Gretchen bit her lip and stepped toward him and Archie raised his weapon and braced it with both hands. She didn’t stop. He didn’t lower the weapon. Ginger growled. Gretchen snapped her fingers, and Ginger’s ears flattened and she darted off toward the couch. Gretchen’s eyes never wavered from Archie. She kept coming. When she stopped, her forehead was directly in front of the barrel of the gun. Archie released the safety and curled the first joint of his finger around the trigger. They were both perfectly still. He could hear Rachel breathing. His trigger arm ached. If he flinched or coughed, the gun would fire. Gretchen tilted her head slightly, her large blue eyes on him. Then she leaned forward and pressed her forehead against the barrel of the gun. Archie could feel her pushing, the pressure of the grip against his palm. His finger was stiff around the trigger. He felt his elbow weaken. Gretchen smiled at him. His elbows ached. She leaned her skull harder against the barrel, lifting her heels off the floor, putting her weight behind it. He could see the tendons in her pale neck tense. Archie was backed against the bar; there was nowhere to go. He wasn’t going to shoot her. They both knew that. If he did, Susan would be lost.

Archie bent his elbow and drew it back to his waist. Gretchen stumbled forward, catching herself by putting her palms on his chest. A bright red ring, like a target, lingered on her forehead where the barrel of his gun had been. Archie’s weapon was at his side, now directed at Gretchen’s midsection. She kept her hands on him. They were so close that he could feel her breath on his face. The gun was the only thing between them. Archie’s cramped trigger finger was still on the trigger. Gretchen inhaled and closed her eyes, like she was remembering some long-forgotten smell. Then she opened her eyes and fixed them on him, those blue eyes with the dark blue rings around the irises. “It’s good to see you,” she said gently.

Archie could feel a layer of sweat between the grip of the gun and his hand. “It hasn’t been that long,” he said. “Apparently.”

Gretchen’s eyes traveled over his face. Then she reached up and threaded her fingers through his hair. “Look at all this gray hair,” she said.