We ride in his work truck that has a big sign on the side advertising his plumbing business. Mom’s up front with him, and I’m in the little seat behind them. Sometimes Skylar comes with us, and the two of us squeeze in together. Our elbows and knees bump. It’s a tighter fit every year. Is the truck shrinking, Greg asks, or are Skylar and I growing? If we can’t stay the same size, he says, he’ll need to buy a bigger truck.

By the time we’re sitting in a booth at Gepetto’s, Greg has noticed how quiet I am.

He leans across the table. He has one arm around Mom, but his attention’s on me. “Want to hear what happened to me today?”

I force a smile and nod. Greg tells great stories about the people he meets and the houses he sees. Before I met him, I had no idea a plumber’s life was so exciting.

“Well, today I go see this lady whose sink is stopped up. The minute I walk in the door, I see cats everywhere, dozens of them, scrawny and ugly and hopping with fleas the size of mice. The furniture is all clawed up, but that’s not the worst of it. The whole place stinks like the cats pee everywhere. I mean it’s like I can hardly breathe. I’m coughing and choking. I need a gas mask or something.”

He drinks some water and goes on. “She gives me this worried look and says, ‘I hope you’re not allergic to cats.’ I want to say it’s just their pee I’m allergic to, but I’m a nice guy, you know, I have my reputation to think of, so I just fix that sink as fast as I can. By the time I leave, I have tears in my eyes from the stink. I swear I still smell cat pee.”

He sniffs his arm and holds it across the table toward me. “Can you smell it?”

I make a face. “Pee-yew. You really stink, Greg!” Everybody laughs, even me. I wonder, if I stick my arm out, will he smell the dead deer?

I’m beginning to feel better. Except for Rob and the pot, maybe things aren’t so terrible after all. The man and woman aren’t really spies, just two people who love each other. We don’t know if they’re married or not. They could have all sorts of reasons for meeting at Marie Drive.

The server comes over, and Greg orders a large pizza. “We’d like extra cheese, sausage, green peppers, and anything else the chef wants to throw on it.”

“Mushrooms,” Mom adds.

“No anchovies, please,” I say.