The next day was...trying. I woke up with a heavy weight dangling over me like the readying blade of a guillotine. I'm not sure why my mood was so sour. Nothing happened. Nothing awful anyway.

       Nothing was wrong with me.

       Manny finally got back to me. It was a simple I'm sorry/talk later text. I ignored it. I wasn't mad or anything, I just didn't feel like responding. At least he wasn't blowing my phone up. That was a relief.

       It took me twenty minutes extra to get out of bed too. But I wasn't sleeping. I just lay there staring through the dark as heavy as a brick thinking about nothing and everything all at once. The only reason I got up at all was because my alarm started yelling at me. I obliged because there was nothing wrong with me. Nothing at all.

       Once I'd made it to work my spirits hadn't lifted. I went through the motions—I roast the coffee, I bagged the pastries, I smiled for tips, I reprimanded Jackson for cursing, I changed filters, I foamed milk, I greeted everyone who came my way politely, I engaged in mind-numbing small talk...

       I did everything right. I don't understand, there's nothing wrong with me.

       Johnny showed up to finish up his painting. We made eye contact at some point but neither of us spoke to the other. That was just fine by me. I was in the right this time and besides that I didn't feel like talking anyway.

       Around noon I took my lunch in my office. I sat behind my desk eating my sandwich and watching Netflix on the monitor but barely saw what was happening in one of my most favorite shows. The actors played their parts—they read their lines, hit their marks, told their jokes. It was funny. I didn't laugh.

       Nothing's wrong with me.

       When that was done, I walked back to the frontlines and into a landmine. A wave of unexpected traffic had built in my absence. A line had formed that stretched from Pasha at the lone open register to the door. About half the tables were full as well. Somebody's kid was running around the tables like he was raised in a barn. Somebody's service dog was sitting in the walkway. Even the dishes in the dish bin were overflowing. As Pasha rang up orders, Lana poured the coffee and plated or bagged sandwiches and pastries with a speed I never knew she possessed. Jackson, however, was AWOL.

       I turned and stepped into the kitchen. Jackson was in there, but he wasn't baking or assembling sandwiches or cleaning. He was standing near the island with his back to the door leaning down and whispering sweet nothings into Donna's ear. She giggled when he kissed her on the cheek and for a moment the flame of rage flickered in my chest.

       "Jackson, we need you on the floor. I need tables bussed and dishes washed. I don't pay you to stand in here ki-ki-ing about whatever. Let's go."

       Jackson nodded and started for the door. Donna grimaced slightly but who cares.

        Back in the front I got on a coffee machine and started filling the back orders. I was highly practiced at this so even without my zombie state I would have been able to fill these orders without much thought. I did it so efficiently the orders started to blend.

       Americano, cappuccino, frappe. Small, medium, large. Milk, sugar, cream.

       The words spun in my brain, but I didn't falter. Not even once. Because nothing was wrong with me.

       Somewhere between filling orders and walking them to customers waiting at tables I realized with disappointment that Donna had never left. Jackson had emptied the dish bin, bussed the empty tables, and opened register two but Donna was still holding some meaningless conversation off to the side while he rang up orders and laughed at her bad jokes. At least she had the basic respect to not come behind the counter but honestly that wasn't saying much.

       Doesn't this woman have a job? Aren't there better ways to waste your life than loitering at your boyfriend's job? I would never do that...at the police, obviously.

       But I swallowed my rage again and remembered my mantras: Jackson's happy. He's had a tough time; he deserves some happiness. It's only a couple more months anyway. Why rock the boat unnecessarily? Just ignore her.

       What I couldn't ignore was this bad ass child running around like this was his personal playground. Even the service dog knew to move out of the walkway as I hurried through with a tray full of scalding hot drinks. I'd almost run into this kid several times as he'd run by my legs and around the tables. A lawsuit waiting to happen.

       I was about to turn around and tell him to calm down when he bumped into an empty chair.

       It fell over and banged to the floor. The sound ricocheted through the room. And suddenly the gun was in my hands again. The weight dragged me down. Then, I saw him. His looming figure slumped and recoiled. Blood seeped into fabric and dripped through his fingers. He looked at me, his eyes round and hollow...

       You killed me...

       My breath caught—I gasped. Then, my grasp of all self-control snapped. I felt it right at the base of my neck, and then all I knew was fury.

       "Just sit the hell down!" My voice boomed through a silent room. All eyes turned to me. The kid looked up at me. I thought he might cry.

       "Hey! Don't talk to my kid like that!" It was Donna that stepped forward, her face a mask of indignation.

       I turned to her and snarled, "If you were actually doing your job I wouldn't have to!"

       "Fuck you say to me?"

