My phone buzzed in my bag just as Janine disappeared into the crowd.Shit.Vivienne—that was my thought as I groped for it. A couple hours ago, theNew York Timesreporter had left word,officially requesting comment on the story the paper intended to run. The clock was now ticking. We were going to need to respond.
But the text wasn’t from Vivienne.
Hi, Kat. It’s Jules. Can we talk privately?it read.Away from the office?
I stared at the unfamiliar number. Jules and I were in constant contact—we were never really off the clock; even on weekends she fielded my calls. But this number wasn’t programmed into my cell, and I had all of hers: home, cell, her sister. I was suspicious, of course. I was always suspicious. Texts, emails—you never really knew who they were from. Say little, assume the worst. That was my policy in general.
New number?I texted back.
Oh, sorry, my work cell is dead. Can we meet?
Sure,I wrote back, still not convinced.How about tomorrow afternoon? We could step out for coffee?
This was a surefire double check, since I knew that Tuesdays didn’t work for Jules. She was a single mother to a two-and-a-half-year-old daughter with significant developmental delays that required a vast array of therapies: speech, OT, PT. Jules had somehow been able to keep most of the weekly appointments contained to a single afternoon—Tuesdays.
Okay,she wrote back.That’s fine. I can have a friend pick up Daniela and take her to therapy.
It certainly sounded like Jules.
Or maybe we should talk now on the phone?she added.I’m a little worried about waiting …
Not wanting to wait until the next day? Talking outside the office? It must be a personal problem.
Please, Kat. It’s important; otherwise, I wouldn’t ask.
Will call in two seconds. Let me step outside.
Out on the sidewalk, I texted Doug, in case he somehow arrived without my noticing.I’m outside on a call. Be done in a minute. You close?I waited a beat. No reply. Even now, he was only a couple minutes late, but even that wasn’t like him. What if he really was standing me up?
Jules answered right away.
“Thank you,” she said. “I didn’t—I wasn’t sure who else to call.”
“Jules, what’s wrong? Oh, wait, did Vivienne unleash on you? I’m sorry, she can be a lot—”
“It’s not Vivienne.”
Her voice was quavering.
“Whatever it is, I’ll try to help.” There was a crackling, tinny sound on the line. “Shoot, Jules, I think you’re breaking up.”
“I don’t hear anything,” she said. “You hear something?”
“Oh, maybe it’s me. I’m—”
“What do you hear?” Jules demanded. “Exactly.”
“Oh, it’s just … It’s gone now. It sounded for a minute like the call was breaking up.”
“You know what, Kat—I’m sorry,” Jules said. Her voice had turned crisp. “I’m actually okay for now. I think I was overreacting.”
“Jules, come on … I can tell you’re not fine. Talk to me.”
“I’ve got to go. Daniela needs me,” she said. “I’m sorry I bothered you, Kat.”
And then she was gone. When I called back, it went straight to voice mail.
I heard the ping of a text coming in as I was leaving a message. “Oh, that’s probably you texting. Call me back when you can, though? I want us to talk.”
