“Chartreuse,” I reply.
“Huh?” Lindsay asks.
“The folders. They’re chartreuse.”
“He’s right. They are chartreuse.” Silvia, our art director, should know. “What’s he up to?”
I shrug. “All I know is he was promoted one day, and we had someone consulting the next.”
“I never liked that guy.” See? Silvia doesn’t beat around the bush.
“Oh, now,” Lindsay says softly, “he’s okay.”
I’m staying out of this conversation. Whatever I say, one of them will disagree with me, and I don’t need either of them on my bad side. On the contrary, I need everyone on my good side.
“All I can say is I have no idea what’s going on. I’m as surprised as you are.” Maybe more so since he was my assistant.
“What the hell is in that folder?” Silvia again.
“No idea.”
“Whatever it is, it’s not good.”
I nod slowly because she’s right. It’s most definitely not good.
“Oh, Sky.” I sigh as I run my fingers through her silky hair. “I’m not sure what to think about work.”
She nuzzles into my neck and gives me a lick. It’s her way of comforting me, and it works every single time.
“Come on, let’s go for a walk.”
She begins to wiggle excitedly in my arms, and I laugh. As soon as I say the word “walk,” she goes nuts. I grab her leash and my wallet, and we’re out the door. “I’ll pick up something for dinner while we’re out.” Okay. I know it’s probably strange for people to see a grown-ass man talking to his tiny dog, but I don’t care. She listens, and sometimes she responds. I know she’s paying attention. I can see it in her eyes.
Outside my building, I take a right like I always do when we go for walks. There’s a large park a block to the west of my building. We have a route that normally takes us about thirty minutes from start to finish. That is unless I stop for a slice of pizza or a coffee. It’s pizza tonight, but I’ll pick that up on the way back.
In the park, she does her business quickly and spends the rest of the trek doing what dogs do: sniffing. It’s a beautiful night. The temperature has dropped significantly since the afternoon, reminding me that fall is just around the corner. I love fall. Always have. When I was younger, it was due to the start of the school year where you get to meet new people and watch the leaves change. Then, best of all, there’s football season.
“I miss….” I look down at my Sky and see she’s got her head underneath a shrub. God only knows what she’s found under there, so I tug on her to get her back to the path. Once we’re on our way again, my mind goes back to my thoughts on fall, and I suddenly feel sad. Like in my chest. There’s an empty feeling, almost dread. My dad loved football season. The Chicago Bears were his team. Damn…. “Shake that off,” I mumble to myself. Where the hell did that come from? I look down at Sky and smile. “Maybe I should call Mom, huh?”
I haven’t spoken to my mother in a few weeks. And it’s not like she hasn’t tried. She leaves me a couple of voice messages every week. I love my mom. I really do. It’s just that ever since Dad died last year, talking to her makes it all come back. That’s not her fault, of course, but it’s just weird only talking to her. They were a package deal, my parents. Together for just over thirty years, high school sweethearts, the perfect couple. Everyone said so. Dad was the quarterback, Mom the cheerleader.
“At least she’s got my sister nearby,” I say down to Sky. “I know they’re close.” But it’s not the same. I’m sure she misses me.
Bending down, I stroke the top of Sky’s head. “As soon as we get back, I’m going to call her.” Right after I get my slice of delicious New York-style pizza.
There’s a long line at Mike’s Pizza. Not a surprise, since it’s great pizza at a cheap price. The place is tiny inside, so most people do the walk-up window, which is what we’re doing.
Picking up Sky, I pet her head as I look up to read the menu. “I’m going old-school, Sky. Pepperoni tonight.”
She licks my hand and I smile. When I look back down, something catches my eye. Something curvy with dark hair. I lean back to get a better look.
It’s her. Alison. Walking this way.
“What’s she doing in this neighborhood, Sky?”
My pup follows my line of sight and makes a cute little noise. I don’t speak dog, but if I had to guess, I’d say she likes the look of her too.
She’s still wearing the blue sweater from earlier, which means she hasn’t been home yet. It may also mean she lives around here.
“Do you think she lives in LIC, Sky?”
Not wanting her to see me, I turn my back to her and pretend I’m reading the menu again. I know she feels uncomfortable around me, which bothers me a great deal. The need for her to realize I’m one of the good guys is almost overpowering.
“I need to change that, Sky.” I speak softly, so only she can hear me. “I can’t have her thinking the worst of me.”
Chapter Nine
Alison
Today sucked. I accomplished nothing. Working in the conference room proved to be challenging because I needed access to a printer slash copy machine. A secure printer slash copy machine. While the chair was more comfortable and the table was large so I could spread out, the fact that the entire wall that faces the offices was glass made me feel like a fish in a bowl.
Every once in a while, I felt eyes on me, but when I looked up, there was nothing. Weird. Also, the five people I initially asked to meet with me were “busy,” and when I tried for three others, same thing. So I did what I needed to do. I emailed Graham again.
To: Graham Morgan
From: Alison Kirby
Graham,
I believe I’m meeting with some resistance. I attempted to set up five meetings with support staff and no one was available. Thoughts?
Thanks,
Alison Kirby
I received his reply while on the subway.
To: Alison Kirby
From: Graham Morgan
I’ll take care of it.
G.M.
I was less than impressed with his response. It’s not like I expect him to expound on his thoughts, but something more than five words would be nice.
Yeah. Today sucked.
As soon as I step foot into my place, I start to remove clothing. Shoes first, then the clothes. Getting my bra off is a priority. Once that’s done, I slip on my favorite pair of yoga pants and an old UConn sweatshirt.
“Finally.” I sigh like I’d been wearing a straitjacket all day. Honestly, bras are sort of like that. Tight and constricting.
Walking into my tiny kitchen, I find the nearly empty bottle of wine in the fridge and pour myself the remainder. I take a sip but need more than one before I can figure out what to make for dinner. In my cupboards, I find a can of soup and a few saltine crackers. “This will have to do tonight.” And it’s fine. It’s what we ate growing up when things were tight. I can do the same now.