       This would have been an opportune time to backtrack and take control of the situation. That's what I should have done. That's what I'm trained to do. But something dark had been set free and refused to be chained back up. I could hear myself saying the words, but it didn't sound like me. "I'm sorry, did I stutter? Let me repeat myself. If you were watching him instead of flirting with my cousin then I wouldn't have to yell."

       Donna's eyes widened in surprise. "Bi—who you think you talking to?"

       "I'm so sorry. I forgot they don't teach basic comprehension at stripper school. Let me help you. I'm talking to you, you hard of hearing bitch!"

       She jumped a little in excitement. "I knew it! I knew you thought you were better than me you uptight, high-sadity, bougie bitch!"

       "Bougie? That's the best you can say about me. Newsflash! I am better than you!" I laughed. Nothing was funny, but I laughed all the same. "I put myself through college, own my own business, and I didn't have to take my clothes off to do it. I have a job that keeps me busy enough so I don't have to spend my days loitering my boyfriend like a sad desperate woman."

       Donna grew aghast. She hesitated and looked about. "Who do you think you are?"

       My head swiveled around like I'd never seen the place before. "I think I'm the owner, which means you should go ahead and vacate the premises."

       "Bitch, what?"

       "Get the fuck out! Now."

       Jackson pushed through the crowd and stood before me looking concerned. "Evie, what the hell's wrong with you?"

       "What's wrong with me? She started it."

       He shook his head. "No, she didn't. You yelled at Damarius first."

       Is that his name? "Of course I did! He's running around in here like—"

       "He's just a kid!"

       "So?

      "It was an accident."

       "So? When you hurt someone on accident you still say sorry! You still try to do better!"

       Someone said. "Evie, calm down." Was that Johnny? Had he come downstairs?

       "No!"

       Jackson crossed his arms over his chest then said in a stern tone, "You can't talk to Donna like that."

       "But she can talk to me like that?"

       "You started this shit."

       "You know what? You can do what you want." I threw up my hands. Literally. I didn't have to put up with this. I didn't have to put up with any of this. "Y'all can do whatever the hell you want! I'm done." I untied and pulled my apron over my head. It got caught in my hair, so I struggled a moment to untangle it, then threw it to the floor and strolled away. Someone, I don't know who, called after me but I didn't care. I walked calmly to my office and got my purse then I grabbed my keys and left.

       I didn't have anywhere in particular to go so I got in my car and drove. I steered out of the back-alley parking lot and onto University Blvd. I pulled into traffic and drove forward. There was no destination in mind. I merely circled the streets from west to north and east to south.

       I realized after ten minutes that my hands were trembling. Worse than that I was barely paying attention to the traffic. Cars, buildings, and people moved by me in a blur. It felt like I were floating almost, like I was in a dream. Something deep inside me told me that was dangerous, so I pulled into the parking lot of a Super Target and parked well away from anyone else.

       It was there, with the car idling and in a state of semi-solitude that the feelings started to come back. But they weren't good feelings. They felt worn—like nerve endings that were exposed and raw. My chest swelled heavy and strained, then the skin around my eyes began to sting. My vision started to mist.

       Oh, no! Don't cry! There's no reason to cry, nothing sad happened!

       But I can't... I can't—

       Tears streamed freely down my face and pooled under my chin. My breathing shallowed. My chest heaved in and out. Finally I cradled my face in my hands and sobbed so deeply my body shuddered.

       But I didn't understand. Nothing was really wrong.

       I willed myself to snap out of it. I didn't have time for this! It's the middle of the workday! There are orders to fill! There's coffee to brew! There's a boyfriend who needs to apologize to me! And a friend who does too! And I need to finish my investigation! And hand the file over to Ash! Then I've got to introduce my mother and my boyfriend. And there's an appointment with Dr. Deb next week. And I've got to clean my living room and take my car through the car wash and wash the dishes and sweep the floor and pay my bills and read Henry's book when it's done and, and, and, and...

       ...I don't have time to cry...

       But I could feel my heart beating fast against my chest; feel my breaths getting shallower and shallower. I needed to calm down. Crying for no reason was irrational. I'm a rational person. But I couldn't slow my breathing. I just cried. And cried. And cried.

       And the crying only stopped when the reservoir ran dry and with it the tears...but my heart still ached.

       I slumped forward and let my forehead sink against the steering wheel. How pathetic I must have looked. I couldn't go back to work like this. Nobody can see me like this. I'd be humiliated.

       I was fully prepared to sit there for the rest of my life letting the world go on without me. I knew that was impossible, I just couldn't find the will to move forward. But before I could drown in grief, the phone rang.

       Something about the repetitive ringing broke through the cloud of sorrow. Like a lifeline tossed from a boat in a storm. I wiped at my eyes then peered down at the caller ID.

       Henry.