Page 9 of Of Literature and Lattes
Charlotte’s Web. The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. PippiLongstocking. The PhantomTollbooth...She grinned, remembering them all, especiallyThe Phantom Tollboothand Milo. The literature of math, she thought with a sigh as she started her car.
At North and Chestnut she turned west, away from town and away from the lake. A Pilates studio still stood next to Winsome Realty, and a new yoga place resided two storefronts away, beside the hardware store. After another right turn at the Presbyterian Church and a row of Craftsman-style houses, Alyssa pulled into the parking lot of a large redbrick apartment building.
There was no buzzer, no lock, just two quick flights of stairs opening from the lobby. Within minutes she stood outside 3E. She knocked. She waited. She knocked again before the door opened.
“Hello?!” Seth Harrison’s voice lifted and arced as he stared at his daughter. It was 10:00 a.m. on a Sunday morning and he looked as if he’d already run, read the paper, and probably cleaned his small apartment. He also looked as if caught between an exclamation and a question, but something in her eyes must have stopped him from saying more.
He stood silent for a beat, then lifted his hand. “Honey?” he whispered.
Alyssa bit her lip. She’d been wrong. The tears weren’t all gone. She stepped into his arms and got out only one word as they started again.
“Dad.”
“You can’t stay here.”
Of all the words Alyssa thought her dad might say, after hearing about all she’d been through, those four never occurred to her.
Seth Harrison had hugged his daughter, welcomed her inside, poured her another cup of coffee, and then settled into his one armchair to face her as she curled into the corner of his couch and relaxed for the first time in months.
“It wasn’t supposed to be like this.” She tucked a foot beneath her.
“Nothing ever turns out quite like we anticipate.”
Alyssa expected her dad’s voice to carry the same sad derision she’d heard for three years. She expected to find a fellow soul wallowing at the bottom, had imagined the two of them spending the summer commiserating over old-fashioneds, ice cream, and Cubs games. But something in his voice told her that reality was as altered as the Daily Brew to Andante. There was a resilience and an energy, a note of excited anticipation that, for the second time that morning, left her both surprised and unsettled.
Seth continued. “You believed in the mission and it was a good one, and while a lot went wrong, this will pass and you’ll be fine. When is your interview?”
She knew he wasn’t referring to any of the seventeen job interviews. Nor was he talking about the latest three resumes she’d sent to companies in Atlanta, Charlotte, and Minneapolis. He was talking about the only interview, in the end, that mattered. The one with the Federal Bureau of Investigation.
“The message didn’t say anything, just that they can interview me out of the Chicago office. They have all my emails. Heck, they have every keystroke ever made at XGC, so they have to know I knew nothing... But what if I really am to blame?”
“You’re not to blame.”
“You don’t know that. I don’t know that. Because no one will tell me anything. Even my lawyer doesn’t know what they’re up to... Do you know they’ve interviewed every other department? He told me that. Even members of my team. But not me. Nothing. Silence.”
“It might be clear you’re innocent.”
“But I’m not... My team created that code, made those predictive algorithms. If someone got told they were headed toward ALS, it’s because we told them so. Then all that data was sold. Did you hear that? That’s what they’re saying. Fox News and CNN reported it, and if they both agree, it must be true. Who knows what kind of marketing these people have gotten. Can you imagine? Your most horrid fears showing up as ads in the sidebars of your Google searches? I’m going—” Alyssa couldn’t pull in air. It felt as if her heart was thumping up and out of her chest and closing off her windpipe.
“Enough.” Seth leaned over and clamped a hand on her knee. His grip was so tight she gasped as the pain shifted her attention. He released her knee and sat back again. “My college soccer coach used to do that. Worked every time.”
“Oddly it does.” She rubbed her knee.
“Sweetheart.” He waited until she met his eyes. “Looking to the past, especially when you don’t know the whole story, won’t get you anywhere. Take it from me—and I don’t mean just about work. I mean life. You’ll make assumptions.”
He paused so long Alyssa sensed he was talking about more than XGC.
“You will make mistakes,” he continued without prompting. “Focus on here and now, and your next first step. Only that... And I’m glad you’re home.”
“Thanks, Dad.” Alyssa felt her pulse slow. She knew he was trying to encourage her, and no matter how hopeless it all felt, she appreciated it. But she also feared he was skirting close to talking about her mom. She didn’t want to—no, she couldn’t—go there, not today.
She looked around her dad’s small apartment, the most visible and tangible reminder of their divorce. While it wasn’t what she imagined for him, it did look like him. She envied the cozy, comfortable space he’d created for himself. Fly fishing photos from his trip to South America displayed on his bookshelves, Cubs tickets pinned to the small bulletin board outside his kitchen, the pillow she’d made for him in eighth-grade home economics class tucked behind him into the corner of his one armchair.
She looked toward the outer wall. Two French doors opened onto a tiny balcony. The eighteen inches didn’t even allow for a chair, but double doors gave the room a sense of space and filled it with clear morning light. It was an apartment she could envision for herself. She could rest here.
The realization that she could, in fact, rest instantly heightened her exhaustion. Her stomach started a slow burn, but she couldn’t bring herself to cross the living room for her handbag and Tums by the front door.
“Can I crash in your spare room while I find a job and build up some savings? I’ll be gone by Labor Day. I’m giving myself the summer to get a cushion under me. I’ll work anywhere. Maybe Lexi will let me wait tables at Mirabella.”
