a hundred nights off. What would a night off look like with Miles? Would he want to watchCluelessfor the eight billionth time, or would he be up for something scary? Maybe he wouldn’t want to stay in at all. I knew he liked bowling — would we do that?

My pulse picked up, but only partly from nerves. What I felt was excitement. Anticipation. Everything was new for us, just like Mom said, and I couldn’t wait to see what came next.

CHAPTER 14

MILES

The top rule of our job, even beforenever skip a step, is the harder you wish for a nice, quiet shift, the more chaotic your day will be.

Sophie sealed our fate Thursday by saying the Q-word. You say “quiet” on the job, or anywhere near it, it doesn’t matter if you’re superstitious or not. You might notbelievein the dark power of “quiet,” but the second you say it, your shift is cursed. Every crazy bizarro call will come straight to you, every terrible pileup. Every out-of-town slog.

Sophie said the Q-word as we pulled out of the bay. “Quiet a sec while I check my voicemail.”

She never got to check her voicemail. Our radio went off at “quiet a sec,” and it didn’t stop for the rest of the day. We went out to four accidents one after another, three fender-benders and a great, fiery wreck. The wreck was a mess, made worse by the driver, a hulking drunk thrown clear on impact. He went for Sophie when she tried to help him, and it took both of us and two firemen to settle him down. She was still shaking when our nextcall came in, a slip-and-fall that was really a transfer, an elderly man needing help from his couch to his bed.

“My son said he’d come, but I think his phone died.”

Sophie glanced at the couch, with its dark urine stain. “How long has it been?”

“He said he’d be here last night. I’ve been texting, see? But there’s no checkmarks.”

We lifted the old man and got him cleaned up, and I checked through his phone for other contacts. I’d just reached his grandson when our next call came through, a dog bite that turned out to be human. Then a man scalded with hot-dog water. Then a suspected OD that turned out to be four aspirin. Sophie closed her eyes as I signed us off duty.

“Four aspirin,” she groaned. “Baby aspirin, even.” She yawned so wide her jaw cracked, and rubbed her eyes. “Man, I’m so tired, I could sleep on my feet.”

I bit back a surge of sharp disappointment. The right thing to do here would be to cancel our date. If I didn’t, she’d just have to back out herself, and then she’d feel bad, and this wasn’t her fault. Truth be told, I was exhausted myself. We’d try again Monday. I’d take her to brunch.

Sophie cracked one eye open. “So, where are we going?”

I grunted, surprised. “You still want to go out?”

“Well, yeah, I thought— Did you want to cancel?”

“No! I thought you would. You look so tired.”

“Yeah, because I’mstarving.” She cradled her belly. “I brought protein bars, but they’re still in my bag.”

I’d wanted to take Sophie out somewhere fancy, but by the time we’d finished the day’s paperwork, it was too late to go home and change. She was in jeans and I was in sweats, and we both smelled of smoke and gasoline. Sophie sniffed her hair, grimaced, and tied it back up.

“I don’t think they’ll let us in anywhere nice.”

“How about somewhere tacky, and the service is crap, but they serve goulash in giant bread bowls?”

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