“Bye,” he says. “Maybe later we can have another chat.”

That’s definitely not happening. I nod and head straight out of the door.

ALEX

I texted Sully because I needed to talk. Yesterday was a brutal day, followed by a shocking night. First, Buster. Then my sister appearing back in my life out of nowhere. After I finally drifted off to sleep, leaving Ruth in the living room, I had a nightmare about the Floyd baby, that little baby boy. He was older in the dream but still in his bulging dirty diaper. In his hand was that little blue car, and in the distance a figure beckoned him toward a ravine. I couldn’t stop him from going to the stranger. And the worst part—the part that woke me with a jolt in the darkness—was that the figure in the distance was Ruth.

Sully’s already at the Oven when I get there, travel coffee mug full, leaning over a book. He’s never on his phone, only looks at it if it actually rings or beeps. I like that about him. The books he reads are tomes, too, great, celebrated works by writers I’d never attempt. French ones, sometimes Russian.

I buy a cup of tea and join him at the table. He closes his book, and I get that comfortable surge that seems to emanate only from him.

“How are you?” Sully watches me sit down, moves my mug while I settle so I won’t bump it. “Your text message sounded urgent.”

“Sorry about that.”

“No, it’s fine. It’s just … what’s going on?”

“It’s work stuff,” I say, and there’s a second where he seems disappointed.

He crosses his arms, hooks each fist into an armpit. “Come on, then. Do your worst.”

I exhale. What is it about Sully that’s so disarming? He knows who he is, maybe, but never leads with an ego. Reliable face. Drives an old truck with one battered Van Morrison CD in it that he plays on a constant loop. Loves his dog more than most humans love each other.

“I went out to an intake yesterday with Minerva.”

He nods once, like I almost don’t need to say anything else.

“It was grim, Sully. Minerva kept saying it was an innocuous house call.” I describe the filth, the plain-as-day neglect, and Sully listens, sipping unhurriedly. He knows this world, isn’t thrown by it. He grew up here, and he’s been a cop for ten years; I could probably tell him a kid was living in a box of snakes and he’d ask how many. That’s why I’m here with Sully: I can speak in shorthand in a way I can’t with Chase. He gets it.

“So did you remove the child? What was the intake?”