Watch You Die Read Free Page B

shielded my eyes with a flattened hand but Joe just sat there literally taking the heat. His left pupil contracted to a pinprick against the brightness while the right pupil, off-center, stayed mostly open. “Maybe you could recommend me for the
Times
’ internship program? If you felt comfortable doing it, I mean. I know it’s hard to get into.”
    “Oh, sure, if I can. I’ll ask around about how that works. But shouldn’t I read something of yours first? Do you have any writing samples?”
    “Definitely. I’ll send you something.”
    I folded the wax paper around my remaining sandwich and shifted to reach into my purse. “Here, I’ll give you my email address.” I fished around for my business card holder.
    “It’s in the company directory,” he said. My heart jumped at that: had he already looked me up? “Isn’t it?”
    “You’re right, it is.” I dropped the card back into my purse and looked at my watch. “Better be getting back, don’t you think?”
    “My supervisor would think so.” Joe laughed and so did I.
    As we left the lawn behind us and were on our way out of the park, past the fountain, my cell phone began its ragtime ring. The call was coming from a cell phone number I didn’t recognize but I had left a lot of messages that morning and so I answered it with my workaday greeting: “Darcy Mayhew speaking.”
    “You have questions about Atlantic Yards.” It was a man’s voice, one I didn’t know.
    “Yes, just the one lot. Who is this?”
    “Not now. Meet me at the lot, tomorrow, six a.m. I have something to tell you.”
    Before I could protest –
Who are you? Why so early? Can’t you tell me on the phone?
– he hung up.
    My heart raced as I closed my cell and walked alongside Joe through a lunchtime crowd that hadn’t thinned at all since we left the office.
    “Everything OK?” Joe asked.
    “Yup.”
    “If I were a parent, I think I’d always worry in the back of my mind about my kids, you know? When I wasn’t with them.”
    I looked at him. He wasn’t a parent so how could he know about that? Had his own mother over-worried about him? I did think about Nat when we weren’t together, but he was thirteen years old and already, two months in the city, knew how to get around on his own. And I was learning that it was time to start giving him some space and independence.
    “I try not to worry about him too much,” I said. “He’s a good, smart kid. And trust me, you learn early that if you worry too much you’ll go insane.”
    “So the call wasn’t him.”
    “They’re not allowed to use their phones during the school day. Is that why we’re talking about this?”
    “Because your phone rang.”
    “My phone always rings.” Though not with anonymous callers.
    “I wish mine rang more.”
    That was a remark I simply could not respond to. I was out of gas for Joe. My mind was already back at work:
Who was that caller? What could he possibly have to tell me that couldn’t be said on the phone?
    We passed through the revolving doors into the lobby of our office building. It was relief to be back, to have finished with that lunch. I had done my duty by Joe. I would complete my duty by reading his writing sample when he gave it to me. If appropriate, I would pass along his name to the
Times
’ internship program. And then I would be finished with any obligation I might have to this earnest young man.
    We waited for an elevator, I for one going up to the newsroom, he for one going down to the mailroom. The indicator lights above the elevators showed us that mine would arrive first.
    The door opened with a
ding
. “That was a nice lunch,” I told Joe as I stepped inside. “Thanks.”
    “Maybe we can do it again.”
    “Maybe. Work’s about to get pretty busy, but we’ll see.” The elevator door scrolled shut.
Finally
. It really had been kind of a pleasant lunch and I wasn’t sure why I felt so glad to be away from him. But I did.
    The newsroom was busy when I