Did she notice?
I slide a gilded gift certificate out of the envelope.
“It’s apparently to a nice place in Scarsdale.” Her voice lacks its usual staccato charm. I can’t quite read the tone. Sarcasm or maybe bewilderment? She never lets the security mask slip, especially with me.
I study the card—certainly is a nice place. Provisions is one of the top farm-to-table restaurants in the area. Clint and I used to make it a point to get there once a season but haven’t been there in years. Reservations take months to procure.
“You have a reservation for two at seven thirty tonight and—”
“A dinner reservation tonight?” I flip the thick card stock over, looking for the catch.
She rounds her eyes at me as if saying,Yes, that’s what I just said.“Also, you’ve been emailed details about a booking for a cottage Thursday night through Sunday in the Poconos. A thank-you for all the hard work.”
“I’m sorry.” I want to ask her to repeat herself but sense her growing frustration with me. I’m being rewarded? “You’re sending me on vacation to the mountains.”
“The company is.” Candace nods curtly. “Your hours have likely put strain on your family, and this is our way of supporting you.”
A chill runs up my arm holding the card—like they’re all readingout of the same playbook. Is it Hardwin’s idea to get me away from here, and from Betsey, until after her deadline?
“Time is a limited currency. Wouldn’t want you to waste it,” she says.
I swallow the stone lodged in my throat. Phil must have shared my email.
As if Candace can read my mind, her eyebrows slightly raise as if saying,Of course this is their way to get you away from your mess. Be thankful this is the direction the company is choosing to go.
“Maybe I can take some time next week? After the board meeting? I have a lot going on for the next few days.” I indicate all the folders and my computer on my desk.
My cell phone rings. It’s Clint. I expect Candace to excuse herself, but instead she remains completely at ease, as if the call is for both of us.
“Give me a minute,” I say.
She nods but doesn’t budge.
I press my lips against a sigh and answer the phone, but I’m suddenly unsure how to. We haven’t spoken since he accused me of purposefully not coming home. I blurt out the highly imaginative “Hi.”
“How are you?” Clint asks.
Not what I was expecting. He hasn’t asked that question in ages. Part of our counseling is to inquire and share specific information about ourselves, and not use platitudes or open-ended nonsense.
“I’m fine.” I can break the rules as well.
“Erika and I are leaving for her dentist appointment soon.”
“How is she?” It’s like we’re roommates talking about when our puppy needs to go out.
“On her phone.”
“What?” I spin around to face my couch and lower my voice. “But I have her phone.”
“She has a burner.” Now I hear it in his voice. He’s holding himself tight like he may erupt if left unchecked.
“A burn—” I twist to my left, and my eyes catch Candace’s. If she won’t leave, I will. I shoot up from my desk and my chair rolls back, slamming into my credenza. I leave it and walk out my door.
“Are you still there?” Clint’s voice takes an edge.
“Yes. Sorry. I had to get out of my office. She has a burner phone?”
“Had.” He lets out a heavy breath into the phone. “I had to wrestle it out of her hands.”
