Page 8 of The Inmate
“The woman in the cubicle next to mine.” He’s still looking at me blankly, so I add, “The one with the really short hair—like a military cut? Really into turtles?”
“Oh.” He snaps his fingers—everybody knows about Dawn and her turtles. “Right. No, I haven’t. Why?”
I consider telling him about Dawn being late this morning and the strange phone call. But I’m trying to show him my best side at this point in our relationship, and I don’t want him to think I’m a worrywart. Plus I’m going to be late for my podcast interview.
“Nothing,” I say. “Never mind.”
He reaches for my hand and laces his fingers through mine. Then he gives me a squeeze. “Knock ‘em dead on the podcast, Nat.”
“I’ll do my best.” Before I forget, I reach into the box of T-shirts and pull out an extra large that I earmarked for him. “Here’s your T-shirt for Saturday, by the way.”
I hold it up against his chest, to make sure it’s the right size. Caleb is tall, but it doesn’t look like the shirt will be too short on him. It looks perfect.
“Appreciate it,” he says. “I can’t wait to run circles around you.”
I smack him playfully on the shoulder. “You wish. I’ve been training.”
“And I’m justnaturallygreat at running.”
I laugh, and he winks at me as he tugs the T-shirt out of my grip and then returns to his workstation. I truly wish I could go to lunch with him today. I’ve been feeling strung out all morning after that strange phone call, and it would be nice to go out for a bit and forget my troubles. But I’ve got to do this interview. It’s really important.
When I get to the conference room, I take out my compact from my purse and give myself a once-over before starting the interview. I realize it’s ridiculous to worry about how I look for a podcast interview, but I always feel more confident when I know that I look good. Sure enough, my lipstick is still intact from this morning, my mascara isn’t caked in the corner of my eye, and my skin looks pinker and healthier than this morning.
I angle the compact to get a quick look at my hair—my roots are starting to show. For my entire childhood, I had perfect golden blond hair, then sometime during my early twenties, it evolved into this washed-out dirty blond color. But it’s nothing a trip to the salon won’t fix—Magda works wonders. I hope I have time to go before the race on Saturday.
Just as I’m shoving my compact back in my purse, the call pops up on my laptop. The name flashing on the screen is Sherri Bell. I connect the call and plaster a smile on my face, even though Sherri can’t see me. Again, it doesn’t matter. When you’re smiling, people can hear it in your voice. I always smile during my sales calls—smile before you dial.
“Natalie!” Sherri sounds like she’s smiling too. She has a great voice. Very perky, like the girl next door. “Are you ready?”
“So ready,” I say.
I’ve done several podcast interviews in the past, so I feel relatively experienced with them. Usually, I find a quiet place to set up, like the conference room, and I invested in a decent mic so listeners can actually hear me. This is the fifth podcast interview I’ve done to promote my 5K, so I shouldn’t be nervous at all.
But something about this entire day is making me edgy.
“Today we have Natalie Farrell joining us,” Sherri’s voice pipes up through the speakers. “Natalie has organized a 5K run this Saturday to benefit a foundation doing research in cerebral palsy.”
“That’s right, Sherri.”
“Now, Natalie, I hear you have quite a few people participating in this charity run?”
I clear my throat. The key to talking on podcasts is not to go on too long. You want it to be a conversation, not a monologue. “Yes, that’s right. I work at a fabulous company called Vixed, which sells nutritional supplements, and almost all of my coworkers will be running, as well as many people in the community. We’ve raised a lot of money so far and are still soliciting donations.”
“And this is not the first time you’ve done this, right?”
“It’s my fifth time. And we have more people participating this year than any other year previously.”
“Amazing.” Sherri pauses. “Now tell me a little bit about this charity. I hear it’s very meaningful to you.”
I am vaguely aware that Sherri has asked me a question and I need to answer it, but something has distracted me. Before starting the podcast, I put my phone on silent and placed it on the conference table next to my laptop. Now the phone is vibrating with an incoming call. I look down at the screen—the call is from a blocked number.
Like this morning.
Help me.
“Natalie?” Sherri’s voice startles me out of my distraction. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, yes.” Thank God she can edit this prior to the broadcast. I’m desperate to take the call, but I recognize how incredibly rude it would be, so I let it go to voicemail. “Sorry about that. What was your question?”
