Those are not weekend bags. Those are I’ve-packed-everything-I-own-in-this-world bags. Walsh said she’s moving. Oh no. She’s not… she couldn’t be…

My stomach tumbles like clothes in a hot dryer.

“Not exactly visiting,” says Walsh, shifting her weight.

Rage simmers in my veins. Walsh has some explaining to do. Now. I ball my hand into a fist around my purse strap and face my coworkers. “Guys, I’m sorry about happy hour, but—”

“Happy hour?” chirps Walsh, a hopeful gleam in her eye.

“Yeah, why don’t you join us?” asks Tory. “My wife’s coming too, so you won’t be the only non–Seaquest Adventurer there.”

“Great! But my luggage…” She glances around as if a storage locker is going to magically poof into existence.

I purse my lips. “Come on. The bar’s only a block away. We’ll store your suitcases at my desk and come back for them later. Then we can talk.” I turn to Christina and Tory and give them a tight smile. “Sorry about this. Meet you there?”

“Sure,” says Christina. “See you in a bit.”

I march over to the first suitcase and lurch it to a roll.

Walsh trots after me, lugging the other one. “Henley, I’m sorry—”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? Or, I don’t know, ask me if this was a good time for an extended visit?”

“I needed to leave Boulder. I figured I could stay with you—”

“Of course you did. You just assumed I’d roll out the red carpet because Princess Walsh has arrived. You know what though? I have a life. And my own problems to deal with. I don’t have time for your bullshit right now.”

Her chin trembles. Goddamn it. I hit the button and the elevator opens.

We pile inside, and I snatch my badge out of my bag and wave it in front of the security sensor before pushing the button for the seventh floor. I blow out a long breath. I don’t look at Walsh. “Why didn’t you just go to Mom and Dad’s?”

“You know why,” she says softly.

Some people would call where we grew up in rural Idaho idyllic. There’s certainly plenty of nature. But not much else, including people, jobs, or any sort of nuanced appreciation for the wider world. Except for our parents, who relish the quiet of rural living, there’s nothing for us there—either one of us.