Page 75 of Scatter the Bones

He nods to Remy, then strides over and offers a quick handshake. His other hand is clutching what looks like a breakfast sandwich wrapped in foil. “I got it from here.”

I give Jake a quick clap on the shoulder, say goodbye to Remy, collect my stuff and head out the front door. Outside, I stand on the sidewalk and breathe in the morning. Exhaust fumes, and fryer grease from the diner two blocks down drift in the breeze. The strip of stores lining each side of the street looks like something from an antique postcard. Swear it feels like a scene straight out of the 1950s. Two- and three-story brickbuildings with wide, plate glass windows house a mix of different shops and businesses. Almost looks frozen in time.

Next to Sully’s gym, there’s a florist. I should really get Margot something since I bounced so early this morning. I glance at my phone. I probably have time to run back to her place and still make it to church on time. Flowers would get trashed on the way there, though.

She doesn’t like flowers.Shit. How’d I forget? She deals with flowers all the time for work. They represent death more than romance to her.

I glance across the street.Steep Dreams. A colorful tea kettle is painted on the window along with lettering that announces they sell exotic, hard to find teas. Does Margot even like tea that much?

After the florist, there’s a women’s boutique with a display of long flowery dresses in the window. Ishouldbuy Margot a new dress and bra to replace the ones I destroyed on our woodland chase and fuck adventure. The memory turns the corners of my mouth up. We need a repeat of that. Soon.

She’s never going to let you near her again—in the woods or anywhere else—if you keep shutting her out every time something bothers you.

I glance at the dresses again and second-guess myself. She’s sensitive about her body. If I screw up the size, too big or too small, doesn’t matter—it’ll sting either way.

Hands in my pockets, I keep moving down the sidewalk, searching for something else. A laundromat catches my eye. Black-and-orange For Sale sign in the window. Not sure if it’s the machines or the whole damn business, but I stop anyway.

The place looks clean. Bright. Spotless white industrial floors. White walls with colorful posters of jellyfish. Machines aren’t brand new, but they’ve been upgraded within the lastfew years. Maintained by someone who gave a shit—nothing’s leaking, floor’s dry, coin boxes aren’t janky.

Thisis something I at least have experience with. I’m starting to feel like a bum not having a real job to go to like normal people. Maybe this is the answer. Club’s been wanting to have more of a presence out this way.

I pull the door open, and the bell overhead gives a half-hearted jingle. A guy in his sixties looks up from behind the counter and sets the newspaper in his hands down on the counter.

“Help you with something?” he asks. Friendly tone, but cautious eyes.

I nod toward the window. “The sign. What’s for sale? The building? The business?”

His brows lift. “Whole thing. Building, machines, couple steady commercial accounts—the gym next door, local salon, and a few restaurants.”

Well, shit. That’s better than our place downstate that mostly relies on walk-ins, hopes, and dreams to stay afloat.

“Got two solid employees I’d like to see keep their jobs,” he adds.

That might actually work. Club can’t spare too many guys anyway. “All right.”

I glance around again. Looks even better inside. “Place is in good shape.”

“My wife and I spent twenty-two years making sure of it.” He shifts his gaze to the window. “She passed and it’s too hard being here without her.”

Aw, fuck.“I’m so sorry.”

He nods stiffly. “Moving to Arizona. Can’t take the damn cold and snow anymore.”

“I hear that.” I walk around a bank of washers. “Machines look newer.”

“Swapped ’em out between two and four years ago. Didn’t think I’d be… well, anyway. Speed Queens. Solid and easy to fix. I kept the manuals, service logs. Got everything documented.”

“You do the maintenance?”

He nods. “Most of it. Called in help when I needed it. But I kept the place running.”

I rub the back of my neck, thoughts spinning. “How soon you looking to sell?”

“As soon as someone’s serious,” he says, studying me. “You serious?”

“Maybe,” I answer, then glance back at the sign. “I have to talk to...my people.”

He drops his gaze to my patches and lifts an eyebrow. “Your club?”

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