The drone of the cramped shuttle and the complaints of the frumpy woman next to her about cost-cutting schemes didn’t keep Emily from realizing she couldn’t go on like this. She was on edge and depressed. She had to juggle a tour while fending off developments that had killed her friend. She didn’t know how she was going to get to the bottom of things.
She thought of her college soccer-playing days as a striker. She had to know when to go for a header or a shot on the far post and when to slough one off that had little chance of getting by the goalie. Or, as the coach always put it: No regrets. Stick to it, read the situation. The game will tell you what to do.
But a striker was a position, an assignment, a definite job with a rule book. Dave Roberts was a trooper, locked into prescribed
