I studied Rosa. She was not normally this civil to me, and in fact, she had not made a tea for me in three years, nine months, and two days.
Her eyes met mine, but I did not know what had changed.
“Thank you,” I said.
Things were happening, personally and professionally—things I might be missing because I failed to see context. But I could only do what I was capable of.
Rosa turned back then to face me. “This science teacher,” she said. “What you noticed with Camy’s project… did you tell her?”
“Why would I tell her?” I asked.
“’Cause you’re… you.”
“Right.” I nodded. This was an understandable assumption. I’d had the choice to turn Rosa’s daughter in to the police, and I’d done so.
“Well,” I said. “When it comes to Camila, I try not to be me.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
I stood in the doorway to my office and squinted inside.
Sitting in my chair was Frank Roberts, my old boss, who had run PAR for four years.
“What are you doing here?” I asked. It was 8:20 a.m. on a Saturday, and Frank’s office was in Dallas, Texas, not Miami.
“Nice to see you, too,” he said.
Frank is six foot one, and nearly every day, he wears a suit with a vest. He’s Black, with short, cropped hair, and is impeccably neat.
He tapped at the desk. “My office in Jacksonville was nicer.”
When Frank left PAR to become the head of the Dallas office, I’d inherited his old office, which looked out over the front lawn of the building in Jacksonville. I’d left the place behind the week after. Moved PAR down South so I could be closer to Camila.
My eyes moved from Frank to my desk. His workbag was unpacked, and three files were laid out in a neat line.
“What brings you to Miami?” I asked.
“You, apparently,” he said. “You’re a busy little bee.”
Frank’s computer was plugged in where I normally plug in my laptop. And his old briefcase, which has a bullet hole in the side, leaned against my desk.
“Right,” I said, putting it together. “So busy that Craig Poulton asked you to come all the way here from your new job in Texas, huh?”
“Something like that,” Frank replied.
I studied my old boss. “You’reour project manager?”
“For the short term,” he said, giving a sharp nod. “A two-week assignment, from what I was told.”
Frank had taught me to say the opposite of how I was feeling when interacting with higher-ups. And we were both proud when I could pull it off.
“Okay,” I said. “Sounds good.”
Frank smiled but looked confused. “You sure?”
Craig Poulton was slowing down our work, and Frank was an effective barrier. I just didn’t believe he would’ve arrived this fast if things were perfect in Texas.
“Absolutely,” I said.
