Putting his things in his bag for him made me feel a little like a dog marking its territory. I left my scent on his clothes to warn the other dogs to keep moseying along. This tree was mine. Striker seemed charmed by the domesticity of the process. We both carefully steered our conversation to lighter subjects. We were relaxed together. Being with Striker could be as normal and easy as an inhale followed by an exhale. I wanted to feel this way all the time. Before he took off, we lay on the bed. Striker hugged me to his chest, playing with my hair. “I know you’re feeling guilty about not telling me anything about the case you’re working on, especially since it somehow caught up with Lynda.” I froze, wondering where this conversation might be going. “You shouldn’t,” he said. “There are very good reasons for maintaining information in as tight a circle as possible. It’s what we have to do.
