Duncan nodded. “Her life is complicated enough without all this.”
“Exactly. Plus she doesn’t know about my mental health shit, and I don’t feel like heaping that on top of all her other worries. Even if I wanted to make promises I’m not sure I’m actually ready for, there’s no guarantee I’ll be lucid enough to keep them in a few years’ time.”
“A fair point.” Duncan headed for the register, unlocked it, and took out the previous night’s deposit bag. “How’s the girl doing, otherwise?”
“Okay, I think. Scared, obviously, but the baby’s got a checkup, and it’s probably good that she’s had to get off the Church family compound for a few hours.”
“No doubt. Would you start on the floors while I take this to the bank?”
“Yeah, sure. Oh—tomorrow morning, Vince wants everybody out at Three C for a club meeting. Get our heads together over scheduling watches for the next week or so. Plus Miah has some unrelated business.”
Duncan looked uncomfortable, and not without reason. “Please tell me you’re only informing me so that I can pass this along to Raina.”
“You wish. You’re as tangled up in all this business as any of us are. Like it or not, you’re officially a Desert Dog. So your presence is required at meetings.”
“We ought to put it to a vote. I can tell you now, both Church and myself will vote nay.”
“Miah’s too fucking busy to care about that ancient history, man, and club business trumps hurt feelings. Anyhow, it’s got to be a breakfast meeting—six a.m. tomorrow.”
He sighed. “Fine. How long are you in, this afternoon?”
“I can probably hang ’til six.”
“In that case I might disappear into the office while you’re here. I could get on top of placing the help-wanted ads.” They’d need cooks soon, and at least two bar-slash-waitstaff, and there was no telling when Abilene would be back on the job. “And I’ve got to chase down a vendor about the counters that are going in this week.”
“Works for me.” Running around filling orders and making change Casey could handle, but he was glad Duncan was taking over the bulk of the tasks that required organization and a clear head. “Leave opening ’til five to me, if you want,” he told Duncan. “I’ll be fine solo ’til the postwork rush.”
“I may just do that. Can you handle Ware alone, if he turns up?”
“Guess I’ll fucking find out.” He paused, nagged by another thought. He’d been caught up in two impulsive decisions last night, and he wouldn’t mind Duncan’s opinion on this one, either. “Can I talk to you about one other thing, real quick?”
“Of course. What?”
“So I . . . I found this service,” Casey said.
“Service?”
“This mail-order thing that does DNA testing, with cheek swabs and shit, like you’d mentioned last fall.” He’d seen an ad for it in a magazine, and early this morning—to distract himself from the ache Abilene had left between his legs—he’d gone online to check it out. “You can get your medical markers analyzed, find out if you have a higher chance of getting diabetes or cancer or Alzheimer’s—whole load of shit.”
“Including dementia?” Duncan prompted gently.