Page 127 of Cuts like a Knife
“Since I’m probably losing my job, I’ll probably hold off.”
“You have a thousand dollars coming in from Sentinel,” she says.
“Yeah. I guess. Now just doesn’t seem like the best time for another big expenditure.”
She just shrugs before we part ways in the lobby.
~
Bex isn’t at our apartment. But there’s a note on the fridge.
Sorry your phone is bricked! Am seeing someone. And staying with them for a few days. I know, I know. So secretive. I should have told you before. I don’t know why I didn’t. But I promise to tell you more soon! Will be visiting Claire in hospital on the weekend. Maybe then? -B
So she’s got a new guy. Oh well. That explains a lot.
After the last few days, and all the revelations, I’m strangely exhausted, but before I go to sleep, I cobble together an invoice for the photos and send it off to the address Charles Atlas gave me yesterday. Actually, I reply all. And I guess Charles is still awake, because he writes back.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Photographs
Thanks for the photos, kid. You okay? You looked upset on the boat last night.
At least he didn’t see me jump off. Like a crazy person. I reply.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Photographs
I’m good. I bricked my phone, that’s all. At least I still have email.
Not entirely true, but so what?
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Photographs
One last piece of advice: get a new personal email address, you ridiculous child.
I laugh. He’s got a point.
I close my laptop, have a long bath, and go to bed in an oversized teeshirt of unknown origin.
I sleep for a long time.
~
The next few days are subdued and slow. I keep expecting to see an angry email in my inbox from Lars, or something from SpyMaster, but nothing comes. I visit Claire, seeing a variety of my siblings and family members along the way. Sentinel pays me, but I don’t go out to buy a new phone.
On Monday morning, I figure the only thing to do is to go into work. As far as I know, I still have a job357.
As I arrive, the new IT kid — I can’t remember his name — is locking his bike to a tree outside. I’m not going to ask him to trace the email. It doesn’t matter anymore.
