Page 105 of Brooklynaire
He’s right. Businesses are bought and sold all the time. “I’m a controlfreak.”
“You’re just figuring that outnow?”
“Don’t you have some ledgers to go over orsomething?”
My best friend throws himself down on the leather sofa against the wall. “Wait, is this a safe place to sit? Now that you’re getting some action again, should I worry what happens on thiscouch?”
I flip him off. What are we, sixteen? Although there was some pretty dodgy furniture in our first office. The mess was from Chinese food and pizza, though, not bodilyfluids.
“Dallas, huh? Can I tag along to gameone?”
“Sure, whynot.”
“I’m surprised you’re not off with the team somewhere, watching game tape. ‘This is the guy you want to hit. Squash him like abug.’”
“Stew…”
I’m about to evict him from my office when Lauren sticks her head through the doorway. “Nate—there’s a doctor on your line. Armitage. Does that sound familiar? He says you’ll know what it’sabout.”
“Ah. I’ll pick him up.” I point at Stew. “Go. Get out of here. I have to let the doctor shake me down for another contribution for brain injuryresearch.”
“Sounds stimulating.Later.”
When the door closes on Stew, I greet my caller. “Hello, doctor! How are thingsgoing?”
“I was hoping you could tell me,” he says. “We haven’t seen Rebecca in nearly two weeks. Has her number changed? I’d like to get a hold of her to see if she can come back to therapy, and also have a follow-up visit fortesting.”
“Back to therapy,” I say slowly. “She hasn’t beenin?”
There’s a silence. “Sorry. I assumed you knew that. I wouldn’t haveasked…”
“No, it’s fine,” I say quickly. “She’s traveling in Dallas rightnow.”
“Right! Congratulations, by the way. Bignews.”
“The whole organization is thrilled,” I hear myself say. But inside I’m boiling. Rebecca wasn’t supposed to stop going to therapy. She has an intern to cover her when she can’t be with theteam.
I manage to politely disengage with the doctor, promising to pass on his message. Then I hang up the phone. “What the hell are you thinking?” I ask my emptyoffice.
What I don’t do, however, is call Rebecca. I’m too irritated. And even though I’ve been told I’m shitty at relationships, “don’t yell” is a rule that even Iunderstand.
So I go over to the treadmill desk in the corner of the room and start walking. The computer screens sense my presence and light up automatically, showing me the same work I have open on thedesk.
But I’m not interested in work right now. I just need to burn off some energy so I don’t chew out my girl when I speak to her next. But—seriously. Blowing off her therapy? After all she went through to figure out adiagnosis?
I program the treadmill for climbing at intervals and I skim the news headlines. They don’t help my mood, since it’s the usual shitshow. North Korea fired a missile. A polar bear starved to death in the wild. They’re predicting another drought in California. Healthcare costs rise twenty-sevenpercent.
Healthcare costs. That one sticks in my brain as the treadmill gives me another fake hill to climb. I lean into it and breathe from my diaphragm while the ideapercolates.
“Hey, Bingley?” I call out toward myphone.
“Hullo, Nate! What can I do youfor?”
“Bingley, have you been talking to Stew? Is that hisjoke?”
“Yessir. Do you likeit?”
“I happen to think it’s funny, but it’s inappropriate. ‘Do you’ is an idiomatic expression forsex.”
