“They can try.” His jaw tightens. “But it won’t be easy. I still own 20% of the company.”
He scrolls over the subject lines of more emails.
URGENT: Brazil lawsuit update.Media statement required.Board meeting agenda - CONFIDENTIAL.
His whole world, demanding his attention.
And me? I’m just the girl who happened to be here. The inconvenient variable in his disaster equation.
“I should call my parents,” I say quietly.
He looks up then, and something in his expression softens. “Yeah. Of course. Let’s check the phones.”
He reaches for his cellphone on the counter, powers it on. Waits.
No signal.
He tries the satellite phone next. Powers it up, waits for it to acquire satellites.
Nothing.
“Shit,” he mutters. “Still no signal on either. The storm must have done more damage to the cell towers than I thought. And the satphone is having trouble with the mountains again, apparently.”
I don’t have any luck with my cellphone, either.
Of course.
Because why would anything be easy?
“We can try to use WhatsApp on the laptop,” he offers. “Video call your parents? Or at least message them? Or someone you know?”
Right. The laptop. With its precious limited generator time that we’re burning through right now.
“Maybe after you’re done,” I say. “You have more urgent--”
“Fuck that,” he says, and the vehemence in his voice surprises me. “Give me a number.”
So I give him the number of one of my roommates, because of course my parents don’t have WhatsApp. They don’t have any social media at all, actually. My dad still thinks Facebook is “where the kids hang out” even though I’ve explained multiple times that Facebook is for old people now and also Dad you’re thinking of TikTok and please never get TikTok.
God, I miss them.
We try a video call first, and I hold my breath watching the screen, willing Jenna to pick up.
Please pick up, please--
But there’s no answer.
So we send a text instead.
Gregory types while I dictate:I’m all right. Let my parents know. And my advisor. --Sorrel.
It’s short and efficient. Completely inadequate for “hey sorry I’ve been missing for days and you’ve probably been planning my funeral.”
But when you’re low on generator fuel, you don’t have time for long flowery texts.
When it’s sent, he immediately closes the laptop. Doesn’t even check the rest of his emails. Doesn’t scroll through the hundred other urgent messages demanding his attention.
He just closes it.
