“You don’t get mad at people like I do. You say stuff like, ‘She could communicate better,” she said, and she had imitated both my voice and the accent I tried to keep out of it. I smiled and then I laughed.
“I don’t sound like that!” I said, but I was sure that I did. “Well, you’re right and it was that person, and the problem was due to the fact that she wasn’t communicating. I could have helped her if she had talked to me about it.”
“What?” Lyra asked. “What did she do?”
“She missed several deadlines, which is the same thing as not handing in school stuff when it’s due. She also messed up some documents she wrote. She sent things that were wrong to our client and to the city where my company is working. Our boss is pretty mad, but he doesn’t yell at us.”
“Does he act disappointed? That’s what you do.”
“I do?” I asked, surprised.
“Like this,” she told me. She adjusted her features and I recognized the expression, because it was how I looked when my feelings were hurt. I’d seen it when I’d caught a glimpse of myself in the car mirrors while riding with Dax, for example, and I didn’t like it.
“I’ll stop doing that,” I told her.
“You should express your feelings,” she told me solemnly. “That’s what Silas says. My counselor said it too, but you have to do it in ways that are appropriate. Do you understand?”
“I think I do,” I answered, and she seemed glad to hear it.
“You also shouldn’t keep secrets, like if someone is hurting you. You can tell Silas.”
“Lyra, is someone…was someone…”
“I’m ok,” she told me, and she actually patted my shoulder. “But you don’t have to worry about telling him, even if it’s something bad or you’re scared to say it. Because he’ll help you. Do you need to talk to Silas about your boss?”
“No, I don’t think so. I’m really not in trouble,” I tried to reassure her, but she still seemed a little concerned. She brought the bracelet supplies down from her room and sat across the table from me while I worked, knotting quietly until it was time for her to go to bed. She let me tuck her in but I did stop myself from kissing her forehead, the way I wanted to.
I had more than a little work to do because Octavia’s project was a mess. It had gotten even worse while Rashelle was out of the office for ten days on her honeymoon, and I wished that I’d been aware of it sooner. But she wasn’t my subordinate—we were on the same level, peers. That was something that Beckett, our actual boss, had discussed with me today.
And despite what I’d told Lyra, I really did want to talk to Silas about it. He was so good at reading people and he didn’t have experience in the corporate world, but relationships and hierarchies were the same wherever you were. I couldn’t call him while he was at the loading dock, though, and I figured that I’d be asleep by the time he got home early tomorrow morning.
That was what I figured before I got into things, but when I did, I discovered so much more that I would need to accomplish in order to put the project back together. I was on the phone with Octavia, I was texting with Beckett, and finally, I was sitting by myself with only the kitchen light above me in the quiet of this nice neighborhood as I continued to work alone. I yawned and rubbed my neck but I kept at it, and suddenly I realized what time it was.
Silas should have been back. Since I only had his information for that stupid flip phone, I couldn’t see his location and when Icalled that stupid flip phone, he didn’t answer. So I called again, then again. Each time he didn’t pick up, I got more worried.
That explained why I dropped my phone when it rang and showed his name, and then I said, “Silas? Silas!” instead of answering normally.
“Yeah, it’s me,” he said.
“Where are you?”
“Do you know Detroit Saint Raphael?” he asked.
“Detroit Saint—is that a hospital? Are you saying that you’re in a hospital?”
“I’m fine,” he told me. His voice did sound pretty normal, just slightly garbled. But how many people went to the hospital because they were “fine?” “I’ll be home in a little while. I’ll get a car.”
“I’m coming there. I’m coming there!”
“I don’t want you to drive around the city and I don’t want you to leave Ly.”
“I’ll figure that out! I’m coming, Silas!”
“Shit, ok,” he sighed, and it reminded me a lot of when I had asked Dax if I could come visit him on one of his nights at a club. He really hadn’t wanted me and I had listened and hadn’t gone.
But tonight, only a little while after I hung up, I was speeding—not really speeding, but going at the posted limit through the city to the emergency room at Detroit Saint Raphael Hospital. I remained calm when I got there and talked to the people atthe intake desk, and they let me go back to see Silas. He was sitting on the edge of the hospital bed when I approached and he waved at me, even kind of smiling. But that was hard to see because there was blood—and his face was swollen—and there were bruises—
“I’m fine,” he repeated. “Cammie, don’t cry.”
