Had he been asking to be fired? It was a question Suzanne had put to him, and he wondered sometimes. He’d fallen into being a lawyer the way he’d fallen into pretty much everything in life. His high school guidance counselor suggested law as an alternative to acting—careers that were not without their similarities. The important difference was that his father didn’t smash clay pots when he suggested he might go to law school.

Grant thought being a lawyer would be an easy job for a bright-enough guy, but in truth you had to work long hours. And lives were often on the line. People could—and did—lose their shirts because of him. Clients went to jail. Sometimes he wished he’d been disbarred instead of told to start job hunting. Then he could have started over.

He admired the garden rakes, each more ergonomically designed than the last, and noted the high stacks of brown leaf bags. Electric drills and screwdrivers took up an entire section. The gas grills were off to the side—real behemoths. Big red SALE signs dangled from their lids.

Grant opened one and stuck his head halfway inside. He made an expression of mock terror, took a selfie, and sent it to the gang: Dave, Pete, and Marie.

A couple of men stood around the larger grills communing silently. One of them, a guy maybe ten years older than Grant, in good shape, opened and closed the lid of a big charcoal grill called the Smokin’ Joe. “It looks like it’s talking,” he said.

Grant smiled, unsure if the guy was talking to him.

“‘Feed me.’ That’s what it’s saying.” The man did a poor attempt at ventriloquism. “‘Feed me.’”

Grant laughed. “It’s the Tin Man. ‘Oil can.’”

“Think it’s too much grill?”

“I don’t work here,” Grant said.

“I just wondered if you thought it was too much grill.”

Grant considered. It was like a coffin in both size and shape. “You could cook a lot of burgers in there.”

“Or a whole cow, right? Hey, Chip,” he called to one of the red-vested employees. “Put this on my account.”

“Okie dokes. We’ve got them in back.”

“I want this one.” The man tipped the grill sideways. “Lend me a hand?”

“Um. Sure.” Grant helped wheel the grill to the SUV out front.

They attempted to heft the grill into the back a few times, but it was awkward. “On the count of three,” the man said, but it landed on its side with a clatter. They checked for dents, then tried again, this time with success.

“Cocks,” the man said, offering Grant a hand to shake.

“Excuse me?”

“Nick Cox. I live over on Tunlaw. You’re the new people, right?”

“That’s us. I mean, me. Yep.”

“We’re having a party in a couple weeks. Stop by. We’ll put that grill to good use.”