I sit down and get to work.
By the time I’ve eaten a bowl of tomato soup Jack brought me from a soup place down the road, I have a draft of my email. I send it to him and watch his face as he reads the contents, knowing the words even as he digests them for the first time.
Dear distinguished board members and esteemed library colleagues:
I’m writing to follow up on my recent presentation on the surge in auditorium profits, which you attended here at the main library. As obvious as an amazing fiction novel that rides its way to theNew York TimesBest Sellers list, I am not a master presenter, at least not in a group setting. Thus, I worked so very diligently to present the amazing success story that has been the billing dollars and storytelling the auditorium and its many events have brought to life. It’s been a joy to work to turn our dream of creating a successful auditorium that manages to weave a story of its own inside a place that is all about brilliant storytelling—the main library.
Now, you might wonder how I’ve done such a thing, when I stand before a large group of board members, and can barely speak my name. With practice comes perfection. I’ve been sharing my love of books with people since I was young enough to speak. I’ve only stood in front of a room of prestigious people who obviously are committed to the world of books I love one time. If any of you sat with me one on one, my ability to talk about the auditorium, revenues, and business matters would be, and is, solid. I’d also most likely convince you to read a book I adore, and believe you would as well.
I thank you so much for the years I’ve enjoyed in the library system and invite you to ask me questions or chat with me about the presentation material, concerns, or, as always, a book you simply can’t wait to connect with a fellow book lover to discuss. After all, books are the life of this operation. Without them, we are nothing. In the famous words of George Herbert, “Good words are worth much, and cost little.”
Yours truly,
Mia Anderson
Master Librarian and Auditorium Coordinator
Jack’s gaze lifts to mine, and I quickly say, “It’s rough. It’s not proofed or tweaked. It’s just from the heart and—”
“It’s perfect. Send it, Mia. You got this. You are in control. Not that asshole Akia. Then go to your meeting with your parents and bring the same Midas touch you did to this email. Maybe you should wear Chanel more often.” He stands up. “I better go check on the team. Proof it. Send it.” With that, he turns and walks away.
My brows furrow.Maybe I should wear Chanel more often?How did he know I’m wearing Chanel? Jack is not Jess. He’s not a brand kind of guy. I’m confused right now. So very confused.
Chapter Sixty-Five
The whole Chanel-Jack thing bothers me all afternoon, and I don’t know why. Jack is not Adam. Adam is not Jack. It’s not until I’m sliding into an Uber to head to the meeting with the attorney that the nagging feeling abruptly takes shape. That morning I’d sworn Jack was sitting with Adam at the coffee shop is instantly center stage. The same morning that I ran into Mike Adams, ex-schoolmate, who is now FBI.
Could Mike help me deal with Adam?
But, truly, if I told him everything, would I just be admitting guilt by association where Kevin is concerned? Certainly, surely, blackmail would be considered a reason for my silence?
My cellphone buzzes, and I pull it from my bag to find a message from Kara:Great work on the email. Sorry, I didn’t read it, or respond, until now, but others have. I’ve already received several complimentary replies about your written words. More soon! Good luck with your dad.
Any relief I feel by her reply, considering I’ve been hoping to hear her thoughts on my email for hours, is doused in the gas of my memory of Jack with that man at the coffee shop. Was it Adam, and he fooled Jack in some way into thinking he was just a random stranger? I trust Jack, but he and I have shared the same kind of insecurity that I’ve come to believe tends to lead to a certain brand of naivete. Could he be unwittingly being used against me by Adam? Nothing aboutmy thoughts conjures anything resembling common sense, and yet my entire involvement in any of this defies all that I know to be my world.
I scan the news yet again. How many times is this now? Twenty? More? And still I feel like I haven’t thought of Kevin enough. Andstillthere is nothing in the news about a slaughtered man found with his throat sliced. How is that even possible?
My cellphone rings in my hand with Jess on caller ID. “Hey,” I say, not sure what to expect, with bullets flying at me from all directions. “Do you have any good news on the whole Big Davis situation?”
“I wish I did. Big Davis is protected like the devil’s own child. I can’t get to anyone or anything that helps you knock him down. But one thing I heard over and over is don’t trust him. Ever. He’s the kind of guy who could be inside you and thinking of another woman. And, by the way, usually is. He’s a real player.”
Another time I might chide her for the crassness or just cave and laugh at her for being all that I expect of her and more, but not now. “This isn’t surprising.”
“You need to go into this meeting and push everyone to remember who they’re dealing with,” she adds. “Understand?”
I cringe with the now-familiar question that seems to be punching at me from all directions. As if everyone thinks that if I don’t confirm understanding I’ll do something stupid. I’ve never been stupid. I’ve been quiet and submissive. There’s a difference. Then again, maybe there isn’t. Maybe quiet and submissive equates to stupid. I’ve lost a real gauge on such things, it seems.
“I understand,” I assure her. The car pulls up to the building that is my destination. “I have to go,” I add. “I’m arriving at the attorney’s office now.”
“I have a dinner-interview thing tonight for one of my columns. Text me when you’re done. I’ll call you back if I can. But tell me what happens in the text in case I can’t.”
“Will do,” I promise.
We disconnect, and I exit the Uber, glancing up at the high-rise where I’ll meet my parents and attend the meeting with Nick Morris, the attorney, who I can only pray knows how to do his job in a hardball kind of way. Because if we have to resort to me telling him how to get down and dirty with Big Davis, my confidence in the end result of this negotiation is not good. That said, he works for Jess, I remind myself. He’s no pushover—of that I can be certain.
I hurry inside the building, shiny floors and dangling lights surrounded by glass and more glass. Kevin lived in a smaller version of a building like this one, where the windows were the world, where the windows allowed me to watch his last moments in this world. I’m trembling with the idea as I sign in at security and hurry toward the elevator. Once I’m inside, I’m alone, and alone means I’m living in my own head, a cold, dark place where I’m reminded that Kevin only lives a few blocks from here.
Lived,I remind myself. He lived only a few blocks from here.
