Micah spent all afternoon pinging her. He apologized and apologized, telling her they’d find time to be together soon, that he missed her, too. Augie couldn’t help it: She weakened. She ate it up. This was what she’d really wanted. So at seven, once most people had left, when he asked her to meet in a conference room on the fifteenth floor to apologize in person, she agreed.
As usual, she knew where it was going. But as she watched Micah close the blinds, lock the door, walk to her, and drop to his knees, tugging down her skirt, she didn’t stop it.
Neither of them could have known that an hour before there had been a focus group in that conference room. Like the focus groups Augie had led with young people who had never played the lottery, a video recording device had been set up so the strategy team could watch from a room next door, follow along to take notes, list insights, ask questions.
Neither of them knew that the strategy team was still sitting there, on the other side of the wall, debating their recent findings. They didn’t know that the camera was still on, taping their every move, up until the moment the VP of the company noticed the screen and lunged forward to shut the camera off.
Of course, it was already too late.
“He was friends with Micah, naturally.” Augie took a breath before continuing to explain how that next day, she was called into the VP’s office, and how—in what she described as the world’s most condescending tone—he told her there was a merger approaching and many people were going to be let go. That he was sorry Augie had been caught up in all of it.
“There was nothing I could do. He told me I could get HR involved if I wanted, but it felt like a threat. He said it would only drag out the process and that twenty percent of the agency would be laid off. It would be more tactful to leave with the merger. He said he’d still give me a good recommendation. But I never wanted to speak to him again. I never wanted to speak to any of them again. Micah didn’t stand up for me. He called me once—onelast time, to say he was ‘sorry for how things ended,’ to warn me about the recording, to explain he was too far along in his career to ‘blow it up now.’” Augie bit the tip of her tongue until the pain felt like relief. “It was all so horrible. I was so mortified. Iamso mortified.”
Augie closed her eyes, raw and sick with embarrassment. She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, blurring the spots of light behind her eyelids, as she waited for Leah to scold her—to ask how she could do such a thing, to remind her Julia and Micah were married,family—but she felt Leah climbing over to her. Leah knelt on the floor beside her, then leaned up to hug Augie around the shoulders.
Augie didn’t know what to make of it at first, but as Leah squeezed tighter and rocked her back and forth, whispering, “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry that happened to you,” Augie began to cry.
“This is not your fault,” Leah said.
Augie swallowed hard, more tears rising up her throat.
“You have to believe me.”
And for the first time, Augie did.
Augie didn’t know when she and Leah fell asleep, but at some point, she woke to knocking at the front door. She sat up, panicked, as she took in the dark room, and grabbed her phone. It was just after one a.m.
She had five new messages from Chat.
Augie felt like she was in a dream as she peeled herself off the couch, careful not to stir Leah. She moved over the squares of moonlight on the carpet as she walked to the door, smoothing her oversize T-shirt and sweatpants.
Chat’s shoulders were scrunched to his neck, his hands in his pockets, as he shivered from the cool night. When he saw Augie, his body slackened. He didn’t speak.
She moved to the side.
Neither knew what to do. The only sound was Leah snoring lightly behind them.
“Thanks for messaging,” Chat whispered. “I wanted to talk to you. To both of you.”
Augie searched his tired face, feeling another strange mix of tenderness and anger.
“We should wake her up.” Augie stepped toward the couch.
Chat reached out suddenly and grabbed her forearm, but she kept moving away until he was holding only her fingertips.
She gently nudged Leah awake. Leah blinked twice, but as soon as she noticed Chat, she sat up. She threw off the blanket, gathered the papers from the coffee table. “Kitchen?” she said.
It was bizarre having both Chat and Leah in her house—especially in the middle of the night, especially after all that had happened—but they made their way to the breakfast nook. Augie boiled water for tea and set out mugs. She turned on a side lamp so the light wasn’t harsh.
“Okay,” Leah said diplomatically.
Augie could tell she was trying to remain calm.
“We need to know what you know. Everything.”
Chat shifted in his seat.
“Because all I’ve ever known, for my whole life, is this.” Leah pushed the pile of accident reports and photos of Lyle toward Chat, the papers flat and flimsy. “Lyle and Grant left The Manor, stole the keys, stole the boat. Crashed into the Arcola fucking Bridge and died.”
