She helps Herb disembark, and she’s still standing next to the vehicle, folding up his ramp, as he rolls over the curb and up to the front door of the station. He hits the automatic open button. Nothing happens. He hits it again, with a mumbled curse loud enough for her to hear. Then, “Sara! A little help here?”

She closes the door, walks toward him. When she holds open the door she feels the blast of air-conditioning. Herb says, “I’ll be out in five.”

Sara returns to the car, fiddles with the radio. Herb only listens to sports talk; now she settles on a stoned-sounding DJ talking about the transformational power of love and the potential of kindness between tracks from Mariah Carey and Cher. Ten minutes later a tall, hunched figure with a red ball cap low over his face steps out and holds the door. Herb appears, rolling at full speed, and sails off the curb, so that Sara’s barely out of the car by the time he’s alongside it. “Get over here!” he barks at the red-capped figure. “I told you to be quick!”

Sara feels a presence beside her; the figure with the ball cap is now at her arm. He is visibly drunk, swaying slightly, the smell of gin radiating off him. He looks vaguely familiar, but—

“Don’t get too excited, Sara,” Herb says, rolling onto the lift. “At the moment he’s too drunk to be charming. Or to remember anything you say to him.” The man gives her a half-cocked grin, a bit woozy, a bit apologetic. Very handsome. “Jason, you get in the back.”

Once they’re out of the lot, she finds the man in the rearview mirror. He’s squinting like he’s watching something very far away. “Where to?” she says.

“The stadium,” the man says. His voice is wavering, but clipped like he’s trying to cover it up.

“Fuck you, Goody. What, you’re gonna hit some balls at this hour?”

“No, I’m staying at—”

“Sara, take him home. Jason, we’ll put you in Marlene’s room, and deal with this bullshit in the morning.”

“Sara, get up.” Herb is in the doorway again. This time, at least, light streams through the window, suggesting a more reasonable hour. “You’re always hassling me to go for a hike? Well, let’s go.” He’s already down the hall, and she hears him bellow, “Jason, you fuck, up and at ’em! Hike o’clock!”