Page 55 of The Company We Keep

August slipped into September in the Las Abras heat — not so much a season’s turning point but more just another page in the calendar. Dust, who insisted he’d grown up withseasons,complained enough about endless hot weather and sunshine that Carrow took to turning the thermostat down.

In Dust, Wayles had found someone who would support him in any whim — which was a boon for the other young man. Wayles had always complained that no one in The Company cared enough about holidays. Together, they set out to make the seasons mean something, even if the Southern California weather never seemed to change much.

By October, it may have still felt like summer outside, but a fabricated autumn was in full swing within the penthouse. They forced the thermostat cooler. Wayles plied them all with vegan Halloween candy and marathoned horror movies at night. (Carrow quietly excused himself from the horror movies. After four years of living with the man, TheCompany only learned that season that he couldn’tstandscary movies. Dust tried to find the incongruity about the man anything but endearing; he failed.)

After a job where they’d intercepted a shipment of Russian furs, Carrow had the idea to take The Company shopping for fall clothes. Leta made private appointments at a row of boutiques for them — something for everyone. Luxurious cashmere scarves and gloves for Wayles, hilariously expensive t-shirts for Vashvi that had been stylishly aged, new leather jackets for Herron and Dust. Leta stole the show at their last stop, trying on gown after gown. By the end, she complained of uncomfortable fabrics and impossible zippers and chose a floor-length velvet dressing gown instead.

They enjoyed their new gear in simulated fall weather up in the penthouse. November was the best of both worlds: swimming in the sunshine by day and wooly sweaters and hot chocolate by night. In the week before Thanksgiving, Wayles hacked into the city’s power and light company and, after several days of programming, figured out how to apply a forgiveness credit to every account that was behind on payments. He’d hoped it was untraceable — and indeed, the company never did figure out how to tell real payments from Wayles’ forgiveness payments. They all delighted in the chaos and news stories that followed, and the outpouring of thanks that came to the anonymous hacker from the individuals and families who got to have power for the holiday when they thought they’d have none.

Everyone stayedin Las Abras for Thanksgiving. It was the oddest and best holiday that Dust had ever taken part in.

Back in Georgia, in his old life, holidays had always felt as if they lacked something. His family wasn’t large and they’dnever had elaborate Thanksgiving traditions to begin with. The years passed. Grandparents died and aunts and uncles moved away. When Dust left home for good, heading to college and then the bureau, it was as if the last glue holding their holidays together had disintegrated.

Returning to his childhood home felt vaguely empty. His parents felt a bit like strangers. It only got worse after he started his real work with Abe — because not only could they no longer relate to what he was doing with his life, he could no longer even discuss what he was working on with them.

Maybe another person would’ve loosened up around the holidays, had a glass of wine with mom and dad and spilled some of the less important classified details of what he’d been working on. But his parents didn’t seem that interested. They talked about how his mom’s real estate business had really picked up, and how his dad was thinking of running for the tiny city council in their coastal town. They talked about the roadwork that was supposed to start in the spring, or the repairs they’d made to the deck in the fall.

Maybe they were scared about the things Dust faced in his day to day life. Maybe they didn’t want to know the details.

So the scene in the penthouse on Thanksgiving in that first year with The Company couldn’t have possibly differed more from the quiet Thanksgivings of Dust’s past.

Carrow and Herron spent the day preparing five courses — a process that truly began a full 48 hours before that, with preparations being made for projects like sourdough, side dishes, turkey and tempeh brining.

When Dust padded into the kitchen on Thanksgiving morning, he couldn’t help but smile at the sight of them, already smudged in flour and still in the clothes they’d slept in.

Wayles and Vashvi had gotten up early to watch theparade on the opposite coast, and Leta joined them sometime after Dust, mixing bloody marys for The Company members who drank.

It was a day that transpired very much like Dust had always imagined other families must spend Thanksgiving: with games of cards and marathon movie watching and warm conversation — with smells wafting out of the kitchen, both familiar and exotic.

When they gathered as they so often did at the dining room table, Dust was struck by the fact that they reallydidfunction as a family. In a world where media so often decried the death of the American family unit, Dust had found himself one that was thriving.

And he’d only had to be inducted into a group of the United States’ most wanted criminals to do it.

His contactwith AIIB slowed down. With each postponed call, Leiby became more adversarial.

She wanted to know more about the heists they were planning — insisted she was sick of having to read about Charlie’s work in the papers rather than hearing about itweeksbefore it happened, as she’d expected.

(He’d considered that. He almost let AIIB foil one. It had been a minor job: just some light arson at the request of someone trying to get even with a politician. Dust had given Leiby the date, time, target, and method, insisting that he couldn’t tell her anything more specific about the plan to get the job done because The Company was keeping him in the dark.

But even with the low-stakes job, Dust had ended up with cold feet.

He’d found one of Las Abras’ only existing pay phonesand anonymously tipped off the politician to the job. The guy had immediately upped his security measures: guard dogs, new security system, reinforced fence.

It was an odd position to be in, then: fucking over both his mission with Abe and his job with The Company.

Of course, The Company was only slowed down by the dogs, the software, the fence. They still got the job done — just not on the day they’d promised their client. And not on the day Dust had promised Leiby.

The man’s house still burned. Leiby was at least slightly placated.)

At first, it wasn’t a conscious choice. He’d find reasons to push back the calls or to skip them. He’d delete voicemails from Emerson — trying to set up calls — without opening them, telling himself that he didn’t have time to listen and that leaving them on his phone was too dangerous.

But eventually he always made it up. He rescheduled, took a motorcycle to the shitty old apartment, made his call and did his best to put Leiby off some more.

After Thanksgiving, Dust decided to skip December’s meeting entirely.

On Black Friday, he drove to the apartment. He stepped inside to make a call.

But this time it was to Emerson, and not during a scheduled time. He cheered silently when it went to the man’s voicemail. It would be easier to deliver the message without questions and interruption.

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