“I was beginning to think you had changed your number and moved town,” he said, in a tone that was clearly meant to be teasing, but had an undercurrent of concern. I winced. I didn’t mean to make him worry. “I’m sorry, Clint,” I said. “It’s been a rough week at work.” He paused. “Mad at me?” he asked, gruffly. I shook my head and then remembered that I was on the phone. “No, not mad. Just… tired,” I said, straightening the bills on my counter. He grunted. “I think I need a weekend to myself,” I said. “There’s a list of stuff I’ve been meaning to get done around here.” There was no answer on the line for a minute. “Would you like to get lunch on Saturday?” he asked. “I don’t think I have time,”
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