“Well, I’m sure I did, son, you look fried, but it’s kind of you to let me think so.”

Peter offered a smile and an awkward silence passed between them.

“You OK?” said the sheriff after a while.

“No. I mean—”

“It’s OK if you’re not. It’s been quite the day.”

Peter nodded. “I’m OK. Teddy invited me for dinner.”

“He did?”

“Yes.”

“He did,” said the sheriff, taking the correction. “That’s right and you took pity on us poor bastards and came.”

“No, it’s not like that. I wanted to.”

The sheriff brought a soft chuckle into his chest. “Your tracker skills are better than your lying ones, Peter, but I’ll take your being here as a win. Now get your hide inside. He’ll be thrilled to see you here.”

The sheriff propped the door open with his heel for Peter to follow and made his way in. Peter stepped up, stubbing loose snow from his boots on the set of bricks that’d been fashioned into the side of the trailer for front steps and closed the door behind him.

Inside was a squeeze. Wallpaper decorated with cherry trees over a white picket fence for that home-away-from-home feel during long trips on the road, curled off the walls into dog ears, giving the appearance that the whole trailer was about to peel away. But seating, built into the curve of the trailer around a table down one end, was cosy and dressed with a candle for dinner.

Teddy shook a match and turned. “Banquette!”

“Hi, Teddy.”

“That’s what the seating’s called. Not a chair, but banquette seats.”

“OK.”

“But you say it like bonk-et.”

“Right.”

Teddy laughed. “Banquette.”

“Yes.”

“The more you say it the more—”

“OK, son.” The sheriff swiped his moustache. “We had a talk about this.”

Teddy shrugged. “I know.”

“Even the snowman you built outside decided to leave town on account of you telling him what his nose was made out of, so I think it’s best you dial the verbal guidebook down, don’t you?”

Teddy squeezed past them to the kitchenette where something was busy twirling around inside a microwave.

“What are we going to talk about, then?” Teddy asked. “I saved up the banquette conversation especially.”

Peter noticed the sheriff glance at his boots which were still muddy from the hike up the ridge. “I’m sure Peter’s got bigger things to be worrying about.”

“Oh,” said Peter. “I should take these off.”

“It’s OK.”

“No. No, it’s not.”

Peter struggled out of his boots, setting them down on the front step outside, and the sheriff poured himself a whisky. “So, how are you finding Marge?”

“Inside her office with the door closed, mostly.”

“Sounds about right. I think she’s enjoyed having the place to herself this last year before pesky Pete showed up.”