The man who could track somebody across half the state had taken orders from an eight-year-old about a colored pencil.
I wandered into the living room while he and JJ debated where to store the table when it wasn’t being used.
The couch was still mine, although a blanket Millie claimed as personal property lived over its back. JJ’s sketchbook rested on the coffee table beside a half-finished drawing and a mug coaster she’d bought because she got tired of finding rings on the wood. Rabbit’s spare bow had been abandoned on the armrest.
I remembered when the room had held little more than the couch, a television, and whatever magazines I hadn’t thrown away. I’d liked it that way. The house had been a place where I could come home after club business, shut the door, and do whatever I wanted
