Read Online Crude Sunlight 1 by Phil Tucker - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Phil Tucker
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pretend like you that nothing happened. I can't go back to the way things were. So here are your options. Quit your job, leave this all behind and come with me to save our marriage, or stay here by yourself and hope you find more happiness in your cubicle then you did with me."
Thomas felt his stomach knot up as if a pair of constrictors were trying to crush each other to death. "What would I do, Michelle?" His voice soft now, matching hers in intensity. "Say I quit my job. Then what? What do I do while you do your pro bono work? But what about me?"
She stared at him.
Thomas shifted his weight in his chair and looked down at his hands. He studied them, the whorls around his knuckles, the black hairs. Arguments arose within him like great waves, compelling and nuanced and outraged and defensive, but with a sigh he let them crash, explode soundlessly within his mind, unvoiced.
"Okay, Michelle. I'll think about it. I really will." He looked up, caught her expression. She was watching him carefully, as if searching for a lie. "I wish I could give you an answer right now. But... I'll think about it."
Michelle stood up. "I'll try not to gauge how much you love me by how long you take. Call me when you've figured out your priorities."
Thomas stood up, pushing the chair away with the back of his knees, the metal grinding against the stone floor. "I'll call you soon," he said. Michelle shrugged back into her coat, and picked up her umbrella. "I just need to figure some things out. I'm sorry."
"I love you, Thomas," she said, as if stating a fact, as if one could say such a thing dispassionately. They stared at each other, and then she looked away, turned, and left.
Chapter 7
Thomas spent that evening in the office, hunched over his desk, staring at the graphs and spreadsheets without really seeing them. The hubbub of his co-workers seemed to come from behind a glass wall, and occasionally he would catch himself simply staring out at the cubicles, watching people walk by, almost failing to return nods and greetings. He stared and could hear Michelle's voice asking, is this more important? More important than our marriage? He felt empty, hollow. Head stuffed full of straw. Michelle didn't appreciate how good it felt to be a top player in his department. To be respected, to be relied on by his friends and peers. She derided it all as "corporate bullshit," but some of his greatest victories had been played out in these halls, amongst the men and women who were seated in the cubicles and offices about him. He felt safe here. Protected. He knew what to do and when to do it. With Michelle these days... things were no longer clear. He no longer understood his role. No longer understood on an intuitive level how to interact with her, how to simply... be.
One by one his co-workers left, and the dimness of dusk fell over the city, which lit up its windows and lights in defiance of the night. Streets flickered and filled with headlights and the sky glowed into a wan orange of reflected light pollution. Soon only the gentle whir of the air conditioning could be heard, along with the rare creak of a solitary and hidden worker leaning back in their leather chair to assess, ponder, reflect. Standing in his office doorway, Thomas saw a few pools of clean white light emanating from some cubicles, indicating little hubs of ongoing productivity, but for the most part it was dark, silent. A sudden uncertainty gripped him--what time was it? What day? Looking at his watch he saw that it was past eleven. Thursday night. Time, he thought, to go home.
Coat draped over his arm, he selected a path to the elevators that would take him past Buck's desk. The large man was frowning at his computer screen, arms crossed over his chest as he sat back and stared the data. At Thomas' approach, he glanced up, grinned ruefully and shook his head.
"Want to finish off this analysis for me before you go?"
Thomas smiled. "No thanks. I think I'm done."
Buck
Thomas felt his stomach knot up as if a pair of constrictors were trying to crush each other to death. "What would I do, Michelle?" His voice soft now, matching hers in intensity. "Say I quit my job. Then what? What do I do while you do your pro bono work? But what about me?"
She stared at him.
Thomas shifted his weight in his chair and looked down at his hands. He studied them, the whorls around his knuckles, the black hairs. Arguments arose within him like great waves, compelling and nuanced and outraged and defensive, but with a sigh he let them crash, explode soundlessly within his mind, unvoiced.
"Okay, Michelle. I'll think about it. I really will." He looked up, caught her expression. She was watching him carefully, as if searching for a lie. "I wish I could give you an answer right now. But... I'll think about it."
Michelle stood up. "I'll try not to gauge how much you love me by how long you take. Call me when you've figured out your priorities."
Thomas stood up, pushing the chair away with the back of his knees, the metal grinding against the stone floor. "I'll call you soon," he said. Michelle shrugged back into her coat, and picked up her umbrella. "I just need to figure some things out. I'm sorry."
"I love you, Thomas," she said, as if stating a fact, as if one could say such a thing dispassionately. They stared at each other, and then she looked away, turned, and left.
Chapter 7
Thomas spent that evening in the office, hunched over his desk, staring at the graphs and spreadsheets without really seeing them. The hubbub of his co-workers seemed to come from behind a glass wall, and occasionally he would catch himself simply staring out at the cubicles, watching people walk by, almost failing to return nods and greetings. He stared and could hear Michelle's voice asking, is this more important? More important than our marriage? He felt empty, hollow. Head stuffed full of straw. Michelle didn't appreciate how good it felt to be a top player in his department. To be respected, to be relied on by his friends and peers. She derided it all as "corporate bullshit," but some of his greatest victories had been played out in these halls, amongst the men and women who were seated in the cubicles and offices about him. He felt safe here. Protected. He knew what to do and when to do it. With Michelle these days... things were no longer clear. He no longer understood his role. No longer understood on an intuitive level how to interact with her, how to simply... be.
One by one his co-workers left, and the dimness of dusk fell over the city, which lit up its windows and lights in defiance of the night. Streets flickered and filled with headlights and the sky glowed into a wan orange of reflected light pollution. Soon only the gentle whir of the air conditioning could be heard, along with the rare creak of a solitary and hidden worker leaning back in their leather chair to assess, ponder, reflect. Standing in his office doorway, Thomas saw a few pools of clean white light emanating from some cubicles, indicating little hubs of ongoing productivity, but for the most part it was dark, silent. A sudden uncertainty gripped him--what time was it? What day? Looking at his watch he saw that it was past eleven. Thursday night. Time, he thought, to go home.
Coat draped over his arm, he selected a path to the elevators that would take him past Buck's desk. The large man was frowning at his computer screen, arms crossed over his chest as he sat back and stared the data. At Thomas' approach, he glanced up, grinned ruefully and shook his head.
"Want to finish off this analysis for me before you go?"
Thomas smiled. "No thanks. I think I'm done."
Buck
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