The waitress came up before I could say hello, and we ordered our drinks. She got her usual, cappuccino con Panna. The health nut loved her whipped cream. I ordered a black coffee, cinnamon, and honey, even though Remi’s is famous for their flower-infused coffees, and Lindsey made a fake gagging sound.
“Shut up. I don’t give you crap for your drink.”
“My drink is delicious.”
“So is mine,” I said in a childish voice, slightly mocking her.
“Right, right,” Lindsey said with an ironic eye roll before launching into a vivid description of the horrors of navigating NYC in the cold.
A few minutes later, the waitress brought out orders, and after we took our first sip, Lindsey let out a long, dramatic sigh.
“Go ahead,” I said.
“What?”
“Say it.”
“Nope.”
“Do it. Let it out.”
“I told you so,” she sighed with relief. “I feel better.”
“I know,” I chuckled. “So, you read the article?”
“Three times,” she replied, dipping her finger in the whipped cream to bring it to her mouth. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.”
“Will you listen to me if I tell you my opinion?”
I sulked, hugging the mug to my chest. “I’m listening.”
“I think you need to get out of town. Press the reset button. Go somewhere else.”
“I can’t, Lindsey. I need to work.”
“Okay but do it where you won’t be bombarded. Take time for yourself,” she reached a hand out and placed it on mine. “It’s okay to do that, you know. To get away from it all. And right now, I think it’s the best time for you to do it.”
I exhaled, and my breath caused the steam rising from my mug to drift. “I know. It’s just embarrassing.” My phone buzzed, flashing with an unknown number. It could be work, it could be the press, but either way, I had to roll the dice. “Melinda Bailey speaking,” I answered.
“Hi, Ms. Bailey. This is Kenneth Clarke from the FBI. I have some questions for you.”
Oh, yeah. It was time for me to get out of dodge.
