Freedom is not always financially efficient.
But I began eating at a table again.
Not over the sink.
Not in my truck.
A table.
That felt significant.
I joined a Thursday evening pickup basketball game at a recreation center because one of my technicians kept inviting me.
The first night, I nearly left before walking inside.
Everybody looked younger.
Faster.
Then a retired firefighter named Walt pointed at me.
“You the HVAC guy?”
“Depends who's asking.”
“You play?”
“Poorly.”
“So does everybody over forty.”
I stayed.
Walt was sixty-three.
Knees wrapped.
Mouth never stopped.
After our third week, he threw me the ball during a break.
“You play like a man apologizing for taking up space.”
I laughed.
“What does that mean?”
“You pass even when you're open.”
“Maybe I'm generous.”
“No.”
He took the ball back.
“You're scared somebody will think you're selfish.”
That irritated me enough that I spent the next game shooting every time I was open.
I missed most.
Walt grinned.
“Progress.”
I began taking up slightly more space.
What I heard about Laura came mostly through Pam because Pam continued doing accounting work for both businesses.
We had discussed whether that created an issue.
It did not, as long as confidentiality boundaries were respected.
Pam became almost comically careful about separating conversations.
“Laura information or public information?” I would ask.
“Public enough.”
That was our rule.
Laurel Row survived.
That mattered to me.