"Knowing and doing—"
"Are not the same country," Walt finished. "I'm learning the map."
The complication arrived in early January on a sheet of thin paper with a Denver postmark. Ruth brought it to the ranch folded twice and set it on the kitchen table between the sugar jar and Walt's coffee mug. Outside, snow lay in hard crusts across the yard. Inside, the furnace ticked.
"There's a studio gig," she said. "Session work. Six weeks, maybe longer if it goes well. A producer I used to know got my number from someone in Omaha. It pays real money. It could lead to more."
Walt read the letter without touching it, as if the words might burn. "When do they need you?"