vacation I have coming.”
“Good man.”
“You can manage without me?”
“Hell, we’ll have divided up your computer equipment by the time you get back.”
Jeff laughed, sharp relief. Took a deep breath for what felt like the first time in years. “And can we set up a meeting when I get back? To talk about bringing in that management team?”
“You serious?”
“Never been more serious in my life.”
A deep intake of breath on the other end of the phone that Jeff sincerely hoped was a result of Porter’s joy at the thought of bringing in reinforcements, and not whatever Sasha was so quietly up to over there.
And then Porter said, “Holy fuckin’ hell, yeah!” and Jeff figured he’d better hang up on that note while there was still enough ambiguity to go around. He had work to do. An early-morning train to catch. Miles to go, and promises to keep.
Amy’s head was full of television static, white and gray snow. Her eyes burned, and her lids were heavy. She hadn’t slept at all, because the noise in her head had kept her awake. It wasn’t voices or recriminations. It was the sound of the train on the rails and the sound of Jeff’s phone ringing.
Now she was on the commuter rail, and she could hear the shush of the train, which made sense, and the phantom trill of Jeff’s phone ringing, which didn’t. She wondered how many nights you had to go without sleeping before you started hallucinating.
“Where’s your friend?”
The guy with the heavy Brooklyn accent who’d harassed her and Jeff knelt up suddenly in the seat in front of her. Great. Just what she needed. A total stranger interrogating her about her relationship with Jeff when all she wanted to do was hide in a corner and cry over what she’d lost and regained and lost again.
“He went home.”
Brooklyn raised both thick black eyebrows. “Did you forgive him?”
Was he for real? “Why are we having this conversation?”
“You owe me,” said Brooklyn guy. “You bring your reality show on the train, you can’t just take it off the air whenever you want. I need to know what happens.”
He was older than she’d guessed, maybe fifty, with a heavy, jowly face that looked Italian in origin, with its first-thing-in-the-morning shadow. He had kind eyes. There was a gentle curiosity on his face, and she felt a pressure in her chest that she understood was her need to talk to someone, anyone, about how much Jeff had hurt her.
“What happens,” she said slowly, “is that the guy is a workaholic, and when some crisis happens at work, he runs off to fix it and the girl remembers why she couldn’t live with him to begin with.”
“Huh. So, like, he just left ?”
“You know I don’t really owe you anything, right?” she asked, more for her own benefit than his. “I don’t have to tell you.”
He nodded. “You don’t have to tell me.”
“I know.” Yet it was comforting, this total stranger who somehow, mysteriously, had become their—she’d been about to think godfather , but she decided that was vaguely discriminatory and settled on guardian angel instead.
“So he just left,” Brooklyn repeated.
She nodded.
“And you—just let him go?”
“Well, what the hell else was I supposed to do? This is what he does. He makes promises he can’t keep. He spends most of his time working. He thinks the job is that important. ”
“You could tell him he’s wrong.”
“I have told him—”
She stopped. She thought back to the ringing of the phone, their intimacy cooling rapidly as the familiar sound floated in the air. To the train ride two days ago when she’d first fled from his endless conversation with his admin. To a hundred, maybe a thousand other phone calls. All the times she’d let him put her aside. Let him put work first.
She was well trained. The phone rang, and she melted obligingly into the shadows. You want to abandon me? Again? Sure! Let me just get myself out of the way here.
She had told
“Good man.”
“You can manage without me?”
“Hell, we’ll have divided up your computer equipment by the time you get back.”
Jeff laughed, sharp relief. Took a deep breath for what felt like the first time in years. “And can we set up a meeting when I get back? To talk about bringing in that management team?”
“You serious?”
“Never been more serious in my life.”
A deep intake of breath on the other end of the phone that Jeff sincerely hoped was a result of Porter’s joy at the thought of bringing in reinforcements, and not whatever Sasha was so quietly up to over there.
And then Porter said, “Holy fuckin’ hell, yeah!” and Jeff figured he’d better hang up on that note while there was still enough ambiguity to go around. He had work to do. An early-morning train to catch. Miles to go, and promises to keep.
Amy’s head was full of television static, white and gray snow. Her eyes burned, and her lids were heavy. She hadn’t slept at all, because the noise in her head had kept her awake. It wasn’t voices or recriminations. It was the sound of the train on the rails and the sound of Jeff’s phone ringing.
Now she was on the commuter rail, and she could hear the shush of the train, which made sense, and the phantom trill of Jeff’s phone ringing, which didn’t. She wondered how many nights you had to go without sleeping before you started hallucinating.
“Where’s your friend?”
The guy with the heavy Brooklyn accent who’d harassed her and Jeff knelt up suddenly in the seat in front of her. Great. Just what she needed. A total stranger interrogating her about her relationship with Jeff when all she wanted to do was hide in a corner and cry over what she’d lost and regained and lost again.
“He went home.”
Brooklyn raised both thick black eyebrows. “Did you forgive him?”
Was he for real? “Why are we having this conversation?”
“You owe me,” said Brooklyn guy. “You bring your reality show on the train, you can’t just take it off the air whenever you want. I need to know what happens.”
He was older than she’d guessed, maybe fifty, with a heavy, jowly face that looked Italian in origin, with its first-thing-in-the-morning shadow. He had kind eyes. There was a gentle curiosity on his face, and she felt a pressure in her chest that she understood was her need to talk to someone, anyone, about how much Jeff had hurt her.
“What happens,” she said slowly, “is that the guy is a workaholic, and when some crisis happens at work, he runs off to fix it and the girl remembers why she couldn’t live with him to begin with.”
“Huh. So, like, he just left ?”
“You know I don’t really owe you anything, right?” she asked, more for her own benefit than his. “I don’t have to tell you.”
He nodded. “You don’t have to tell me.”
“I know.” Yet it was comforting, this total stranger who somehow, mysteriously, had become their—she’d been about to think godfather , but she decided that was vaguely discriminatory and settled on guardian angel instead.
“So he just left,” Brooklyn repeated.
She nodded.
“And you—just let him go?”
“Well, what the hell else was I supposed to do? This is what he does. He makes promises he can’t keep. He spends most of his time working. He thinks the job is that important. ”
“You could tell him he’s wrong.”
“I have told him—”
She stopped. She thought back to the ringing of the phone, their intimacy cooling rapidly as the familiar sound floated in the air. To the train ride two days ago when she’d first fled from his endless conversation with his admin. To a hundred, maybe a thousand other phone calls. All the times she’d let him put her aside. Let him put work first.
She was well trained. The phone rang, and she melted obligingly into the shadows. You want to abandon me? Again? Sure! Let me just get myself out of the way here.
She had told
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