Susan had seen it. The story of Archie rescuing the kid had made the front page, below the fold, with a big photograph of Archie in his Beauty Killer Task Force days. BEAUTY KILLER COP SAVES BOY, the headline read.

“The paper had already gone to press by the time he went missing,” Susan said. “It’s online. But won’t be in the print edition until tomorrow. I didn’t write that headline.”

“I read the story about Henry.”

Henry hadn’t even made the front page. He’d been relegated to Metro.

“You didn’t write it.”

He’d noticed.

“It’s Derek’s beat.”

“He doesn’t even quote you. You were there. You and Claire found him. You were at the hospital. No quote.”

Susan didn’t want to go into it. She held the paper bag out stiffly. “I brought you a muffin.” She might as well give it to him. It had cost three bucks. He looked hungry. “I don’t know what kind of muffins you like, so I just grabbed one.” In fact, she’d spent ten minutes debating whether to get lemon poppy seed or banana nut, but she wasn’t going to tell him that.

He opened the bag and peered inside. She thought she saw him smile. “This looks great,” he said.

The machine breathing for Henry heaved in and out. Claire mumbled something unintelligible in her sleep and then was quiet.

“Any news on the tox screen?” Susan asked.

Archie hesitated. He reached into the bag and pulled out a chunk of banana nut muffin and put it in his mouth and chewed. He looked away from her, his eyes heavy on Henry. “Nothing yet.”

They lapsed into silence again. Susan felt big and loud in that place, like when Bliss signed her up for ballet class and Susan had been tall and clumsy and had worn the wrong color leotard, a terrible pea-green turtleneck leotard that zipped up the back and snapped at the crotch and was made out of a thick ribbed fabric that made Susan flop-sweat.

“I was fired,” Susan blurted out. She wasn’t planning on saying it. It just bubbled up. She could feel her eyes burn with tears. She’d been fired before. There was the time at the coffee shop in high school when the owner found out that she had been routinely closing a half hour early. In college she’d gotten a job as a checkout clerk at a grocery store, only to get fired her first day when, on her lunch break, she’d joined a bunch of migrant workers picketing the store. She didn’t remember what they were protesting, but she was sure they had a valid point.

She’d been fired before. But those times she had deserved it. This time, she wasn’t so sure.

“Why?” Archie asked.